Posted on Sep 10, 2020
Last month, I received the news that my former canine therapy
assistant, Elsa, died of intestinal cancer. This was a hard blow for a number of
reasons. One is that I had been thinking of her as she reached her tenth birthday—the
senior years in a dog’s short life—wondering if she was showing her age yet,
that sort of thing. Another is that I learned of her death via indirect
channels—which triggered dormant “divorce trauma.” Third is the bond she and I
had. I have missed that girl greatly. She was not only my office assistant, but
also my “therapist with four legs and fur.”
I’ve blogged about her in the past.
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/july-2012-inner-alpha/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/october-2012-alpha-update/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/april-2014-a-dog-story/
http://www.thewindingpath.ca/december-2014-winter-solstice/ http://www.thewindingpath.ca/january-2015-crazy-life-fresh-starts/ http://www.thewindingpath.ca/january-2019-fail-forward/
Mostly dealing with anxiety—hers and mine. We taught each other a lot. And she proved to be incredibly empathetic. A natural therapy assistant—instinctively knowing what each client needed—snuggle, kiss, curl up at their feet, keep a safe distance or a watchful eye. She knew the art of “just being” in the moment and of “just being there” for someone.
It’s also a strange experience grieving the death of a pet that you already lost in a divorce. I had not seen Elsa for 3 years; yet the news of her death hit hard. I think it was the finality of never seeing her again. There must have been a part of me that held out hope for one more visit. A strange silver lining to this finality is that it also slams shut the door on my marriage. I was about to write “failed” marriage; but to me that is inaccurate. While the marriage did not last until “death do us part,” I do not perceive it as a failure. It is by far more a success story that I kept working at it for 20 years.
I see it along the lines of a completed marriage. It served
its purpose. Its time had come. If I were to remain, it would have continued to
steal my soul until I was an empty shell, going through the motions. Elsa
played a significant role in those last 5 years. I think she preserved my life,
protecting me from the complete loss of my Self. Her behaviour issues demanded
I stay in the present and face my own. This is not to diminish the role played
by many concerned friends who witnessed my demise long before it surfaced in my
consciousness. However, the “daily-ness” of dealing with Elsa held me
accountable—I could not bury my head in the sand.
My first attempts at leaving the marriage all centered
around Elsa. I hoped to stay nearby to have “shared custody” as she was such a significant
part of my life and profession. However, in the end, I had to sacrifice that
bond for my Being. She could not be the defining factor in my preparations. It
also meant living with unknowns. I had no idea how my ex-husband would cope
with her behaviour issues on a daily basis. In my heart-of-hearts, I assumed he
would give up and ask that I take her. This was not the case. Somehow he
learned to manage; and she, by all accounts, continued to thrive.
As have I.
It has been a gong-show year for most of us. Yet we all hang
in there somehow. I have come a long way in the last 3 years—even if my life appears
in disarray at the moment with numerous projects on hold: partially painted
bathroom, tarp on my roof for winter, broken tooth, paused fence construction, persnickety
stove, and the latest—snow blower in need of repair before winter.
But if life with Elsa taught me anything, it was to live in the moment, always be curious, cherish the ones you love, be there for others, and deal with it when “life happens”—even if you’re learning new ways of doing that. And never take for granted the kind souls you meet along the way who make the journey worthwhile.
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Posted on Jun 17, 2019
So. Where to begin? It’s been an interesting week; and I’ve
been mulling over this blog for a couple weeks now, without gaining any solid
traction. There are a few things I want to say; but I’m unsure how to piece it
all together or put it into words. Funny how thoughts can be like that: flashes
of inspiration or insight keeping just out of word’s grasp.
My musings began by thinking about the tight integration
between how we are parented and how we relate to the Ultimate Transcendent
Being (Creator, God, Universe, High Power, Author of the Cosmos, Big Bang,
insert your preferred label here…).
Even with years of therapy, a long and winding faith
journey, and deep self-recovery work, I still struggle relating to the
Transcendent Being via any masculine reference, whether it be Canadian
Aboriginal’s Father Sky or the westernized Father God. I continue to mentally
back away from that imagery.
And then it struck me that God doesn’t care what name is
used, God is simply thrilled to be on speaking terms with any human: whether we
refer to the Ultimate Presence as our Rock, Fortress, Shield, Mama Bear, Mama
Eagle, Mother God, Mother Earth, or any imagery that helps us connect. God isn’t
bothered by any of it…but humans are.
My sister recommended a documentary series exploring the
development of Christian Art within its context of history, political
movements, and culture. That’s the sort of information that should be doled
out—not doctrine or dogma. Very enlightening series based in the supposed Dark
Ages. I can’t share all the gems here, but it was very informative. The key
“take-away”: humans have always been drawn to a fluid understanding of the
Ultimate Being, needing both female and male representation.
As intriguing as the historical perspective is, it is also
terribly disheartening to have a bird’s eye view of how political figures have
influenced the evolution of religion—so much so that it hardly resembles the
simple origins.
From politics to parenting, our perceptions of the Ultimate
Being are just that—perceptions, maybe even allusions. Sometimes, I daresay, delusions.
Subconsciously, God becomes a demanding authority figure, a fairy godmother, a
magical old wizard, a powerful force to be reckoned with—but we don’t actually
visualize those images. We dress them in more culturally acceptable costumes. So
our experiences with God become extremely frustrating when our wishes (aka
prayers) aren’t granted, political forces aren’t abolished. Our demands are not
met, we pout, and God yearns to connect and comfort.
And therein lies my problem. When using male language, I do
not relate to God in any positive ways. In fact, I withdraw. So I approach from
another safer angle, and am met with connection, comfort, instruction, guidance.
God doesn’t care. God will morph to be my safe place. Maybe I should start
referring to my Higher Power as the Shape Shifter (with only pure motives).
Here is my tie in for all these musings. Never take
parenting for granted. It is so important with long-term implications. Not only
for how we relate to the Ultimate Being, but also others and most importantly
our Selves. If we do not reflect back to children what we see in them, and if
they cannot see themselves in adults, they grow up to be very confused and
rudderless. They expect the world to function a certain way. And when it
doesn’t co-operate, they don’t have the skills to navigate difficulties nor to
spread kindness and well-being wherever they go.
Oddly enough, I learned that Christian Art reflects humanity
more than any divinity…and that my sensitive soul seems out of place in this
world. I really do feel like an alien on this planet when kindness is rewarded
with meanness. I’m tired of being a human punching bag. Which is another way of
saying the Universe is guiding me to make some changes.
The Dark Ages: An Age
Of Light Four Part Series – Timeline – World History
Documentaries https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4o1dc41r28
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Posted on May 24, 2019
I am conflicted about what to write this month. I began by writing about my Mother’s Day experience. However, that wormed itself into the abortion/adoption issue which morphed into human equality. I initially titled this blog Mothers & Mentors; but mentors were all but forgotten in my first draft. Then I took a meander down memory lane as I worked on crafting a 50th birthday card for my brother. And I realized how much I miss the relationship we once had, plus all the adventures we shared. The thread of all these musings? Attachments.
I went from sharing a personal experience, to sharing thoughts on a tender topic. However, as passionately as I believe in human equality, connection, and compassion, social media is not the platform for changing the world. And quite frankly, the world doesn’t want to change. So I considered my intentions for communicating. I get quite discouraged by the discourse, or lack thereof, in “popular controversies.” I cannot change people’s minds; but I sometimes think I can educate people into changing their minds. After all, education has changed my mind on several occasions. However, one’s mind has to be open to be changed. As long as we have closed minds, no amount of education will make a difference. Compassion is also a necessity for change.
Which brings me back to attachments. If we adhere more strongly to our beliefs then we do to people with, compassion and empathy, we completely miss the point of life: connection. We cannot connect if we are judging, focusing on right versus wrong. Life isn’t black and white. But one can never go wrong with putting people ahead of agendas. And if you do think in black and white, then you are missing out. I know. Because I have been there—on both sides of the coin—the judging and the judged. It does not bring people together or ease anyone’s suffering.
So, in the spirit of sharing for supporting those who
suffer…
I had a surreal yet visceral experience this past Mother’s Day
during a walk in the woods with two fur babies: I talked to my two miscarried
children. I have never done that before. Oddly, a Mother’s Day first for me.
Even asked them to say hello to their grandmother for me.
As profound as the experience was of connecting with my
somewhat imaginary children, it was very peaceful and soothing. I didn’t want
to have children; so I was very conflicted about being pregnant. And yes, I
will admit relieved when I didn’t carry to term. However, there is an
unbreakable bond that forms when one conceives (knowingly or unknowingly). On
Facebook I posted: Whether you have lost children by choice or by tragedy, know
they are caring for you from the other side and you are loved.
These unborn souls have no resentments. It is like they are
still in their purest form. The world hasn’t had a chance to twist perfection
yet. And I believe they understand that they were not meant for this world.
They do not hold a grudge about being aborted (forced or natural). Now, this is
where my blog goes awry; and I veer off-course by going cerebral instead of
remaining personal.
When I stay with my own experience, I sense deep sadness and
grief; not for my miscarried children, but my own insecure childhood. I wish I
could glibly “move on” into adulthood; but it is much more complicated than
that. Education and compassionate presence from caring souls have helped me understand
my lived experience and find ways to cope; but it’s a struggle to know that it
will always be a struggle. All because of the lack of healthy attachments as an
infant, child, adolescent, and young adult. This is why I am passionate about
human equality and connection. I do not want others to struggle like I do.
I also understand today’s sadness a bit better as I miss the
inexplicable bond I once had with my brother. In our culture, we take bonding
for granted and/or are ignorant of its importance with its long-lasting effects
of both secure and insecure attachments. And what it means when we lose those
attachments. My most secure attachment was with my brother. The second was with
my dog, Gracie. I am grateful for the bonding that has developed with my (half)sister.
I do not develop bonds easily; and when they are lost, it is truly devastating.
If I could have a single wish granted, it would be for the
world to grasp the importance of human bonding and connection. I would like to
think the world’s ills would be greatly reduced by that subtle change. In the
meantime, I will continue to pursue spreading compassion and connection in
whatever ways I can, and live with the disappointments. For that is the nature
of Life: an intricate dance of joy and sorrow.
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Posted on Mar 16, 2019
Friday’s session with my trauma therapist ended on a
bittersweet note. It was a celebration of not only my therapy journey but also
the role he played. I could not have gotten this far without his gentle
guidance. In return, he felt honoured to join me on my journey and to bear
witness to my recovery and growth. As a therapist, I have also been privileged
to bear witness to my clients’ success and be the recipient of their deep
appreciation.
These conversations usually mark a transition from an ending to a beginning: the ending of counselling therapy overlapping with the beginning of the next phase of a person’s courageous journey of self-discovery and growth. What made Friday’s conversation different was the likelihood of a final good-bye.
You see, my therapist has been fighting cancer for a while now. And what seemed like effective treatment has taken a turn for the worse. Hence the bittersweet moment: a celebration of my success and the therapeutic alliance we formed coupled with a permanent ending—not just the usual “ext interview.”
Part of the ending process for therapy includes the reassurance that they can always re-access therapy if/when needed. I am glad that I am doing really well compared to when my therapy journey started and was steering toward the “exit” process anyway. Simply put, it is always hard to say such a weighted good-bye with the hint of finality—especially to someone who has had such a significant impact on your life.
In an interesting cosmic twist, my therapist’s legacy will endure
in my counselling room as I continue to pass on to my clients what I learned under
his guidance: to manage my anxiety, to dive deep, to come up for air, and to
not only persevere but thrive. His influence has been present in many a session
already. Now it will be with more poignancy.
As a trusted friend said to me, at least you had a chance to
say good-bye. Which is very true, and for that I am extremely grateful. How
many times to we say a final good-bye without knowing it? How often do we wish
we could have said good-bye, but didn’t have the option or opportunity?
So in an effort to honour the legacy and the final journey we all must make, transitioning from this life to the next, may the words of this Irish blessing go with him.
May you see God’s light on the path ahead
when the road you walk is dark.
May you always hear,
even in your hour of sorrow,
the gentle singing of the lark.
When times are hard may hardness
never turn your heart to stone,
May you always remember
when the shadows fall—
You do not walk alone.
I also wish you all a Happy St Patrick’s Day this weekend. May you wholeheartedly celebrate the love of life, family, and friends! Sláinte!
Wishing you a rainbow
For sunlight after showers—
Miles and miles of Irish smiles
For golden happy hours—
Shamrocks at your doorway
For luck and laughter too,
And a host of friends that never ends
Each day your whole life through!
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Posted on Feb 23, 2019
February is a funny month. The first half is focused on symbolic gestures (large and small) of romantic relationships. After Valentine’s Day, the Holly wood award season no longer has to share the spotlight; and social culture becomes hyper-aware of what awards celebrities win and what they wear to award shows. My focus is going to return to the former subject: love. In an odd coupling, it occurred to me that Saints serve a similar purpose to super-heroes and celebrities: those to admire and emulate. But Saint Valentine aside, I want to focus on the modern fascination with love and romance.
“Love is just a word until you meet someone who gives it meaning…” paraphrase from a line in the movie, “Book Club.”
Of all the subtle and not-so-subtle quips and quotes I’ve been handed over the years about love, this one rings the most true. I made some very misguided decisions based on the concept that love is a choice and takes work. In a nutshell: love = committment. [Something very doable for me.] But totally dismissing chemistry and connection. Not to mention mutual respect, consideration, and loving kindness. And now we know scientifically what it takes for a romantic partnership to last long-term: consistent, reciprocal affection and attention.
You don’t have to be in a romantic relationship for those primal needs of consistent attention and affection to be met. After all, our first introduction to those concepts came with infancy. We are hardwired from birth to know that the adults surrounding us are responsible for our well-being. In the world of psychology, it is fairly common knowledge about the post-war Romanian infants who died in orphanages—not for lack of food or shelter—but because the nuns couldn’t hold each infant while making loving eye contact (the distance of an infant’s vision). Tragic experiments were also conducted with monkeys to “prove” the hypothesis.
As adults, we still have these two primal needs for affection and attention. However, as we are no longer at risk of dying from these unmet needs, we experience other forms of un-wellness in the forms of physical and mental illness. In our Western culture, we have become almost exclusively dependent upon romantic partners to meet these primal needs. But I know people who are living proof you can thrive in social communities getting these needs met in platonic ways. Hugs and eye contact need not be in short supply.
We form communities of connections in all sorts of ways: work, friendships, book clubs, brother/sisterhood, therapists of all kinds, faith groups, sports leagues, hobby groups. Not to say these social circles automatically provide authentic connections, but they all have the capacity to provide healthy affection and attention. Sadly, however, we have all experienced the opposite effect from involvement in various systems, groups, or organizations. Hence, the opportunities abound—but, so too, the risks of being hurt. And emotional wounding is a significant mental health issue.
In my experience, my marriage was anything but attentive and affectionate. So I still had to look elsewhere for those primal needs to be met. Sometimes seeking it out specifically in a romantic relationship is what sets us up for failure. And sometimes seeking is the misguided first step. What if being open to it crossing our path is the first step? Not easy. Our primal needs drive us. We crave connection. That stable base from which we go out to explore the world, only to come back to replenish before going out again.
Sometimes we’ll do anything to find it, or at least fill the void. Not so easy to sit with our craving and open ourselves to the possibility of it being satisfied.
Hence why creating a loving world can only enhance our lives. The legends of Saint Valentine vary—as well as how his religious feast day became commercialized into Valentine’s Day. But maybe we can borrow a page from the story within the story. The basic idea is reminding people they are loved and cared for (whether the child of a jailor whose sight is restored or officiating secret marriage ceremonies) and to consider ways we can provide healthy affection and attention to those around us. None of us know the emotional wounding that is walking all around us. A greeting, touch of the hand, and eye contact may be all it takes to add loving kindness to someone’s day.
And the added bonus—at least two people always benefit from touch, eye contact, kinds words, and listening ears.
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Posted on Dec 23, 2018
Something I do to relax, unwind, de-stress (with not enough regularity) is to submerse myself in a tub of sudsy, hot water until my ears are submerged, leaving the rest of my face above the water. This acts as a decompression chamber for me. Once I slow my mind, its noise subsides; and all I can hear is my breathing and my heart beating.
When I can focus my attention on these two things: breaths and heartbeats—a “surreality” sets in. Everything floats away. It is just me, as au naturel as it gets. Lungs and heart doing their thing. My body in perfect harmony. No interruptions or distractions. Having a total in-my-body experience. As a woman, this is a close as it gets to emptying my mind. A limited shut off button, or a reset button, if you will.
No. The cares of the world haven’t changed significantly once I emerge from my water chamber, but I have. I feel reborn in an inexplicable way. I am not the same person who entered the chamber. Just as with any reboot, the operating system doesn’t restart exactly as before. A reconfiguration takes place.
That is what it is like when I give my brain a break by having an in-my-body water experience. I am held in place by space and time (and the solid support of a bathtub) sufficiently that I can completely relax, enough to “float” and concentrate on the essence of Life: breaths and beats.
I also peruse any manner of reading material before or after decompression. For this entry, I will share with you the words of a poet.
Giver of life, giver of breath
You, the mystery in our breath
the light in our breath
the breath of our breath
You who are life
without whom there is no life
in whom there is no death…
We desire, in our bodies
in our hearts, in our souls
and between us
and between all breathing beings
a harmony like the harmony
of the stars and planets
shining and whirling for Your sake
a music
like the music of the spheres
~from “Supplication” by Pir Zia Inayat-khar published in Presence. Vol. 21. No. 4. December 2015.
Such poetic words about breath and breathing! The only time I give my own breaths a chance to be even remotely poetic would be in my decompression chamber. Somehow that which is the very function of every day life becomes soothing when heard under water—with only the steady drumbeat of my heart to accompany the rhythm.
Music. The music of my body. My body in perfect harmony.
For those briefest of moments, there is total absence of chaos. Pure serenity. Very rare in this day and age—and at this time of year.
How will you find serenity—your own version of peace—this holiday season? If I may offer a suggestion, maybe take a stolen moment to savour the words of the above poem? Let the words trip over your tongue, tickling your imagination, your breath connecting you to every other breathing being, connecting to the harmony we crave this season.
May the winds of change—the true essence of this time of year on so many levels—refresh your spirit for the coming year.
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in
~Leonard Cohen
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