Choosing Grace

I am fueled with purpose! Here to give, receive, contribute to the important greater picture. I have so much to offer and my energy is contagious! Smiles come easily and generously. I engage genuinely with everyone I converse with. I am a powerful light filled force leaving a radiant energy in my path!

I knew I was swimming in it but I didn’t want to admit it. Being, feeling, accelerating felt too good to pass it up to a manic state, I wanted to own it as a success, a showing of the work I have been doing. Knowing all too well, however, that to take full ownership of this high meant very well that I would have to do the same for the low that would follow. But I kept it under the radar to a point. And any enthusiasms that burst out of me I allowed in moderation, I allowed them to drive me, my days and my interactions. I let them be a positive force in my days and hoped I wasn’t too much for anyone. Sluff it off as this is me, and if it’s too much for them, maybe that’s not my business. But I headed caution in wrapping my identity around the way I felt, as I had the sense that it was fleeting. I know the cycle, and life doesn’t get to feel this easeful all the time. So to just enjoy the current that has picked me up and carries me in the direction I wish to go. I sometimes leave interactions a little out of breath and aware that I did most of the talking, the expressing. Feeling a little questionable about what impression I may have made on them, that the out of control part of me slipped a bit. And again, I remind myself of the perfectly imperfection I humanly am, and just take advantage of the momentum fueling me and all that I am immersed in. Partly convinced that I will carry this momentum into new starts, partly aware of my limits, a cautionary whisper to give attention to boundaries.

Then the tell-signs start to leak in. Waking up feeling tired, blah. But find the thermal current and sail eventually, it just takes a bit into my day to find that familiar momentum. I keep up. Then I start to forget. Nothing specific, just random details, or what I scheduled for tomorrow, as if parts of my brain are covered with fuzzy static. Magnetic thoughts, the same go-to fantasies that bring me feelings of comfort in sad moments, and sad in comfortable moments. Losses, what-if’s, anywhere but here and now, drifting into alternate realities. Criticism find the microphone, assumptions of rejection and worst case scenarios. It is here when I am confronted with the reality of the sinking ship, slowly and steadily, but inevitable, seawater swirling around my ankles. I notice I start to avoid bedtime and sleep in. I pace in dissatisfaction of lack of productivity melded with muddy concentration. I ask my partner to repeat what he just told me, slower, as the words tangled as they enter my comprehension. The list that was created while in full power mode still applies, but I start to fall behind, as my ability to function at an optimal pace falters.

This is where it counts. What I do here will determine what’s next. I’ve been through this cycle so many times I know my options. There are two:

One.

I cling to the coulds and want-to’s, which have now transformed into shoulds and have-to’s so tightly my flame fizzles out, my flicker goes dark. I am in a cloud of sad. I bask in the shame that confirms the notion I am not good enough. I know this place well. There’s a security in it, in declaring victim status, a reason to bring out the invisibility cape and retreat. I look for all the ways I can identify with this state, claiming blame, claiming shame, claiming lame.I own it and assume irresponsibility all at once. I latch to the spiral that confirms my insignificance and isolate. Nobody understands me, I have nothing to offer, I am not worthy of being loved. Still I long to be saved. I wallow in the non-truths, the not-haves, the impossibles. I stay here a while, until things get bad in my marriage, or the kids start to change how they interact with me. Until something seemingly important enough finds a switch, and in the abrupt change of light I snap out of it, and start the treacherous climb back out. Only in surrendering to the force pushing me down do I start to drift into the pockets that have somehow dodged the current, and start to rise up. The less I push back the more naturally I float to the surface. I find air again. I start to breath again. I survive. I start to repair the holes in my raft, looking back trying to find traces of grace in what I just experienced.

Two.

My flame is smaller but still there and my most important job is to protect it from going out. So I shift in expectations, slow down and prioritize my needs. It changes dynamics in my relationships a little, but I know enough to know it is needed to ease through this. Shoulds and have-to’s are no longer in my vocabulary, or at least they are hushed. I pay cautious attention to what my heart is calling for, choosing to love to nurture the ache I feel inside over the expectation to nurture what I so easily took care of in my previous momentum. My boat needs less weight so I let some go. Relieve expectations, set aside my need to please, shift my focus inward enough to stay tuned into my environment. My attention is balanced between tending to my needs and hauling water out of my boat, managing safe levels for the time being, until I find the tools for greater repair. I rest when I feel the need to rest. I say no when I feel my energy sink at the thought of saying yes. I pay close attention to what weighs me down and what lifts me up moment to moment, responding accordingly and not taking hold of the strings the shame tries to hand over when I choose myself. I choose not to take company to those worth-crushing voices that call up to me, and laugh off their attempts. I know this game. I know what you are trying to do. Not fallin’ for it today, chum. Today I choose love and grace. I choose to define my worth innately, not how others may perceive me, not by the stories, nor how my level of functioning compares now to yesterday.

...

I notice something in option two, which is not as familiar to me. 

Moments of bliss. Moments of joy, mixed in between the sorrowful layers. And with these moments,a sort of permission in the letting go. In the un-identifying, un-judging. Permission to feel, to bounce between ups and downs beneath this overlaying cloud I normally call depression. But to let go of the label, is to release the grips of it. To let go of the depressed-not depressed duality mentality brings an allowance to feel the moment. Making room to move between sadness and joy in a moment’s notice.

This is OK?

When I am allowed to be what I am, there is no expectation to be anything else. Expectations released, judgement released, only leaving room for the grace of being, and feelings flow freely. No one more or less important than another when we remove the expectations; they just are,I just am.

And this IS OK!

A vessel opens inside of me and I can breath more easily, regardless of how I am perceived, regardless of circumstances, regardless of yesterday...regardless. A softening forming in my congested body. I find bliss even in sadness, comfort in acceptance, and full immersion in the moment of here and now. Even in the appearingly mundane surroundings, miracle hints through the fullness of presence. What I felt before and what I will feel later do not have to define what I feel now.

A brightening intelligence in me letting go of the security that ties me to the past and future imaginings, even finding thrills in the freedom of moving with such ease through the current current. Of letting go of the need for control, by reaching towards acceptance and trust. Acceptance of the now, trust in the here. Significance rises in this current state I find myself in, purpose in the slowing down, returning into myself.

Bliss accompanied by sorrow. Ha! It is all so curious, isn’t it? When you can let go of the world how you grew up to know, and open to something new in the flow. It turns out the significance isn’t out in those far away places from which I have retreated, but within arm’s reach any time I choose to choose.

I’'ll take option two, please.

To Log On or Off....Again

I'm so overwhelmed. I am overwhelmed by everything going on around me and everything going on within me. There really is no escaping from it. But maybe there are things I can do to lessen it. Sometimes I do that by not leaving my house, sometimes even not leaving my bed. I escape into fixes, some are healthy, others not. One in particular has been coming to battle in my conscience. I have been feeling an urge to get off social media again. But then the idea of it brings on panic. Which, probably, is the very reason I should log off. 

I have a lot of problems with social media and its play on our mental health, yet I am in there with a shirt as dirty as the next guy. I'm sort of aware of the ways I am being manipulated by the platform, and my consented participation (and refusal to read the fine print) is kind of an agreement to let myself be manipulated. But then I get a sense that I am not as aware as I think. So I am aware that I am unaware of many ways technology is making me mad. 

I've taken breaks from Facebook and I can say I have had no regrets in doing so. The only regrets I have are the ways I re-entered the scene just to get convincingly sucked back in and folded ever so neatly right back into those addictive patterns. I can't help but notice that part of this familiar cycle I am in, willingly manipulated by the algorithms of my phone. yuck. I suppose though, its like any addiction. Even through admittance, the 'it' still controls the joystick.

So I have myself, from an observer perspective, sitting here in my house, surrounded by my overwhelm, contemplating my next move. Do I quit Facebook? Panic. But all the what ifs! What if I need Facebook to sell my art or make connections? But what if I need a Facebook account to participate in this online course I am taking? But what if I am not in the loop? What if I miss out!? What if I get lonely? What if I have a RESPONSIBILITY to stay on for everyone who follows me (aaaaaaaaagh!)?

Ha! I know the thing making me most lonely is probably social media...and my sense of self, which some days hangs on the marionette strings of social media. 

(Meanwhile I ignore the subject of Instagram, because obviously Instagram is not a problem. Even though it is run by the same company. And probably uses the same manipulations. And likely does the same tricks to keep pulling me in. But no, Instagram isn't a problem.)

This what if anxiety or FOMO (fear of missing out) comes from the addiction, all this behaviour I choose to feed the addiction feeds the anxiety, a perpetual cycle so loud that it drowns out voice of the logic. So I know all this. I am subtly aware, yet I still choose it. At what point do I make myself accountable, and at what point do I take this accountability to make a change? I have taken on a victim role enough times in my life to know its limited capacity that confines me to its illusionary boundaries.

So what if I quit social media? It seems a little goofy this is even a blog-worthy topic, as my embarrassed fingers type this out. But I cannot deny how big a part of my life social media has become, so yes, I guess it kinda is. What if I replaced the time I spend scrolling with sketching....working towards a dream I have rather than escaping from it into my smartphone? What if I used that time learning a new joke from my 8 year old, or teaching my 10 year old to make a friendship bracelet, or building a lego truck with my son? What would I be missing? Or should I say, what wouldn't I be missing?

Zooming out on my life helps to put things into perspective. From a birds eye view, taking this here and now as a blip in time, allows me to see what is important . What will serve me and mine not just now, but down the road, and the bigger picture? It also helps with the overwhelm, suddenly down-playing all the important-seeming stuff around me on the ground I stand upon. Truthfully, at the end of my life this minor debate may not matter much. What will matter is that I did the best I could with what I had. And what I have now is choice, neither right or wrong, but each a gateway to separate paths. 

I close my eyes and tune in. I think about staying on Facebook. It's comfortable in an overwhelming kind of way. Perhaps the overwhelm is part of the addiction. It's familiar and what I currently know. Then I think about logging off. It's uncomfortable...but yet there's a sense of liberation in this prospect, a detachment of the strings on my will, a shift in focus. And when I listen a little deeper, there is a quiet yet resounding voice, undoubtedly saying, "do it."

anger, recalibration and trust

I've been 'managing' a lot of anger lately. It has been surfacing like its my job to learn how to manage it for the first time. Not driven by any one thing in particular, the triggers and targets of my expressions often happen to be what is in front of me at the time, mainly my family, and unfortunately typically undeserving to those around me. I understand there is an element here of adjusting to going off my meds, and although it has been a month since I have weaned off completely, I am still adjusting to the changes in emotional intensity that I experience. But I know the anger to be rooted more deeply and perhaps a congestion of much more than present circumstances. 

I recently became aware of how I shame and suppress anger, how it transforms into depression. This feels like a safer way to manage it, but I also now see the ways it does not benefit me. I envision it like a pop can. With anger it is crumbled but still a recognizable container, just distorted. In depression it is flattened from the top, so compressed that it has started to transform into something completely different, like a coin that has been run over by a train. They are both made up of the same elements, but take on very different forms, and whereas the crumbled can has much more presence and outward story, the flattened can almost disappears from the horizon.  It's presence is minimal and it no longer functions as it was originally meant to.

With this awareness of how I take anger and push it down into a form that has less impact on the world around me but more compacted within me when transformed, there is an automatic release. A closing of that valve and permission to let my freak-out flag fly. It is as if a cage inside me has been unlocked, the door opened, and the anger released to fly freely within me, and with out. It feels too soon, too fast. Whereas I have been given suggestions through counselling on ways to recognize and release this emotion in healthy ways, it still manages to gravitate the quickest exits, the holes that have already been carved and I find I am lashing out at those closest to me and taking on victim roles, rather than taking the steps to release it in a controlled way. I suppose this is often how I learn, mistaking, imperfection exposed, guilt, then correction. I have also been advised that this is a pattern and not the only choice (they say it doesn't have to be hard).

I could say it is because I have been 'quarantined' with my family and given a lack the space to navigate this without constant disruption. But I know better. I know this is a factor but not a cause. And I know I have the freedom to prioritize. I know I have tools to work with my emotions and accountability to hold up on my end. I have a growing compassionate relationship with myself that I choose to access or block. I see how the history plays in here, and this understanding has the potential to build rooms for each grace and victimhood. Again, my choice. I haven't quite found the lights in the room of grace yet. The victim room is one I know much better, and frankly, more familiar. My job is to stop going for quick access and comfortable if I want to change these patterns, and prevent new ones from digging their feet in.

And in this awareness I do see this happening. That door to the depression room is more often closed. I find myself less and less attracted to its colours. I wonder, is this what breaking up from depression looks like for me?

Maybe that is it. Maybe that is why it feels hard right now, as I am attempting to break the easy and comfortable habits and to forge an alternative path in my growth. Perhaps I need to give myself the grace in this adjustment period and lean on trust that I have it in me, over the guilt built into the stories I tell about how this is affecting those I feel responsible for. The challenge is to lean into the trust over what I have always known to be my (perceived) truth. To cut the stitches that bind me so tightly to the identity keeping me small and so close to the ground. To face the pain that I have pushed down to avoid, and learn in my resilience that it will never completely take me out. To trust the anger that I have avoided a relationship with most of my life. To trust that there is another side to this, and I that am on the right path.

A Consolidation with the Past

Some days, when the heavy fogs choke my view, I seek resolute in the vibrancy of the past. Of those colour-shifting moments, which defined, so conceivably, what life was like before and what life is like after. Such as those five days that took place almost twenty years ago, conversations that reached depths I had never experienced before. A little retreat of the imagination, an attempt to makes something out of the lasting friendship that almost began. There's a sacredness, in which I desperately hold onto and seek solace, that belongs to this first-of-its-kind soul connection, one that I was told was not okay to keep in the context of my life. I had put it away in the back pocket of my heart, out of sight, coated in shame, wedged between right and wrong. It was only more than a decade later, through new before-and-after defining moments, that I unlocked the door to its cage to let truth in and pain out, did the narrative begin to alter. Through the example of another love lost, and I began to see it for the depth it possess rather than through the tint of my faults. As I navigate my way back to truth, under the guidance of my soul, the lenses begin to drop. I come back to the past with a clearer view. The longing that has been seeking refuge is finding its home in acceptance, and resolve in Truth.

Tomorrow

About a year ago, in a moment of unshakable confidence I made a decision to book my first solo art exhibit. I had only sold a handful of paintings in my life, and only one completed painting in my collection. But it just felt absolutely right and undoubtedly doable. Three weeks later my moods took a swan dive into murky depths and the reality of this commitment started to anchor me down. It felt a lot bigger than me. Which I suppose was the culprit of the anxiety behind the pressure, but also, I later found out, a grounding force with a greater intention in mind. Because when I commit to something, my word sticks. It kept me consistently creating throughout the year, and I learnt the powerful therapeutic benefits of time dedicated to creation throughout all my highs and lows. Once acquainted, when I became alone with the paint and canvas, I zoned into the present moment in which all the things outside my door no longer had a say.

It wasn't all a free flow of rainbows. I struggled at times in creative rut, and I learnt that those times were not for making good art, but for free play - experimentation and outlet of expression. Other times I persisted through stubborn works until I came out on top. While some paintings flowed and came together within a few hours, others took months of fiddling with  until, at some point, deemed 'good enough to call done' and acceptance that it was time to move on. And then others never got finished, painted over, or completely transformed into something foreign from the original intention. Much like a few of my troubled relationships over that time, some were meant to fight for and others were meant to be valued as teachers. For the ones I had to put away I learnt to value the time spent with them, the roles they played for the time they were in my life, and the lessons that came from them. The paintings too.

Although made in the peak of a high cycle, this decision turned out to be among the most grounding of all my choices. It kept me accountable and taught me so much. It became the reason I didn't take on so many other projects, preventing over-commitment in those creativity surges that taunt me every so often. When everything felt so out of control, my studio became my safe place, and painting became the one thing that belonged to me and only me, nobody could take that from me.  Completing paintings was a constant exercise in the confronting perfectionism. No painting is perfect. I will pick out flaws in every single one of my works. But I knew if I aimed for perfection, I would never be done. And I wouldn't have a single completed piece to hang in my show. An exercise in letting go.

Art-making has helped me build a relationship with my intuition. In life, trust in my inner guide has been a big barrier to really knowing myself. Throw anxiety and ego in there and it can be hard to decipher. When you lose touch with that voice you lose direction. You live according to others rules and you spend most of your time searching for purpose, happiness, and validation. It is an unstable thing to rely on others to guide you. Listening to my inner voice has become a major part of my growth, but I sometimes struggle to hear it, and often do not trust it. Building this trust has taken me through some pretty major trials this past year, through both loss and gain, and I can honestly say very much a work in progress.  But in practicing this trust in safe spaces, such as through my art, has been very affirming. You see, if you try to make art with the sole intention of meeting specific expectations, creativity is stunted. For me it doesn't even wiggle. Knowing this I've had to work at creating intuitively and trust that the outcome will suffice. It is the artwork that I was able to immerse myself fully in process that I believe are my best works, my most expressive and the ones that bring out the deepest emotional reactions from the viewers. Recognizing the more I trust my decisions, through my heart rather than my head, the better my art becomes, the more powerful and in line with my vision it becomes.

Making my show a reality has been one of the biggest confidence boosts I've had in a long time. Since hanging my work in the gallery it has created a new energy that has propelled me through the month. For the first time in about three years I find myself craving physical exercise, trying new recipes, and getting more involved in community projects. I've been reacquainted with that vaguely familiar desire to venture beyond my comfort zone. My relationships are flowing, and I have never felt more supported by the people around me. I still have my challenges, mood cycles, grief, checked out days, battles with perfectionism, anxiety, and chronic pain...to name a few...but I somehow move through it all so differently. I would say the good days, even when I'm low, outlast the bad ones. These have been the toughest few years of my life. Yet I feel more fulfilled and in tune with myself than ever.

Tomorrow is my exhibit reception. People have been asking me all day how I feel about it and expressing their excitement in the shared anticipation. I've spent the day only finding half my breath. Perfectionism is whispering all the things I would like to do before tomorrow, paralyzing me into non-action. Countered by a voice telling me to trust in universe, the day will go as it is exactly meant to be and it will be great. Anxiety has me overwhelmed simply by the thought of being the center of attention in a packed venue of people who know me (perhaps a little more once they see my art). Excitement walks along its side in anticipation of the atmosphere that will be created through the collective energy of all the great people who choose to be there. So many feels, I've been unable to stay on top of the tension building up in my body. But ultimately, regardless of what I do between now and then, tomorrow will come and and tomorrow will go. And if I have learnt anything in this journey, it is the value of presence. To release the claws of all the fears and expectations and to just  soak it in, every last drop. To value all parts of this experience, allowing myself to feel worthy of the joys of accomplishment, finding light in the challenge of making it through. To experience the offering I have created for others, and to celebrate all the support I have received along the way. Tomorrow feels like a big deal, as a mark in this pivotal period in my life, hard proof of the trust I have built with myself and others, and encouragement for what I move towards in the future.

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.