The Cliff

I'm at the edge of a cliff. The view from here is clear and vast and beautiful. At times it feels as though I am at the top of the world. I have places to go, dreams to fill. At first I walk along with reservation, remembering from my past that the ground could give away at any time. But the longer I move along solid ground, the more confidence I have in it's ability to hold my weight, eventually forgetting how thin the ledge I walk on actually is. The sun beams with promise, warm on my face. I start to skip. I run at times. I walk with a presence. I breath in the view and plan my path ahead. Aspirations, goals, ambitions build up with an affirming clarity and I steadily carry the expectations that they bring, feeling strong, even unstoppable at times.

Abruptly, the ground beneath breaks, the rock crumbles, I stumble. As I fall I grasp for any rocks that make themselves available to me out of the cliff's wall. Afraid of the murky waters that lurk below I desperately cling to whatever grip I can find, but struggle to hold on for any significant length of time. This takes incredible energy, desperate to get back to the place at the top, where my aspirations await. My fear of falling just feeds the force of gravity, moving me in the opposite direction I try to go. I panic. I become frustrated with the wall for being what it is, for not being what it isn't. I become angry with myself for being so foolish to think the ground could hold me and the weight of my ambition, and for not paying attention to my step, for not being strong enough to make my way back to the top. I discount any inevitability of the situation.  The more I fight to climb back up the more tired my grip becomes. I slip again and again and fall, each time, further away from where I started. With each loss of footing I collect more scrapes and bruises. Occasionally I'll take respite on a ledge on the wall just long enough to assess the injuries I have accumulated. The more attention I pay to them the more I realize the significance of the pain they cause. I want to escape this pain so, despite feeling worn out and wounded, I try to climb away from it, no matter how impossible at this point. But the harder I try the more tired and frustrated I grow and the further away I move from the place I want to get to.

Eventually the ground finds me, but I am not at the top. I am at the bottom. And to my surprise it is dry. As my foot touches down I release my tired grip, at last my attempt to climb surrendered. I look up, and touch fingertips to the cold damp wall of my decent. Smoothed by currents from past tides it offers no ledges within reach that would allow me to resume my climb.  I am alone. I stop and listen. I can hear waves crashing in the distance. I stop straining to see the view that was offered at the top of the ledge and take in my immediate surroundings. I notice the quiet stillness of this place, the cool calm. By now the pressure of getting back to the top so quickly, so desperately has lifted off my shoulders and ironically I feel lighter. I could wander, but the still air invites me to settle here. I sit, taking residence in the place I have come to. Although somewhat unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable, it brings a sense of peace, a place that I somehow know is for me. As I sit, the sand below rearranges itself to accommodate whatever shape I need to be. If I am not careful I just might become complacent with this place whose arrival I so vigorously resisted just moments ago. I come to understand that it is my job to sit still, pay attention and tend to my wounds. To wait. For how long? I have no idea. But to find faith in the idea that this is the place I am meant to be right now, and hope in the idea that if I wait here, in time the tide will come, gradually lifting me up high enough to find my sure grip. With the weight lifted and a restored strength I will ease my way back up to the vantage of my desires, and by the time I reach it perhaps things will look a little different than they did before I fell.



"the stillness
you are busy trying
to fill

is the origin
of your authenticity + truth

why then, may I ask
are you so afraid
of what you thirst?"

Sarah Blondin, live awake

Opening the Mind and Letting Go

A couple months after my sister passed away I received a message from someone that had met her years ago in the hospital, who also happened to be called Niki. She explained how they shared a journey similar in struggles, bonded over a common connection to the spirit world, and found affinity in having the same name. This Niki was at the beginning of her spiritual journey when they first met, and she expressed how my sister was a source of comfort and support at this scary period in her life. She sent me a photo of a painting my sister had given her during their time together. It is a dramatic image of a mermaid embracing a fish, their tails are intertwined. This image had significance to Niki (the friend) as she, un-beknown to my sister, had been using 'just keep swimming' as a mantra to get through her fearful moments. I was grateful that she shared this story with me, as hearing about the impact my sister had on others brought comfort in the midst of my grief.

I thought this would be the last time I would hear from this person. But then, just a few weeks ago she sent another message telling me she had been consulted in regards to the painting she had and it was my sisters wish that I have it.

This triggered a number of emotions and left me with an unsettled feeling, uncertain of how I should feel or respond.

First of all I didn't feel entitled to this painting, it wasn't originally meant for me. It was such an intimate exchange between the two of them and I didn't want to take that away from her. This offer triggered a lot of emotional memories associated with past experiences with my sister and her schizophrenia. Based on the the history of my sister's tendency to discard most of her possessions in the midst of a schizophrenic episode, and in learning the history of how they met, I admit my mind immediately went to the assumption that it was a result of a schizophrenic delusion.

You see early in my sister's diagnosis, anything she did that was out of the 'norm' of my own experiences, I understood as a symptom of her schizophrenia, especially anything that had to do with religion or spirituality. Her experiences were so unfamiliar and scary (to her and to me), so my first defence was  to chalk them all up to her diagnosis. It wasn't until a few years ago, after a conversation with someone for whom I held high respect and revered as very grounded, that I started to shift my perception. I was enlightened to the idea that if this person could be so open to the possibility of a spirit world and a connection between that and the living world, why couldn't I? I began to open my mind to the possibility that maybe my sister was able to somehow tap into the spirit world, as she claimed, and began to question my right to judge what is real and what is not? Or what is real to her? Just because my experiences are different than another's doesn't make that person's experiences wrong or not true.

In practice, this was a sensitive subject. Sometimes the messages she claimed to receive from her spirits were a threat to her well-being and those around her, even dangerous at times. From this new perspective the line that divided the schizophrenia from the spiritual realm became obscure, if there was one. But it was her reality, and knowing from experience any judgement on my part would just cause resistance, and trying to change her perception would not be helpful (or ethical) and only result in conflict. I found the best fit for me in her life was to be a source of unconditional support, and one way I was able to do this was in entertaining her reality (the exception being when it put her in harms way). Although I never fully articulated this to my sister, I found that this attitude shift changed our relationship. Reserving judgement, I became more accepting of her spiritual experiences and I believe she picked up on this. I became a safer person in her life and as a result my presence in her life was more readily received by her. In recent years she became more open to sharing some of her spiritual encounters as I became more open to listening to them.

So you can probably see how this could have initially triggered an immediate defensive and undeserving feeling around attaining this painting, bringing me back to that attitude early in her diagnosis. After sitting on this for a few days, and upon further inquisition I was told that Niki (in spirit) had come through to Niki (on earth) expressing that she felt this was her best painting and it was her wish that I have it...which struck me as a very Niki (sister) thing to say.  The message from Niki (friend) read "While I love it dearly, I love the idea of you having it more." Just as my perception of my sister's spiritual experience changed, my perception on this situation began to shift. Plus, her eager willingness to part with this gift was the confirmation I needed to let go of my reservations around receiving this painting.

At this point in my life I am not sure what I believe about the afterlife or how I would define spirituality. It is a vulnerable subject and from what I know of myself, I am not sure I will ever come to a strong conclusion, I kind of like to sit somewhere in the arena of 'anything is possible.' I have ideas I like more than others, about spirituality and connection and energies beyond scientific proof. I take to heart little coincidences that seemingly take place at the most significant times and in just the right places.  I have a feeling this (spirituality) is something I will always be exploring for myself.  What I know and what I believe will likely be ever-changing based on my experiences and a growing understanding of myself. And, I suppose, the mystery of not knowing for sure combined with the flexibility in choosing what I want to believe are part of the appeal of remaining permeable in my beliefs.

I know that I do believe in allowing each individual the right to a religion or spirituality that serves them best, and I hope that they would do the same for me. In testing this story on a few of my most trusted people I found myself saying, "While I'm not sure I believe in the possibility of my sister channelling through to a living human, I don't not believe in the impossibility of it." Each person I spoke to was affected deeply, in their own way likely influenced by their own belief system. But what I found common among each of them was their validation & acceptance of my experience in this situation, reserving all judgements, sensitive to the emotional hold this event had on me. It has occurred to me, despite any differences in their own spiritual understanding, they each put their beliefs aside to celebrate the significance of this story to me, while empathizing with the way I was affected. They opened their minds and sat with me in my experience, even if just for a second.

 So I sent my address, let the situation settle in my mind, and put it out of focus for a few days.

Then the painting showed up at my door. Opening the package brought much excitement, as I imagine the birthday packages I used to send to my sister would have. The painting was much larger than I had envisioned and more beautiful in real life, matching the colours in my house beautifully. I found myself overcome by a much different feeling in receiving the painting than I had in receiving the initial message. I felt a deserving recipient of this beautiful piece and found some amusement in the idea, or possibility, of this painting being sent to me by my sister from the afterlife. I hung it proudly in my hallway and whenever I notice it I imagine my sister greeting me with a little 'hi,' in that playful manner she so often embodied.

In reflection, a couple important lessons have come from this:

One, I'm learning that some things are not meant to be held onto forever. This painting, once one of (friend) Niki's most prized possessions has now become one of mine. She receives more satisfaction in the thought that it brings me closer to my sister than in keeping it for herself. This is generosity at its purest and makes me rethink my attitude toward my possessions and their fluid purpose in my life. It helps me to better understand the habitual theme in my sisters life of letting go of material things, because she got more fulfillment out of the idea of someone else needing them than in keeping them herself. This thought brings attention to the not so coincidental coincidence that I received this painting through someone, who not only shared my sister's name, but based on this brief encounter, eerily appears similar in character as well.

Two, I am reminded that keeping an open mind is one of the greatest gifts you can offer to another and also to yourself. Opening my mind to possibilities fostered a bond that brought my sister and I closer together, bringing a greater acceptance between us and allowed us to share things that we wouldn't have otherwise. It also created a shift in the way I felt about receiving this painting and enabled an appreciation for this exchange that would not have otherwise occurred. And I'm not sure I would be willing to share this story here had my friends reacted differently to my experience and my perception of the whole situation. Keeping an open mind to another's experiences, putting yourself in their place, and accepting their experiences without judgement is, in my belief, the greatest nourishment for developing the deepest of connections, and the perfect recipe for bringing people closer together.