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Leonard’s Escape: A Short Story by Shelley Robinson

7 Nov

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Leonard:  The Journalist

Writing Prompt:  “Resurrection”:

I saw the body of a woman with her arms spread eagle, and her hair feathering out around her at the bottom of the pool.  How had I missed this? I jumped into action, blowing the whistle, and commanding everyone out of the pool.  My military officer’s voice of authority came back to me.  I dove into the calm underwater, reached her still body, and pulled her onto the deck. 

I had never rescued anyone.  I had been a father, and was not able to save my daughter, Vivienne, who had died when she was five.  I leaned over this woman, frightened for both of us as the crowd watched us battle for her life.  I breathed into her several times, and with relief, saw her chest rise and her eyes flutter.  I rolled her to her side so she could wretch out everything that had attempted to drown her.  Her daughter sat beside us, and I could hear her whimpering in alarm contemplating life without a mother.  The resurrection of this woman from one who could not breathe to one who could, was miraculous.  It was the one time in my life where I had been a hero, and I remember every second of it with crystal clarity.

Leonard was satisfied with his words after reading them over a couple of times like he had edited his thoughts when he was a journalist.  He waited for the others to finish their writing.  He always loved the sound of pens on paper in this little writing group.  For a few hours, once a week, he felt like he belonged somewhere important.  Interestingly, his son had taken to writing as well.  He was his only other child with a girlfriend from the States which was a lifetime ago.  Through Adam’s childhood, they visited once or twice a year, sometimes in Canada, and often in the States.  As a result, they had grown to appreciate each other through travelling in ways that normal father-son relationships did not allow.

Leonard looked over to see Sarah, another writing group member.  Her red hair and green eyes reminded him of what his ginger daughter might have looked like later in the life had she had the opportunity to live.  She had fallen overboard on one of his sailing trips with he and her mother.  Their marriage never survived the devastating loss of their only child together.

Sarah: The Teacher

Writing Prompt:  “Awe-Inspiring”:

…I remember the sunset on the Grand Canyon.  It brought to life the magnificence and the enormity of this wonder of the world.  It changed the hues of the rock as it descended into darkness transforming from atomic tangerine, to coral, to burnt sienna, and then in its final declaration of light, to glorious luminescent sinopia.  No painter would ever really be able to capture it.  I have tried.  It is impossible.  

Now, I sit on the little veranda in this little town and watch the clouds shape the colours in their rippled striation.  Every single awe-inspiring evening dazzles me with a different light show.  Then the curtain of light closes, and my heart applauds.

Sarah:  The Bank

She deposited her cheque, withdrew some cash from the bank machine, and then grabbed the receipt.  It was considerably more money than she could remember depositing.  Had she made a mistake?  She quickly reviewed her statement.  She put her card in again, and looked back through her banking history.  Fourteen thousand and forty-four dollars was deposited last Monday.  How could this be?  She walked into the bank to speak with a teller who reviewed the situation in detail.  Someone had deposited the money in cash.

“How did this person know my account information?” she asked, feeling exposed.

“They likely never knew your account number, but likely gave us your name and some details, and offered it as a gift to your account.  It is legal.  If it had been over fifty-thousand dollars, we would be obligated to notify you, but in this case, it was not necessary.”

“So, there is no way to track it?”

“No.”

She gathered up all of the statements that they had printed out for her, and left the bank in a daze.  Who would give her such a substantial amount of money?  Would there be unknown strings attached to such an anonymous monetary gift?  Would someone show up on her doorstep and expect something in return?

Leonard:  The Boat

Every time it came time to finally launch his boat, some other matters came up.  His son would phone up and talk him out of it.  Adam was irritatingly sensible which was probably why, Leonard concluded, Adam was still not married.  Or, Leonard’s friend would fall ill and go into the hospital and need a visit.  Or, he had to collect clothes from the laundromat, or food from the grocery store.  Eventually, he would lose his nerve wondering if it was truly the right decision to simply sail away into the sunset.

He had an Island Packet Long Keel Cutter 35 and named her Gloria.  It was the Volvo of sailboats, boxy, not sexy, but very safe and comfortable.  It had been a lot of work restoring sections of it over the last few years, in an effort to finally get off the grid away from this little town.  Escaping had become his primary reason for living lately.  He wanted to feel alive again.  It was time to feel the pulse in his veins that had become shallow and unpredictable.  He wanted to explore some of the world that remained open to him like a gaping question mark.  Most importantly, he wanted to know himself again because he had become lost in this old body that housed a young man’s heart.

Sarah:  The Survivor

Every week she attended a writing group.  This eclectic group of creative writers met in a little community hall that was built when this little quintessential BC hippie town was first built by a paper mill company in the early 1900s.  The Douglas Fir floors creaked under the weight of her feet as she moved carefully through its hall carrying coffee and loaf cake to her seat.  Each week, she was ready to sit around the old wooden table with eight or so other members who came to free-write with their journals and pens in hand.  They were given a writing prompt by Fran who was the leader of the group who then carefully timed them for ten minutes to compose something out of thin air.  “Time” she would call out in her loud deep voice when it was time to stop writing.

It had been the one morning every week that Sarah would force herself out of bed.  She was always five minutes late no matter what her efforts to be punctual had been.  It was a struggle to get moving in a life where she no longer had any real time commitments.  She chose to move to this small town to be near the ocean, and the woods where she could breathe better, rest and rediscover herself.  Recently, every time she looked into the mirror, she stared deeply into the tired eyes of a societal burn out.  She now had time that had never really been afforded to her in her previous educator’s life composed of bottom lines, deadlines and front lines.  She now sat dormant on the sidelines in the grey weather of the Canadian West Coast where she came face to face with herself.

She wrote in order to preserve her sanity and to ward off a sense of purposelessness, isolation and depression that threatened to devour her each and every day.  She was not the only person healing in this eclectic group.  Leonard was the oldest member.  He was in his eighties, and had been first an officer in the military; then a journalist; next a commercial diver; and finally, a recluse on one of the Gulf Islands where he jokingly described his profession as selling pot out of the back of his motorcycle.

Leonard was an articulate writer who spoke softly of his plans to escape this town.  Sometimes he wrote about sailing away on a boat he had been building and harbouring nearby for over a decade—Gloria.  At other times, he told them about his motor cycle and his plans to drive down into the States to visit his family, and then camp along the beaches of the Oregon Coast.  The group quickly learned that there was always some sad delay with his boat, or his bike, that prevented him from launching his dreams.

What Sarah learned was that no one in the group really aspired to publish, and as a result, there was no real expectation to critique each other.  Instead, these people let down their masques and disclosed intimate details of their lives in this profoundly free writing.   It was here where she started to heal.  She did not disclose much about herself because she felt like an imposter in her own life.  These people made space at the table; welcomed her warmly when she arrived; and listened to her intently when she read aloud.

Leonard:  The Motorbike

Writing Prompt:  “Roadways”:

I had found the perfect two-man tent that would fit nicely into the saddle of the motor bike.  I have done a ton of upgrades to my Road King.  It is more than just a lot of chrome.  Last week, I put on a new rear tire with lots of tread.  It has seen miles of highway, this motor bike.  I think that it is ready to hit the road again, and I phoned my son to let him know that I am coming down.  He talked about us getting over to the Grand Canyon which has always been my favourite place to go. 

The roadways always feel good to me under a motorbike with a good engine.  When I am heading somewhere with my helmet on, and my gear stowed behind me, I know that my life has purpose and adventure.  I like not knowing what will happen next.  

The thing about travelling is that when I travel, I miss home.  This is the harsh reality of the traveller.  There is the tugging of the heart to leave and the pulling of the mind to return to its comfort zones, just like canaries that fly back into their cages when they are released…

After the writing group, Leonard walked downtown.  Without really remembering how, he found himself on the town ferry without much money and no real destination.  He just sat comfortably in a seat looking out over the water.  The captain announced a sighting of a pod of Orca on the starboard side.  They breached for quite a few minutes right in front of him.  They were marvellous in their enormity.

Sarah:  The Departure

“Where is Leonard?” she asked.

“He was put into the hospital because he was caught wandering.  He has been struggling with the onset of dementia for quite awhile and his behaviour has become unpredictable,” one of the members who knew him well, explained.

They talked quietly, contemplating the writing group without Leonard.  “Will he need anything?  Should we be visiting him or sending him anything?”  Silently they contemplated their own cognitive mortality.

“I think he is being assessed, and will be medicated.  The hospital is likely the best place for him to be right now,” Anna reassured us.  “There aren’t many places for someone like Leonard here in town.”

Sarah sat listening to the gentle rhythm of people reading their weekly devotions.  This little community hall had become her church, and this group, its spiritual congregation.  Their religion was the written word.  They wrote to prove their existence.  Leonard shone here.

Adam:  The Visitor

He came up the steps and found her sitting, enjoying some morning coffee and sunshine on her veranda overlooking the water.  Her hair was wild with curls, and she was wearing her favourite flannel pyjamas.  She did a double-take when he showed up.  He looked familiar.

“I’m Leonard’s son, Adam,” he announced awkwardly.  He set down a parcel by the door and came over.  He looked around at the view of the ocean in front of them.  He was the spitting younger image of Leonard with dark red hair, blue eyes, and fewer wrinkles.

He sat next to her and got straight to the point, “Leonard passed away.”

“I’m so sorry,” she gasped, taken back, pausing to find the right words to continue.

“He wanted me to give this to you.  He said that you would appreciate this painting.”   The artwork leapt out at her with vibrant intensity.  She could visualize the exact spot from which this artist had rendered this perfect twilight moment on the rocky ledge above the canyon.  Someone had actually been able to capture the colours and light of this beautiful place on canvass.

“Did your father leave me some money in my account?”

“Probably.  Money was always showing up in my account too.  It is his MO.  He explained that you would sometimes drive him home from writing class.  To be honest, I think he loved how you wrote about travelling. Now that I see you, I think you remind him of Vivienne.”

“Yes, he told me.”  They sat transfixed with the masterpiece in front of them.  “Thank you for bringing it over.”

He struggled with his story. “I got my love of motor bikes from Dad.  Anyway, I thought I would come and pick him up and we would just hit the road.  When I showed up, he barely recognized who I was.  I said, ‘Pops, let’s do that road trip’.  I remember looking over at him sitting beside me with his helmet and a big grin on his face like a small child.  He didn’t care that it had come down to me driving and him sitting in a side car.  He was just so happy to finally be on the highway.

“It sounds so good,” she squeezed his hand.

“But, he didn’t wake up at the US border.”  Adam wiped his face with his hand.  “We rushed him to the hospital, but he had passed away somewhere on the last part of our trip.  He left me everything—what is left of it anyway, and his treasures.”

“And Gloria?”

He nodded.  “…and he mentioned that you loved the Grand Canyon and should have the painting.  I asked around to find out where you lived.”

He stood up to leave.  She was as startled to see him go as she was to have him arrive, and felt disappointed.   They both hesitated about how to end their brief encounter.  “Thank you for bringing it by.”

He walked down the steps, and turned around.  “What do think about going for a sail?”

via Leonard’s Escape: A Short Story by Shelley Robinson

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Pressed:  On the Other Side of Comfortable by Shelley Robinson

28 Feb

Crossing Over from 2016 to 2017:  As I transition into a new year, I realize that 2016 was challenging for me because this was the first year where I have experimented living very differently than …

Source: On the Other Side of Comfortable by Shelley Robinson

Pressed:  EMPTY BEACHES by Chris Crawford

23 May

Source: EMPTY BEACHES by Chris Crawford

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Many things can be discovered by spending time on a beach in any country. Some of the things that come to mind for me are; level of happiness of the local people, family values and local social habits.

Shelley and I had a chance to experience this on our honeymoon in the Dominican Republic. We spent two weeks there over Christmas and New Years 2016.  It was a welcome break in our crazy lives of planning and then having a wedding. During this time away we made a conscious effort to learn basic Spanish so that we could converse with the locals and experience the real Dominican Republic.

About an hour before we landed, I heard an excited voice say “pull out the travel book.  We need to learn Spanish if we plan on making it to the resort. ”  For the next hour, we went through the drills of learning a few basic phrases. Even in the customs line-up we befriended a  weary  traveller who spoke Spanish to help us learn how to catch a bus to Jaun Dolio beach.  I could not absorb as much as Shelley because I did not sleep on the plane.  She has the gift of being able to sleep the moment that she sits down. I should say lies down all oer me as I was the pillow for the five hour flight. Needless to say she was much fresher than I was when we arrived.

We made it through the Airport and picked up our luggage.  As we exited the airport, we were met with a barrage of taxi drivers and such.  All were eager to try and help us use their cab. Shelley Tip # 1, don’t let anyone grab your luggage. As it turns out, the friendly help would cost us a $270 USD ride to the resort. Shelley tip #2 they will haggle.  A simple Spanish of saying that is was “way to much”, dropped the price to $150 USD.  It was still to much for our liking, so plan B was executed — Public Transit.

We had the entire afternoon to make it to the resort and we used it to travel with the locals and see some of the country that the average tourist would never see. Three buses later, thanks to Shelley’s Spanish lessons on the air plane, we were dropped of in front of our resort. The total was thirty Canadian dollars for the both of us.  After the journey, a check in and good sleep was in order.

In the morning, we had a light breakfast and were eager to hit the beach and take a swim in the azure Caribbean sea. As we walked IMG_1541onto the beach, we noticed that hardly anyone was on the beach beyond the strip in front of the resort.  Three hundred feet around the corner and we had about a mile of tropical beach to our selves –Heaven.  It is very easy to lose track of time when all you see is the hypnotising surf of the Caribbean and the tropical winds moving through the palm trees.

Our second adventure was a self-guided trip into the old colonial zone in Santa Domingo.  More public transportation. Santo Domingo is the oldest colonial city in the Americas. Founded by Bartholomew Columbus in 1496.  He was the son of Christopher Columbus. We had an incredible day exploring all the old buildings.

After the day of exploring the old colonial zone had concluded, it was time to make it back to the Hotel.  Three busses and a slow trip through the heart of Santo Damigo during rush hour was all that it took to get back to the hotel. It was  a look into the real world of the Dominican Republic.  If anyone really wants to experiance any country and  know how the locals live, public transit will show you it in about one hour stuck in rush hour traffic. What a ride it was with people  hanging out the door of the bus and people stepping on at every stop to sell food to the the hungry passengers.

The real contrast for me on this trip has been the different people managing the crazy pace of the city to the construction worker napping in the shade.  Everyone knew how to move quickly, but all seemed to also know how to slow down.  For me, the time spent on the beaches was the real Dominican spirit. Locals spending time with their families on a Sunday with a picnic seemed to be their favourite pastime. Their only concerns seemed to be where to find a palm tree for shade.  We should all spend a bit more time looking for shade under a palm tree.

Pressed:  Taking a Running Leap by Shelley Robinson

2 Sep

Source: Taking a Running Leap by Shelley Robinson

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“I advise you to say your dream is possible and then overcome all inconveniences, ignore all the hassles and take a running leap through the hoop, even if it is in flames.”  Les Brown

Letting Go:  When fear has a death grip on your life to the point that it becomes impossible to breathe, it is time to change.  It often may appear easier to speculate what change might look and feel like by dipping our toes into its frigid cold waters and slowly acclimating to it while clinging to the edge of the dock, than it is to simply take the plunge.  Taking one tentative step after another before submerging into the glorious depths of a new life, often sounds something like this when we are having conversations with people about the “what if’s” that could happen in our lives:

  • “When I get these things finished, I can…”
  • “When I have enough money saved, I will…”
  • “When my partner is ready and available to change, I will…”
  • “When I know exactly what will happen wherever I go, I might…”
  • “When I am feeling really ready, I will try to…”
  • “When I have all of the education and/or qualifications that I will need to be very employable, I will…”
  • “When I sell or rent my home…”
  • “When my children move out…”
  • “When my pets die…”
  • “When I retire and have a pension…”
  • “When I get married…”

Change is terribly frightening, especially when we are sitting on the precipice between the past and the future.  Letting go of a pay cheque; a partner; a way of life filled with a false sense of security and comfort, just seems too impossible because even unsatisfying security is some type of stability never-the-less.  Even when life is life-sucking, soul crunching and/or dysfunctional, it can be more desirable than taking the risk of truly catapulting into a new life where we do not know nor can we control the outcomes.  It is often the devil we know that we will allow to govern our lives, than the one we do not know very well.  In this case, comfort, complacency, security can be the real evil in our lives preventing us from leaping through the fiery hoop to the other side.  The other side could potentially allow us to find our true callings, passions or valuable life experiences.

The Chicken and the Egg Catalyst:  So, what comes first?  The chicken (in this case, ourselves, taking the final steps towards letting go of an old life and embracing the new), or the egg (the promise or guarantee of something to which we can cling onto at the other side)?  Do we just leap without any guarantee of another side (a job, partner, financial security, an education…)?  Should we be reckless as our conservative parents taught us not to be?  Or do we wait for somethinganything to come along and propel us into a new opportunity where we can make a change with some sense of security?  Common sense tells us that it is the latter that is the wiser choice.  We need that little catalyst or motivator.  We will wait for some sign from some source, and follow it because it represents safety within the change we hope to adopt.

However, what if the wisest choice is to let go completely, and search for that which truly inspires us to be our authentic selves?  This would mean not clinging to our old lives, nor grasping for a solid new one; rather, it means leaping with faith.  The faith would be trusting ourselves, knowing that we are capable of thoughtfully discerning what we need as we move forward.  It also means having faith that we have the where-with-all to find a means to support ourselves (either in the solo or in the tandem leap) so that we will be okay in the end.  The trust comes in knowing and believing in our own capacity to land on our feet.

Reaching for the Right Stars:   So the question arises, what do we truly need in our lives?

I need to be creative.  I need to feel efficacy in my own life experience.  I especially need to know that I have voice in relationship to others.  Having self love and respect, and the love and respect for and of others is also paramount to whatever I do from this point forward.  Nature will need to be an essential part of everything I do.  I need to know what the rest of the world looks, feels, sounds, tastes and smells like.  And most importantly, I want to share this with someone special in a long term and committed way.  Therefore, my stars need to shine on those priorities and I need to align my sextant to these stars so that I can find my directions, and get my real life bearings.  The rest…will fall into place because I will be living my truth.

Pressed: 52 Weeks Begin Now: Week 51: Under-Graduate Milestones

22 Jun

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week 51: Under-Graduate Milestones.

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Benchmarks for Success:  What is of interest to me is this idea of how we know we are making progress in life.  Are we getting ahead?  This idea that we can get from one point to another while accomplishing things and becoming better people as a result of our efforts, is a Modernist concept.  It relies on this philosophical pillar that there is a greater good to which we can strive and become better for our efforts.

I still buy into this line of reasoning, hoping that all of the “Sturm and Drang” in my life has been for some greater good.  I especially hope that my belief system holds some truth to it due to the fact that I shared this value system with my son who has recently graduated from university with an under-graduate degree in sociology in the Faculty of Arts.

Under-graduate Confusion and Ambivalence:  Undergraduate work can feel under-whelming.  These early academic years (to use an old expression) “separate the men from the boys”.  This milestone of convocating from a university with an undergraduate degree is supposed to symbolize incredible accomplishment where we feel that we have “arrived” somewhere that is significant, leading to somewhere else that will also be significant, and potentially even more important.  From this juncture in the road, we are supposed to have a clear vantage point from which to make choices upon which to base the rest of our life journeys.  In many cases, we catch glimpses of satisfaction and accomplishment, but it can be short-lived.

“Getting off the academic track” can be very unnerving for students.  We have been following so closely the institutional guidelines that tell us how to think and learn; when to do so; and how good we have to be at doing so in order to pass, that when we are relieved of these obligations, we can be left feeling confused and disoriented.  When we graduate, sometimes we are left with a sense of post-academic depression, realizing that all of our grueling efforts got us to a point where we still have more unanswered questions than when we went into the program in the first place. Degrees don’t guarantee jobs or success.  Unlike where we worked hard in the academic world to get a passing grade, life doesn’t hand out grades.  It simply looks at us blankly in the face owing us nothing for our efforts.

Looking Back:  Having gone through the academic world, which is both exciting and disillusioning, the first leg of academic work (the filtering and streaming years) can be a very institutional process that affords us very little “free thinking”.  Instead, we are indoctrinated into becoming good at “it”.  We become programmed to write and say the right things in order to be the best that our mentors believe that we can be within the parameters of the academic protocols.  We are groomed to achieve the status quo of high level critical thinking.  I loved it, but by the end of it, I hated it.  I remember graduating from the University of Calgary (my first time around), and as I packed up my bag of books, I looked back at the building and said boldly, “I will never go back!”

Next Steps:  The first steps after the program are the hardest.  They are like those first wobbly steps of a new born.  We wiggle around from one piece of furniture to another trying to grab onto something–anything that will provide some stability.  We are not secure enough to carry our own weight.  The time to embark out into the world on our own steam, with our own rules, takes incredible courage.  Where do we go next?  How do we afford it?  What matters most…first?  First things first, how can we enjoy the reality of our new found freedom when we are so worried about what comes next?  It is all very anxiety-provoking, but a very important experience, never-the-less.  We cannot grow and become our best selves until we truly are out of our comfort zones.  We need to stumble and fall, and then learn to wait.  We have to avoid that sense of desperation that forces us to grab onto the wrong things.  Instead, we have to be courageous and hold out for the best things that are yet to come.

My Son:  My son’s sociology program forces its students to think out of the box, and yet, when they are truly released into the world to think “out of the box”, it can be quite disconcerting for all of them.  He is truly wondering whether this degree was worth it.  It does not set him on any real practical and immediate track.  Instead, it just got him to think differently than he did before he entered it.  He got to learn that the world is not straight-forward, fair, or even relevant to itself.  He became a bigger thinker, challenged by his teachers, and his student cohort; and from this, he has accomplished a real cognitive milestone–the milestone of being a philosopher of his own learning, and as a result, a potential composer of a richer score of life.

He has the whole world just waiting for him to jump right in, but he needs to first determine who he is, and how to climb thoughtfully up the ladder to look over the edge at the next part of his journey.  Even though he is a little afraid of heights, he needs to climb to the top, set his eyes on the horizon and point outward.  Once he spots a landmark that can hold his gaze with his head, heart and spirit, he can begin moving ahead.  He may get side-tracked as he takes his next tentative steps forward, but our calling is always our calling.  He too will find his true calling through various means. And most importantly, he will begin to accept that he has never really strayed too far from being exactly who he has always been (perhaps a bit worldlier and wiser)…a very good man.

“When you stop living your life based on what others think of you, real life begins. At that moment, you will finally see the door of self acceptance opened.”
Shannon L. Alder

 

Pressed: 52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else

1 Apr

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else.

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Making Space for Someone Else?

Shelley Robinson

“Looking into the spirit of others is sometimes like looking into a pond. Though we aim to see what’s deep in the bottom, we are often distracted by our own reflection.”  Katina Ferguson

Re-shaping the Figment Within:  When we defy all of the odds and find someone who loves us in deep and meaningful ways, one thing becomes glaringly obvious.  Things have to change so that this new wonderful gift to us from the universe can fit into our worlds.  The first steps, I’m learning, are to really take an honest look inside of ourselves to see who we really are so that we have the capacity to let someone else into our lives.  This is not an easy concept.  In my recent discovery of this new loving relationship in my life, I am grappling with how to find some sort of loving and sensible way to truly be in partnership.

I believe that we are all highly invested in re-shaping the image we present outwardly to be our most attractive forms possible; however, we often overlook the shape-shifting that happens within us on emotional, spiritual and psychic levels almost hourly.  Wayne Dyer (2002) speaks about this idea that throughout our lifetimes, we are many different versions of ourselves.  The epiphany that I am having is that if my outside version of myself were to change as much as my inside metamorphoses, no one would actually recognize me unless he truly knew my “essence”—my soul.

The Belief about the Sameness of Self:  Sometimes, I grab onto my soul and remind myself that at my deepest centre, I am the same person that I have always been from the time that I was a young girl.  Now that I am forced to pay attention as someone cracks me open to my core, I realize that the transformations happening to me on a daily basis from the inside out are pretty dramatic.  To the outside observer, I am relatively steady, and even-keeled.  I have liked thinking of myself as a static personality.  I have found that society commends me for my consistency of mind, body and spirit because I am then familiar, and predictable by those with whom I come in contact.

The brutal reality is that my sameness is not actually possible, nor reasonable.  By trying to be this way, I am actually fighting the force of nature that is intrinsic to my most basic cellular activity.  My body is always changing as it awakens and metabolizes and realizes its potential.  As I let another person into my life in intimate and powerful ways, I am witness to this idea that “Human beings are millions of things in one day.” (Nick Hornby, 2014).  While opening the door to let this special person into my life, I discover and re-discover who I am over and over again every day.  As my soul breaks open, I have to filter the broad spectrums of ultraviolet light that spill out of it.  I also have to break the sensory waves that hit the shores of my soul with every new and intimate interaction so that they do not engulf me.

Ever-changing Life Force:  What I eat; how I sleep; whether I am living with passion or obligation; how I breath; what I create; how I connect with nature;  what I touch; whom I am surrounded by– all influence my ever-changing life force that is never truly generalizable of the whole me.  I am a product of my past, my present, and the intentions that I hold for the future.  My mother’s voice sings out of me as a daughter.  My son’s memories recall my role as parent.  My work reminds me that I am an educator.   My new relationship asks me to be a lover.  Nature calls on me to be part of its sacred experience.  My body tells me to rest.  My mind tells me to figure things out.  My heart urges me to let go.  My soul rests into the fact that a miracle of self is emerging.  Where my various selves formally enjoyed their separate paradigms, I now need to re-integrate of all of these little bits and pieces of myself into a stronger and purer version of my “whole” self so that I can be in partnership with another.

Stopping to Pay Attention:    Therefore, in order to really appreciate all of it, I must stop and pay attention.  I need to do so in order to see who he is with clearer lenses.  I don’t want to get in my own way of truly understanding another person.  As well, in order to be his mirror (as true relationships tend to afford us this type of honest feedback of each other), I have to wipe my own image clear so that it clearly reflects back to himself what is valuable to him in our connection.

As a result, it becomes imperative for me to just stop.  It is not a gradual and gentle deceleration.  I need to make a lurching and immediate stop.  I can no longer just keep functioning at the speed with which I have been operating on auto-pilot for years.  I can no longer do everything that previously filled up my life with stimulation and activity—busy energy.  In order to stay clear, and to prevent absolute exhaustion and confusion, I have to trim out the extraneous, the redundant, and the minutia of my life.  It is time to purge.  I need to get real and get present.  Instead of attending to the thirty tasks (mostly obligatory) that are normally waiting for me to complete (and likely were an effort to fill up my life), I need to get in touch with what is unfolding in my new connection with another person.  I can no longer simply surf on the face of the waves of a turbulent life.  I need to take a deep breath and dive down deeply below the froth.  By plunging into the depths of my own experience, I hear my own heart.  I allow myself to feel the silence in place of all of the noise that usually distracted me up above.  By doing so, if I listen very carefully, I can hear the pulse of my new partner.  I can also see him clearly.

Down here, I am still.  In these quiet depths, I imagine another way of being on my own and in the space of someone special.  The stuff that is unimportant floats away, and I hold onto the part of me that is intrinsic to all of it.  And then, when I am ready, I swim back upward toward the light and resurface differently.  I hold open my arms and I can breathe.  Time slows down.  It bends just a little.  It creates just enough space for someone to come closer.  I let go.

52 Weeks Begin Now: Week Forty-Six: Making Space for Someone Else

1 Apr

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Making Space for Someone Else?

Shelley Robinson

“Looking into the spirit of others is sometimes like looking into a pond. Though we aim to see what’s deep in the bottom, we are often distracted by our own reflection.”  Katina Ferguson

Re-shaping the Figment Within:  When we defy all of the odds and find someone who loves us in deep and meaningful ways, one thing becomes glaringly obvious.  Things have to change so that this new wonderful gift to us from the universe can fit into our worlds.  The first steps, I’m learning, are to really take an honest look inside of ourselves to see who we really are so that we have the capacity to let someone else into our lives.  This is not an easy concept.  In my recent discovery of this new loving relationship in my life, I am grappling with how to find some sort of loving and sensible way to truly be in partnership.

I believe that we are all highly invested in re-shaping the image we present outwardly to be our most attractive forms possible; however, we often overlook the shape-shifting that happens within us on emotional, spiritual and psychic levels almost hourly.  Wayne Dyer (2002) speaks about this idea that throughout our lifetimes, we are many different versions of ourselves.  The epiphany that I am having is that if my outside version of myself were to change as much as my inside metamorphoses, no one would actually recognize me unless he truly knew my “essence”—my soul.

The Belief about the Sameness of Self:  Sometimes, I grab onto my soul and remind myself that at my deepest centre, I am the same person that I have always been from the time that I was a young girl.  Now that I am forced to pay attention as someone cracks me open to my core, I realize that the transformations happening to me on a daily basis from the inside out are pretty dramatic.  To the outside observer, I am relatively steady, and even-keeled.  I have liked thinking of myself as a static personality.  I have found that society commends me for my consistency of mind, body and spirit because I am then familiar, and predictable by those with whom I come in contact.

The brutal reality is that my sameness is not actually possible, nor reasonable.  By trying to be this way, I am actually fighting the force of nature that is intrinsic to my most basic cellular activity.  My body is always changing as it awakens and metabolizes and realizes its potential.  As I let another person into my life in intimate and powerful ways, I am witness to this idea that “Human beings are millions of things in one day.” (Nick Hornby, 2014).  While opening the door to let this special person into my life, I discover and re-discover who I am over and over again every day.  As my soul breaks open, I have to filter the broad spectrums of ultraviolet light that spill out of it.  I also have to break the sensory waves that hit the shores of my soul with every new and intimate interaction so that they do not engulf me.

Ever-changing Life Force:  What I eat; how I sleep; whether I am living with passion or obligation; how I breath; what I create; how I connect with nature;  what I touch; whom I am surrounded by– all influence my ever-changing life force that is never truly generalizable of the whole me.  I am a product of my past, my present, and the intentions that I hold for the future.  My mother’s voice sings out of me as a daughter.  My son’s memories recall my role as parent.  My work reminds me that I am an educator.   My new relationship asks me to be a lover.  Nature calls on me to be part of its sacred experience.  My body tells me to rest.  My mind tells me to figure things out.  My heart urges me to let go.  My soul rests into the fact that a miracle of self is emerging.  Where my various selves formally enjoyed their separate paradigms, I now need to re-integrate of all of these little bits and pieces of myself into a stronger and purer version of my “whole” self so that I can be in partnership with another.

Stopping to Pay Attention:    Therefore, in order to really appreciate all of it, I must stop and pay attention.  I need to do so in order to see who he is with clearer lenses.  I don’t want to get in my own way of truly understanding another person.  As well, in order to be his mirror (as true relationships tend to afford us this type of honest feedback of each other), I have to wipe my own image clear so that it clearly reflects back to himself what is valuable to him in our connection.

As a result, it becomes imperative for me to just stop.  It is not a gradual and gentle deceleration.  I need to make a lurching and immediate stop.  I can no longer just keep functioning at the speed with which I have been operating on auto-pilot for years.  I can no longer do everything that previously filled up my life with stimulation and activity—busy energy.  In order to stay clear, and to prevent absolute exhaustion and confusion, I have to trim out the extraneous, the redundant, and the minutia of my life.  It is time to purge.  I need to get real and get present.  Instead of attending to the thirty tasks (mostly obligatory) that are normally waiting for me to complete (and likely were an effort to fill up my life), I need to get in touch with what is unfolding in my new connection with another person.  I can no longer simply surf on the face of the waves of a turbulent life.  I need to take a deep breath and dive down deeply below the froth.  By plunging into the depths of my own experience, I hear my own heart.  I allow myself to feel the silence in place of all of the noise that usually distracted me up above.  By doing so, if I listen very carefully, I can hear the pulse of my new partner.  I can also see him clearly.

Down here, I am still.  In these quiet depths, I imagine another way of being on my own and in the space of someone special.  The stuff that is unimportant floats away, and I hold onto the part of me that is intrinsic to all of it.  And then, when I am ready, I swim back upward toward the light and resurface differently.  I hold open my arms and I can breathe.  Time slows down.  It bends just a little.  It creates just enough space for someone to come closer.  I let go.