Only from the heart can you touch the sky. (Rumi)

30 08 2011

Oh, Rumi. How you can transcend time and still make sense after 800+ years. Your words speak inmeasurable volumes of  deep spiritual awareness and simple love.

I wondered what Rumi would say of friendship:

“Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”

“Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in
another form.”

“You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl
through life?”

This whirling dervish, this Sufi poet, this Persian wordsmith who seemed to hold the hand of The Beloved. This man has touched our souls before we even became into existence. His wisdom forms more concrete sustainability now more than ever.

As a friend, as being a friend, these words resonate even more deeply than I would have ever imagined.

You see, friendship is a funny thing. These people whom we choose to be connected with, whom we are not tied to by formality and fidelity. Rather, these friends have evoked similar conciousness, drive and passions in our own selves. They mirror what we want to be, they draw out our own unique abilities and amazing qualities. We aspire to be more like them as they do with us.

Friends can make us laugh and love more deeply.

Alas, they can also wound us deeper than we could ever imagine. A curt word, an argument, an unspoken vow of devotion can be broken in an instant. How so? How can lifelong friends cease to be over mere words and a differing opinon?

Why do we not vow to our friends what we vow to our spouse? How can we fight with our spouse, hurling hateful words and spitting anger and yet still go to bed sooner or later, wrapped in our lover’s arms? Why should friendship be so different? Sexuality aside, friendship can sometimes be more deeper than marital vows. How can anyone fathom abandoning a life-long friendship because of an argument? It wouldn’t lead to a divorce in a married couple. Why should it lead to a dissolution of a deep relationship between friends?

I have witnessed this a few times. I have gone through it personally once. It is so devastatingly sad to see friends break up. Oh, I wish how my simple words could repair wounded hearts. Mine, others, yours.

Life itself we know is too short to forgo forgiveness. We all speak knowingly of the truth but do we live it? Do we tangibly reach out even though we think the other is at fault? Do we really believe what we preach through clichés and adages? Do we knowingly let go of ego and accept our OWN shortcomings in order to heal a relationship?

I know that sometimes, I do not.

I hope that I will some day. As I hope that we all will be able to do.



Eeeewwwww, gross!

29 08 2011

It takes a LOT to gross me out. Look, I have wiped every manner of poopy bums, snot-encrusted noses and puddles of puke in the wee hours of the night (while holding a vomiting, crying child). I have gutted chickens, helped skin a cow, witnessed childbirth on five different occasions, NOT including my own. I’ve poked a dead, bloated racoon in the heat of a July morning, just for the giggles. When I was gifted a microscope as a child, I sought out dead critters in the backyard to dissect and examine. I’ve caught live bats, snakes, lizards and shrews (the latter, a live one released by my cat in my kitchen bit me as I threw the ungrateful bastard to freedom and I had to have a tetanus shot as my reward… LOL).

Bugs too, enthrall me with their amazing diversity. From the sweet imaginative ladybugs to the ferocious murderers of the spider world, every manner of insect and arachnid proves to me the tenacity of Mother Nature. I think bugs are fascinating, worthy of our utmost respect.

Except earwigs.

Earwigs hold no place in my heart. From the way they slither and fall from a wet towel accidentally left outside overnight, exposing their guilt by scuttering away seeking another dark and damp place to hold their vigil with the devil. What, I ask is their purpose? Spiders catch insects that annoy us. Wasps even will eat aphids, thus being a beneficial critter to have around my roses. Even mosquitoes provide the very food for the birds and bats and other rad little bugs that I enjoy witnessing in my very own yard.

But earwigs are the spawn of Satan himself, I am sure. From the way they abhor light and their icky pincers on their backsides; they lead me to revulsion. I cringe when I see those nasty things. I was pinched as a child by one of those insects. The tales of them crawling into some oblivious victim’s ear and eating their brains has stayed with me like a nasty chili fart that won’t evaporate. I know in reality that they don’t do that, but still…. still, it IS a possibility… Right?

Yet, as a lover of all creatures, I never squish those little bastards. I let them go, assuring myself that they too have a purpose in this world. I don’t know what that may be and I am sure that it isn’t that important. Other than grossing me out, they serve me no harm.

Still. I cannot find it within me to admire the earwig. Even the name is disgusting. Who named this insect? WHY on EARTH would you call it an earwig? It conjures up every manner of slithery secretive scuttling I can imagine.

Actually, then, come to think of it, earwig is the perfect name for a perfectly disgusting creature.

These eight weeks.

18 08 2011

The end of August is closer to us now than the beginning. But my (our) summer experience has only just swung into full-on summertime mode. July was rainy and cool, disheartening for the simple reason that we all felt let down by Summertime, that magical goddess of sun-browned shoulders, the smell of coconut, copious amounts of watermelon and visits to our beloved Queen’s Bay Beach. Gardens were sluggish. Flowers bloomed with sighs of lackadaisical vigour. Rain felt so wrong.

As August started to wax into existence, the weather got hotter. The sun shone as if she owned the sky. No clouds were seen. I know it’s that deep hotness of summertime when brown spots appear on my lawn. That lush greenness of June fades and heat takes over. I adore it. The waters of Kootenay Lake finally became indulgent. Swimming to the dock isn’t a matter of counting down from three and gasping out loud when finally plunging into the water, biting that icy bullet. Going in the lake is more of a lazy meander, as the heat from the sun tightens the skin of our arms and back; we seek that liquid relief. That coolness of the water feels right; it’s  not a grasping bite but a revitalizing thirst-quencher.

The sounds too. Those distant motors, whether boat, motorcycle or mower. Shouts of people, children laughing, wasps and bees humming, squirrels barking furious orders to passing dogs below… I can always nap outside in the summertime. Give me a hammock, a beach blanket or a recliner and I will snooze for hours…… The sounds of summer are hypnotic and meditative. The air has a heavier manner, breathing feels richer. Am I crazy or is summer really this good? I hear people talk of despising the heat and I am so confused. I love most of all not having to deal with too many clothes. No toques and pants and scarves and mittens. A pair of shorts and a tank top, bathing suit handy, flip-flops on and I am good to go. No make-up most days either. I have found love for my bare face, tinged slightly brown.

The end of August brings bittersweet sorrow. We have to let go of agenda-less days, we need to prepare for school mornings and lunches and routine. Yet, the weather often stays brilliant well into September. I have been known to swim right to the end of the month. But still. Sadness of saying our goodbyes to summertime overshadows the beauty of the coming fall.

I embrace all the seasons, though. I think it helps us appreciate what we love the most about our favourite part of the year. For some it isn’t summer. But for me, it is.