Inspiration, Respiration, Whatever - Just Breathe!

In today's world of increasing tensions, we have forgotten how to breathe - to breathe deeply of life's beauty, and to truly comprehend what that beauty means.   We are constantly shallow breathing, gulping at the problems and troubles that surround us, until our poor lungs give up waiting for the healthy air they need in order to open up, and we lose consciousness or awareness.

There is beauty to inhale everywhere we look, if we are focused on seeing it; those beautiful coloured leaves flying through the air, a little bird sitting on a branch singing with all its might;  I am looking down now at the crocheted throw on my lap - each stitch the work of our niece's loving hands;  I let myself breathe in the sound of her infectious laugh.  The act of sorting out the negatives to leave room for those pieces of positive is an essential breathing exercise.   I am even deep breathing the sight of that squirrel who is now running off with our last tomato!

Each season brings its own unique gifts, as do we all; Note to self:  breath in all of their beauty before they move on - at least that's the advice a little violet gave me:

Miss Violet's Wisdom

One bright Spring day,  while gardening,

Amidst my flowering throng,

Pulling weeds,

Planting seeds,

I sang a cheery song;

A bumble bee said, "Pardon Me,

You're picking from my row!   

Move on, move on,

Just get along,

And don't forget your hoe!"

A tiny violet touched my hand,

And said, "For goodness sake!

That bee was rude,

 Such attitude -

He always wants to take;

I love your song,

 I'll nod along;

Why not put down the rake?"

And since the sun was very hot,

I sat down for a break;

"Why all the fuss?", Miss Violet said,

"And why your worried brow?

Don't you see the beauty

That's all around you now?

And, don't you know how lovely

Are the smiles you strew about,

Those cheerful flowers from deep inside,

Are the prettiest, no doubt.

When you think your garden's messy,

That your efforts are in vain,

Remember why you planted it,

What you hoped to gain,

You're a part of life's great chorus,

So smile, and sing again!"

Homeless Minstrels

“I like to inspire people who are still struggling like I was,” said Arcand, seated at a piano in Ambrose Place, “from being on the street, sleeping outside, going to shelters. Because I love people. I play for people."

These are the words of an Edmonton homeless man, Ryan Arcand, whose spontaneous piano performance was posted on the internet where it went viral;  He died in March.   He had been living in a supportive housing complex for a few months while struggling with a developmental disability, trauma, and mental illness which threw him into the downward spiral of addictions.  Piano was his one positive coping tool, and he was happy that his talent got acknowledged - a rare thing for people who are marginalized.            exerpted from Global News report, March 7, 2018

Homelessness is about more than not having a roof over our heads; mental health issues leave many feeling truly lost and homeless.  It is difficult to know how to respond to these issues effectively; where and how to help.  As human beings, we all , from time to time, jump to quick conclusions about others; We can be very  quick to judge our fellow man without knowing all of the facts.  I wrote the following piece in hopes of bringing the issue into the limelight and possibly generating some positive action.   

Inspired by his selflessness and humble brilliance, I wrote this piece,

 for Ryan:

An enigma stood,

Guitar in hand,

A  homeless minstrel on the street;

With  music playing in his head,

Words and chords came pouring out;

They formed without his knowing

Where the song was going,

What his final note would be,

Who would meet his eyes and see

The dream that he was sowing;

At home within his song he dwelt,

And welcomed in whoever came;

His door was never locked or barred;

Though rains came down and times were hard;

Lost in his own reverie,

He played his spirituality,

Free from ego, free from shame;

We met his eyes and urged him on,

And, listening to his gift of song,

Marvelled at his spirit free,

Winced at his humility;

Touched by tinges of remorse,

That pulled our hearts with gentle force, 

We checked our judgement at his door,

And  gaily clapped along;

A song is given each of us,

Placed into our care;

We cannot fully comprehend

The power of each note that we send

Into a world that needs to see

That we are all one family,

That each voice adds its colour to

One symphony we share..

The Dream Train

'I was trying to daydream, but my mind kept wandering.'   - Steven Wright

A recent issue of 'Discovery' magazine had an interesting article in it about the overlooked importance of daydreaming - who knew?  Apparently, it is when our minds are given the freedom to explore and  travel to wherever the moment takes it, that revelations occur; when a completely unrelated dream can lead us to look at a problem in a whole new way.  For all of you fellow daydream travellers out there - all aboard!

            The Dream Train

There's a train that comes by often,

A muse who calls to me,

"Come hop aboard, forget your work,

Let's see what we can see!"

"No ticket will be needed,

No carry-on", says she;

”Only thoughts will be collected,

And dreams can travel free."

It picks  me up at random,

While my mind is caught off guard,

Floating on a piece of  music,

Or wandering  through the yard.

It leaves at no particular time

And often takes detours,

There's food for thought in the dining car,

Where imagination stirs;

Travelling in my private car,

Alone, I ride along,

Oblivious to the outside world,

Lost in my own song,

         

So quiet is the engine,

You can miss time passing through,

Till you wake -  the ride is over,

And a dream steps off with you!

"I Don't Know How To Love Him."

 

"I don't know how to love Him."

For me, that line, sung by Mary Magdalene, and later by Judas,  in the rock opera, 'Jesus Christ Superstar' was a wake-up call.

 It is our tradition at this time of the year, just before the celebration of Easter, to take out our recording of that rock opera and spend some quiet time just listening.   Each time that we do,  My husband and I are transported back to the year 1973.  There, in the living room of our small home in Osgoode, we gathered with a group of good friends and shared an idea that was inspired by a project that my father-in-law's church in Montreal had very successfully taken on.  A group of young people there had put on a slide and light presentation using the music from the original recording.

 Why couldn't we?

 With the support of our Parish Priest and members of  St. Brigid's Church - which ranged from hesitant at first to completely enthusiastic by its completion, we shared, debated, and grew with the project.  Through the cold Winter months we met in a warm atmosphere of excitement and camaraderie as we delved into the Easter story and all of the deep meanings and ramifications of that 'story' as they were presented in the Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice musical.

 Our idea was to immerse the audience in a richer experience with lighting effects and slides, bringing a visual dimension to the music, to provoke deeper thought.  We gathered and perused hundreds of pictures of everyday objects and people, which, viewed in the light of the music,  became not ordinary, but extraordinary!  We even created some of our own with shadow pictures (I'm thinking Tommy Kelly with a makeshift crown of thorns and a robe).  We were challenged both intellectually and spiritually to confront the interpretation of the 'truths' as put forth in the original production.  On Good Friday, we were nervous but ready.  There was no need to worry - All of the controversial aspects of the production were forgotten in an atmosphere of surprisingly deep reflection.

After Jesus spoke his final words:  "It is finished.   Father, into your hands I commend my Spirit."

there was complete silence, and then a beautiful musical interlude. With a spectre ball casting starlight about the darkened church, no one wanted to move or speak - It was truly a powerful unspoken prayer - one in which we each asked of ourselves:  "How do I love Him?"