And the light returns

Offend no one, December 2009


A study of impermanence, December 2009


What it's about, one, December 2009


What it's about, two, December 2009


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Glowing in the darkness (for Ginny)

Prairie faith, December 2009

Christmas is a cruel season. So much darkness arises for me. The lack of light; the emptiness of mandatory gift-giving; my present-greedy children; the once-a-year excuse/expectation to be nice to strangers; the "now-what" letdown of January; and the what's wrong with me questions when I just don't feel it.

I still haven't figured out what to do with this holiday hoo-haw, except to go along with it. I am making progress though. I'm starting to see how my own thoughts and actions cause what I feel.

These things make me feel better:
- meditation
- yoga
- lots of sleep
- Johnnie To movies (like this one)
- spending less money
- time with my family
- Ginny's blog (despite her dark wit, she is full of good stuff)
- when I help a client communicate better
- Christmas lights

My measure of success: when Christmas is a celebration of the compassion and joy I feel all year long. Nothing special, yet everything special.

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Waiting in the dark

Black is cold. Moving through it without protection would be like drowning, the light of life slowly fading to empty silence. Black is cold.


The air freezes what it touches, December 2009


Unwelcome oasis, December 2009


Winter beacon, December 2009


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A day spent chasing the light

Quiet breakfast, November 2009


Self-portrait with lights, November 2009


Lights on the edge, November 2009


Riding with penguins, November 2009


Stillness at a dance, November 2009


Waiting for some snow, November 2009


Quiet under the moon, November 2009

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Boxed in freedom

(For Raymond) Edmonton, November 21, 2009

Boxed in by too much thinking, I escaped into performance art this weekend. Took my 8-year old boy to see Brian Webb dance on Friday night. Not exactly a normal father and son outing, but he had fun and I'm pretty sure he'll be the only kid in his class who has seen a modern dance performance. Webb is still brilliant by the way. I hope I can move half as well as him when I'm 58!

Yesterday was more conventional: Celtic-themed symphonic music with the ESO. Safe for the whole family. Lovely show. Irish dancers that levitated six inches above the scuffed hardwood, music that started in one mind flew through time, danced through the hearts and fingers of dozens of musicians, and then drifted through me like incense -- filling all those dark corners in my mind with beautiful grace. Best of all was when the piper strode out onto the stage and let 'er rip. I love bagpipe music. It's the martial arts of music. It makes me want to march.

This Sunday morning the walls are a little further away and I can sense the blue sky over my shoulder.

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My highway guardian

An old Ford rolls through the dark, November 2009


The road glows with life, November 2009


There's a new movie in which some of the characters see a snowy owl perched outside their bedroom window late at night. 3:33 in the a.m. Just staring at them. And it's not an owl. It's an malevolent alien who has edited out their screaming memories. Last week on my way home from work I passed an enormous white owl sitting atop a power pole. "Aliens," I scoffed. That movie has its symbols messed up. In the desperate reaching of my racing high-beams, my owl glows like an angel, a Bodhisattva. She is my old friend who tells me everything will be fine. Everything IS fine.

--

Trotting beside me on the crumbling shoulder, I'm doing 60 and he's doing 5, a coyote barely glances at me. Like me, he has someplace to go this morning. I see him for a second, then we are both gone. Recently, a woman was attacked and killed by coyotes. They are efficient hunters. Coyotes. Misplaced survivors.

--

A doe with shredded hindquarters lies on the road. I tack slowly around to avoid disturbing her. The colours are vivid. Red that was so recently alive has no place to go now. Black and white magpies cling to her. They look after the body she no longer needs. Guardians of her passing. Jagged white ribs stab through her sienna chest like prison bars burst open from inside. They free her heart to roam on another plain.

--

It is so dark in these hours before most people wake. I'm a racing island of light that reaches into a vast universe of black. Lonesome in my arcing capsule. My mobile cocoon. The owl appears again. She swoops through my headlights and disappears in a blink. I'm startled. Awake now, she has reminded me that I am alive and breathing. My eyes relax and I can see a little farther into the dark.

I believe the owl is my guardian. She guides me safely through the blackness. She helps me understand what is true.



My guide, November 2009

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Hallowe'en postscript

Winspear stage and organ, October 2009


The Davis Concert Organ (the ultimate ax), October 2009


Ooooo, November 2009


Ahhhh, November 2009


The concert was grand. It really was., November 2009


Finally, the point, November 2009


Evil candy pusher, November 2009

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Scary season

A woman I work with spent the last week or so at home. She was too sick too work. Her sons were home too. Fever, vomiting, sprained intercostal muscles from too much coughing. Confirmed H1N1.

Friends we were to spend Hallowe'en with tomorrow just called to cancel. Sore throat, fever, the scent of bile in stale furnace air. Doctor says H1N1.

My boy is looking pale and is moving a lot slower than usual tonight. It could be Friday fatigue. Or maybe not. I don't want to think about it.

On the up side, we may not have to stand in line for 5+ hours to get immunized. All those people, the cold, bony fingers of the north wind tugging at our coats and hats. . . . I think it's safer to stay home. Lock the doors. Let the machine pick up the phone. Wrap ourselves in flannel cocoons. Drink warm apple cider. And watch anything but the news.

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Some scary photos from school yesterday:


It's not that funny, October 2009


Pale skin, thin light, October 2009


Patience, confidence, October 2009


Safe behind the mask, October 2009


Macaroni bones, October 2009


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Prairie Saturday nap

Sparkle, August 2009


Red stick, September 2009

Good day for doing nothing. Read, nap, eat, and listen to music. Here's a video of NQ Arbuckle from a fantastic album called XOK.



Now, about that nap.

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Buddha of the oil tanks

My distractions are powerful and sometimes invisible. Last night I woke up and found myself sitting in front of the T.V. with a weighty glass of scotch in my hand. The glass was moist on the outside from condensation and the whisky was still evaporating on my tongue. I tasted vanilla, honey, and something like humid forest. I remembered sitting down on the couch and wrapping myself in a fleece blanket after the boys had gone up to bed. The usual plan on Saturday night is to catch up on a week's worth of Tivo and get lost in some comedy, fantasy, and drama. But I didn't remember pouring myself the whisky. It just appeared.

How is it that I'm so blind to so many of my actions? Sometimes I feel like Pavlov's dog, salivating my way from one sleep to another. What AM I doing all day long when I've checked my awareness at the door? How much of this do I need and what could I let go of? (I don't think anyone could function as if every moment was a new one. Somehow that seems pathological.)

The only time I notice ME noticing the world (does that make sense?) is when I sit to meditate and occasionally when I suddenly "come to" during my waking day.

There's a theory that distractions are a way to avoid discomfort. If we don't distract ourselves with an endless list of pleasures, chores, and fantasies, then we will come face to face with our demons. (I'd rather keep those bad boys locked away in the cellar, thank you very much.) But I listened to a wise man this morning. He convincingly argued that if we let go of our distractions (one at-a-time, as they arise), what we will find isn't demons and tortures, but instead happiness. When we stop distracting ourselves ALL THE TIME, we can pay attention to the hindrances we all share. The hindrances we use to cover up our crystal clear, perfect minds. Happiness is the absence of hindrances.

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Below are photos of junk oil tanks from an evening stroll in Eldorado last month. These kinds of things are ubiquitous on the Alberta landscape. In fact, they are so common that I don't pay attention to them. (There's the connection between the photos and the text! Isn't metaphor grand?) I never wondered where the old ones went until I stumbled on these ones slowly rusting at the edge of a hay field.

We still haven't sold our home in Lohwinkel, so I continue my multi-hour commutes and days away from my family. I'm more content with this long transition than I was in September. There's really no rush now that school's started. In fact, I might even be better to wait. Better for the boys anyway.


The eyes of the beast, September 2009


Orange on orange, September 2009


The handle of a very large mug, September 2009


Up, September 2009


Me inside, September 2009


Me in between, September 2009


Find the dragofly, September 2009


Black residue, September 2009


Lets take a look on top, September 2009


Dangle, September 2009


Inside the black, September 2009


Outer-space drive-in, September 2009


Buddha of the oil tanks, September 2009

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