The Universe Has My Back

When I was young I had an imaginary friend. Two actually, but they were kind of one and the same. Their names were Boss and God. They were tall hairy friendly monsters. They lived in a tall skinny shed that resembled an outhouse, and had to duck to get through the door. I didn't have access to that door, so after a visit, I was left to my imagination's imagination to picture what was beyond it. I pictured a vast infinite world somehow fitting within the confines of that structure, full of mystery.

I was the fourth born of six within ten years, a sensitive introvert squeezed between two very extraverted siblings, so I spent a lot of time playing in boxes and closets away from all the noise. As the quiet one in a big family, I suppose having these friends to call my own gave me a sense of importance. When I talked about them people would listen and I felt heard. My sister was utterly jealous that I had imaginary friends and she didn't (hers would come later in life). I would often threaten to send Boss and God on my siblings when they would make me mad. They became my power in a world that felt a little beyond my control. When they were with me, everything was ok, because Boss and God had my back.

Now I think it's relevant to mention I did not grow up in a strongly religious household. I was moderately involved in the church, my family likely going because it was expected of us, as opposed to a dedication to the religion. We loosely followed the cultural Christian traditions and went to church on holidays. My parents, who came from Catholic and Lutheran families waited until we were old enough to decide whether we wanted to be baptized in the local United Church, I said yes because my older siblings did. In my youth I joined the church choir and youth group because, well, what else do you do in a town with a population of 40? And besides, I liked music and I liked community.

Let it be said, though, I have nothing against the church, in fact I appreciate and live by many of the same values I've been exposed to through church. I also appreciate the sense of community a church can provide, and at times have found myself envious of the devoted for a place to belong. However there was a lot that just didn't resonate with me, and in my inquisitive nature, I questioned the practice of following a set of beliefs that seemed to be coming from somewhere outside of me. Over the years I have come to accept that we all have different practices that serve us each in the way we need. In my limited theological knowledge, it appears that ultimately, when stripped away from human interpretation, most religions simply come down to a common core value: unconditional love.

So I grew up with a vague sense of spiritual identity, not unbelieving but unsure of where I fit in.  As adolescents and young adults we were so busy just trying to find our way in the material world, we didn't put much energy into developing a sense of spirituality, or perhaps did not feel a need to. However, in becoming a parent, I felt a kind of responsibility to help guide my children to develop their identity, so I've become a bit more invested. But it wasn't until I lost my sister that the searching really began.

Niki, who grew up in the same house, in fact the same bedroom as I did, developed a strong sense of spirituality much younger, through personal experiences. These experiences were often isolating to her in their own nature, and I think left her feeling ostracized in the conservative small-town life we lived. Through lack of understanding and fear, I usually attributed anything out of the ordinary, which was often, to her diagnosed schizophrenia. Niki, on the other hand believed her experiences were very real, and the tension between what was real to her and real to me divided us. Considering the circumstances, we maintained a fairly supportive long-distance relationship, but there was always dissonance in understanding when it came to anything spiritual.  I tried to believe her, I wanted to believe her, but her reality was not mine and I just couldn't be sure. Truth is, I found it all a bit scary.

It wasn't until after her passing that I began to gain insight into my sister, her mental health and her spirituality, through my own trials. It bothered me that I had found this new empathy, the very thing that stood between us when she was alive and felt confused as to why this was happening after the fact. In opening my mind and heart to possibility, I realized I was in no position to judge what was real and what was not, to her or to anyone. The connection I had felt lost between us the day she died started to show up again, and in this enlightenment I realized this developing empathy was not about her, after all. It was to help me find my way, and she is somehow guiding me along the way.

In the last conversation I had with my sister she asked me to label my spirituality. She wanted to categorize it into an established religion, and settled on buddha. I told her I didn't feel a need to label it, that it was just what it was and didn't really need to fit it into a box. Even in its infancy I seemed to know that it needed to come from a place of my own. Looking back, I can't help but consider that this conversation planted a seed to start my journey to find my spiritual identity.

Through my soul searching it occurred to me that I have the choice to see the world in a way that serves me best. The world was my oyster. I began to look within, finding podcasts, books and people that resonated with me, creating a custom fit outlook to suit me. It opened up conversations and I started to surround my life with like-minded souls.

As if a light flicked on, I found a sense of belonging, and suddenly the world didn't feel so heavy. Giving up some trust to the universe, I was able to let go of a need to control everything, and the world became much lighter and brighter. My identity became visible, my sprirituality more clearly defined.

Acceptance is my totem. Trust the process, my mantra. Love is my purpose. Moving with the flow of the Universal Will towards the potential of wholeness that I naturally am is my occupation. We find fulfillment through connection, and vulnerability is the path to this connection. I choose to believe there is more than one right answer, but the path I take is the exact one I need at the time. Everyone is good and if you give them a chance, it will be revealed. Pain has a vital role in growth, holding just as much value as joy. Everything happens for a reason and it is up to us to discover that reason and learn from it. The Universe has my back. To name a few...

I have come full circle to that childhood security, trust in a mysterious something bigger than myself to keep me safe. Perhaps, then, I knew where I belonged all along, I had just forgotten for a while.

Dreaming up a Dream

Last night I had a dream about my dream home. Placed in the ruralist of the prairies, on the outskirts of the smallest village you could imagine. Befriended by a wide view of the prairies - just field and living sky. Apple tress and peach trees grew fruitful within arms reach.

The road that led to this farmhouse was narrow, steep and curvy. The house had an abandoned look and no one had lived in it for some time, even the for sale sign was missing letters. In my dream Rod and I had decided to buy it on a whim, impulsively, something quite out of character for us. I kept bringing up this fact to others in confronting my fears on the decision. The old house was so big, beautiful, and full of flaws. The floors were heaving and tilted, I worried about the foundation being solid enough. The first day we got this house we had just planned to look at it and show it to my parents. But this turned into an exploration as we began to peel back cheap fixes to reveal the original structures beneath. Again revealing its innate beauty and potential, yet in dire need of maintenance. I flipped back and forth between feeling like it was so right for us to strong insecurities about the stability of the structure. With the insecurities the view out the windows transformed into a golf course, cityscape and disappointment.

People started showing up. Some were there to help, but most were there just to take up space, many acting reckless. At times I was naked or in just a robe. Vulnerability. More and more people came to visit. Before I knew it we were trying to entertain in a house that didn't properly function. The previous owners, a large extended family, came and expressed their grief over the house that they had abandoned. It wasn't good enough for them, but they mourned the loss of it and the changes being made. The house filled with people inside and out, coming and going. The toilets weren't working yet and the water was not usable, and people started to feel ill. It was chaos.

Sometimes when I wake up from a dream I instantly know there is a significance in its symbolism. A metaphor of something current I am dealing with in my life.

I've been drumming up a dream bigger than me. Initially as it flowed in it felt electric and each day brought more on it. I couldn't stop thinking about it, believing in it and telling others about it. They got excited and encouraged me with a "Yes!" It was an energetic momentum that propelled me through my days with an extra skip in my step. I saw a need in our community and an empty spot at the head of the table. I thought, "Why not me?"

It wasn't long for the anxiety to set in. At first I was blindsided by it hitting me at a time when I thought I was managing my mood cycles so well, the anxiety seemed out of character.  Until I realized that I don't sit too comfortable too long and I was transitioning into another expansion. One mountain conquered, onto the next. It was new, significant, and uncertain. Of course, anxiety. Whether it was the weight of the anxiety, intensity of the full moon, or natural flow of my cycles, the momentum slowed and I did too. I became a bit more grounded, facing many doubts about this dream, feeling a bit in over my head, and confused as to where to start and what it would look like. "Why me? What do I know about building a community up? What do I know about creating change this big?"

My love and fear for that farmhouse were a reflection of my feelings for this dream. Somewhere, deep down in my heart's centre I hold fast to this dream, despite the feelings and thoughts that try to knock it down. I hold onto the memory of the inspired moments and the energy they had created, the initial decision to make the purchase. Because, like that house, I see such a potential. In the dream I never once decided to give up on the house, despite the people that got in the way, and interestingly, throughout the dream, my parents and husband stayed committed to the renovations, understanding and sharing some of my doubts, but moving forward with willingness.

So in service to a greater purpose, I make a vow. When I lose momentum, I find the encouragement of my cheer team and rely on their energy to help me along. Acceptance is key. I know I will face resistance, people reluctant to change and people just getting in the way. Like moon and sun, winter and summer, this dream will be subject to its seasons.  There will be a time to work on the dream house, and there will be a time to stay idle, I am reminded to not rush through the process if I want to ensure a solid foundation. Accept the difficulties as part of a building process. Small steps, bottom up, trust, patience, teamwork. Remain fixed on its potential beauty. And most of all, remain tuned into my heart's greatest desires, the originator of this dream.