Where I hang my heart

Yesterday was Gratitude Monday. Unfortunately it was also the final hurrah for the virus that has been clinging to me for dear life for the last week, so I was not up for my regular blog entry.  Tonight, having enjoyed a delicious home-cooked supper and some gluten free chocolate chip cookies still hot and soft from the oven, I am in much better shape for blogging :-).

The home-cooked meal, the cookies, and the heavenly bed I am lying in as I type this entry are all thanks to my good friends Ann and Stephen, who are, at this point, really more family than friends. It has been dawning on me lately that someone, somewhere in my extended family must have done something very, very right at some point, the effects on which are for some reason unknown to me manifesting themselves in my life in the form of exceptionally good fortune in the friend department. I am certain that Ann and Stephen will be simply thrilled that I have chosen this photo of us to post. Fortunately I am equally certain that they will forgive me by tomorrow morning -- it isn't in their genes to be irritated long.

Since returning to PEI a number of my friends have had me sleeping in their homes so much that it really is a miracle that they haven't had a restraining order taken out against me yet. The friends in the photo above are two such people. Although I did, for the record, move into an apartment a few weeks ago, when I came down with the virus that I have been fighting for the past ten days, Ann and Stephen suggested that I come stay at their place for a few days until I was feeling better. Little did they know that I would still be here five days later. Still.... after five days of good food, a cozy bed, hot baths and lots of hot tea and sleep, I am finally feeling a lot better, and am planning on moving back to my current home tomorrow afternoon.

As I was walking back to Ann and Stephen's house yesterday afternoon that old saying "home is where you hang your heart" came to mind, and I realized that Prince Edward Island is home because of the exceptional people living here who have opened their hearts and homes to me. And then I realized that in reality exceptional people are not exceptional here at all. Since returning to the island everyone I meet has been exceptional. Strangers help me out or offer a kind word on a regular basis. The public bus driver worries when I am not on the bus. People give me discounts or do not charge me knowing that I am living on a tight budget until I find full time work. People offer rides when I am tired. Friends turn up to walk with me when I take the dog that I am currently walking as a job for her daily walk when they can tell I am not feeling well. Friends invite me over to supper. Friends help me get to the doctor. Someone offers me paid work for the day at the farmer's market. Friends invite me into their homes to give me the chance to rest and heal when I am sick. I am surrounded by so many exceptionally kind and loving people that it has become the norm.

Many people have asked me why I moved back to Prince Edward Island after having left two years ago. Many of my friends do not really understand how I could choose this seemingly remote island in the north Atlantic over the sunshine state of California. I love islands because they are small and tightly knit. Everyone knows everyone else. Because there are so few people, every single person is important to the health and well being of the community. This means a greater degree of responsibility  on the one hand, but also a greater sense of mutual support and recognition of interconnectedness on the other. It should be this way everywhere, and some day I am sure it will be. For my part I am just grateful to know what it means to belong to a place and community. To want to be an active, responsible, engaged member of this island family. To love and know, without having to ask, that the love is coming right back at me. And to be certain in my core that I have a place and a valuable role to play on this vast and infinitely beautiful planet earth.

Rainy day

I was woken up this morning by the sound of the wind howling around the apartment building I am currently living in. I peeked through the curtains to see rain pelting the glass, melting snow, slush, and grey skies so solid you couldn't find a dot of blue if you used a magnifying glass. After a quick breakfast, some prayers to prepare for the next day of the Baha'i Fast, and a lovely hot shower I bundled up and headed out to catch the bus downtown. This morning I walked Chloe in the rain -- wearing a miniature raincoat! The two of us set out, spashing through puddles, slipping over thin layers of melting slush and ice, my hair blowing every which way. Her ears flapping. I had to smile at the two of us out there getting drenched in the rain.

Last night my friends did something incredible for me. They hosted a supper at their home, followed by a round of prayers to support me in my job-search efforts. Sitting in their warm living room surrounded by seven people all of whom I consider to be family rather than friends, I felt so humbled and moved by the fact that I have friends who care so deeply about my efforts to re-establish myself here on the island. After a delicious meal of hot curry and rice we sat and said some prayers. It is difficult to communicate how moving it is to sit in a room bathed in warm light and, with my eyes closed, and listen to the voices of my friends praying for my success in this process of finding full time work. Gratitude does not even begin to describe the feeling of having friends who love me so much that they are willing to take time out of their busy lives to come together and lend their spiritual energies to my enterprise.

After our prayers we enjoyed hot apple crisp dribbled with yoghurt and cups of tea while we shared stories and experiences from our lives, laughter, and our thoughts/hopes/desires for the days ahead.

The past few weeks have been incredibly difficult, and at the same time incredibly blessed. I still do not know how things will turn out, but I have this very definite certainty that I am in the right place, and that I need to just keep moving forward towards my goal, and that the pieces will eventually fall into place. This afternoon a friend who owns a tea company called to ask me if I would be willing to fill in for a sick employee at the farmer's market tomorrow! Making tea! I cannot wait! I get to go learn how to operate the machines this afternoon! This evening I will attend a youth group that I help facilitate. And tomorrow night I am babysitting a sweet two-year-old while his parents get to go out on a much-needed date! My social media work is continuing to go well. I am reading lots of books and taking webinars to continue improving my knowledge so that I can better serve my clients, and I am beginning to start contemplating my dream of owning a farm again. Yup. Life is good. Cannot wait for my tea-making lesson!

Island-bound

Some of my peeps from PEI that I will be seeing soon!

It is Tuesday evening. Tomorrow morning I will be rising at around 2.30am to get ready to head off to the airport. It is nice to be leaving a house that is still inhabited by people instead of an home emptied of furniture as is often what I see when I glance back into a space I am leaving. It has been a productive day--I think there is actually some chance of my actually getting to bed early enough to get some shut-eye before I have to be up and on the go again.

The next few days promise to be full of awesome people, joy, snow, and lots of hot tea, and I promise to share as much of my travels with you as I can, keeping in mind that also want to focus my attention on the present moment and enjoying the company of so many close friends. 

I had planned on blogging every day this month. That was before I booked this trip. I have been thinking about whether to take my computer with me on this trip, and have decided that I am going to take it, but that I may or may not be blogging every day that I am away. You will notice a definite silence tomorrow. This is because I will be in the air, en-route to Prince Edward Island from six in the morning until midnight (or 4am, if you are in California!). I will try to post at least a few times while I am away to keep you updated on all of my winter adventures!

Thank you all for being such supportive readers over the last few weeks and months! I bid you goodnight from California! More from snowy PEI!

11/11/11

Photo property of Ariana Salvo. May not be reproduced without permission.

You know the kind of friendship where you can not see the person for years, and then see them again and it is as if you just saw them yesterday? No need to fill in the gaps -- everything is just understood without the need for lots of explanation? Most of us have at least one friend like that in our lives. Helen is one such friend for me. I realized last night that she has miraculously managed to put up for me for twenty years so far. Twenty. That is a long time to know someone and call them friend. We have known each other through many ups and downs. Through the craziness and insecurity of high school; first loves; the enormous physical distance of my years in college in the United States; her becoming a wife and mother; my years of working in Italy; my years of studying and working in Canada, and so much more. Last night I left a dinner party to come home and call her on her birthday -- an annual tradition that I intend to keep up as long as my memory allows. She is ten hours ahead of me, so talking on her birthday meant that it was Thursday in my present and Friday in hers.

Occasionally I wonder how we have managed to maintain a friendship this long. Personally I think it is my ability to remember her birthday that keeps us going (she never remembers mine--a source of great irritation to her, and amusement to me...and yes, I do realize that it is not exactly like hers is difficult to remember, or anything), or the fact that I post photographs of her on my blog that she distinctly dislikes (she then has to call or write to express her displeasure), but in reality I know that our friendship is just one of life's unexplainable, but invaluable little gifts.

There are many things that I love about the friendship I share with Helen. Like the amount of patience (all of it on her part) that permeates our interactions. The fact that we remind each other to not take ourselves so seriously, and to laugh at ourselves. That we are able to recognize each others unique talents and capabilities and remind each other what these are when we need to be reminded. That we respect each others differences. The lack of judgment (and more patience on her part while I learned this essential skill) that exists when we listen to what each other is going through. The fact that we always somehow manage to be there for each other without expectation. A willingness to share what we are learning with each other. The knowledge that she will always remind me what I am capable of -- who I am and what my values are when I make choices that are not true to my highest self. That we are so supportive of each other, and that we both believe that the other is going to succeed with whatever she sets her mind to do with her life. That we are always honest with each other. That we share a love for God. That we both believe in the power of prayer. And that we laugh--a lot, sometimes late into the night.

Last night, talking to Helen on skype filled me with such happiness. Happiness that she and I are friends. That God brought her into my life. That we have managed to maintain our friendship through so many of life's ups and downs. And that she was born on this special day.

Happy, happy birthday, Helen! I hope you had a superb evening!

And you, friends? Do you have a friend whose presence rocks your world?

Joyful weekend madness

This past weekend made me very conscious of how much beauty I am surrounded by. On Friday I volunteered at Soil Born Farms. It was a gorgeous Fall day. The sky was (as usual!) clear blue; the air was crisp; the sky was filled with birds feasting on the remains of the harvest, and we had just over thirty fifth-graders on the farm. We started off our tour by learning about winter squash, which had just been harvested.

This photograph is the property of Ariana Salvo. May not be reproduced without permission.

The kids were excited to learn about the many varieties that are grown on the farm, and were especially enthusiastic about the pumpkins, and the idea of pumpkin pie!

After a tour of the farm, on which the kids got to pet the cows and the American Guinea Hogs, we divided the group into three groups. My group weeded the broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage and lettuce that we have planted with other groups over the last few weeks. While we harvested, I got to talk to the kids. The conversation went something like this:

Boy in my group: "Miss Ariana, wouldn't it be cool if there were a vacuum cleaner machine that you could put over the top of the bed and suck up all the weeds without pulling out the crop?"

Me: "Yes. But isn't it neat how when you take the time to hand weed, you get to notice little details about the vegetable plants that you wouldn't notice otherwise like how fast they are growing; whether they have insects on them, and which ones; whether they are getting enough water or too much; whether they look healthy or not?"

Boy: "No. I like the vacuum cleaner idea better."

Nevertheless, we did weed the entire bed of crops, and the kids did learn why this is important, and at the end of the day they gave a very well-articulated presentation to the other kids about the process. And despite the seeming lack of interest on the part of a number of the kids while we were working, at the end of the day I learned that for many of them, weeding was their favourite activity of the day.

Lesson of the day: Just because I think the kids' focus is wandering does not mean that they are not enjoying themselves and learning from the experience.

This photograph is the property of Ariana Salvo. May not be reproduced without permission.

Friday evening I joined friends for a devotional gathering. A devotional can be many things. Our devotional is a group of friends from a variety of backgrounds. We come together every Friday night to read prayers, poems, stories, passages and tablets. Anything that inspires. It is a re-filling of the soul time. A time for regathering of spiritual energies at the end of a long week, and preparation for a great weekend ahead. Often there is a theme. This past Friday the theme was purity. After devotions we usually head out for dinner together to enjoy good company and great food. This Friday the group voted for Indian. We had a long dinner that went on and on. So long in fact that the restaurant started locking up as we left. It was an evening of warmth and stories and lots of laughter.

On Saturday morning I volunteered at a children's education day and craft fair at Soil Born Farms. A friend of mine joined me, so the two of us pulled up on the farm at 8.30am, just as the warm sun was illuminating the dew tipped remains of the recently harvested crops. We spent the day making art with children. Cady made picture frames that the kids decorated with rice and beans. I painted prayer flags with the kids and hung them up to dry on a clothes line. There are few things as beautiful as all those brightly painted squares of fabric blowing on the line in the sunshine. At noon we packed everything up and were invited to join the farm staff for meal prepared using ingredients from the farm. We filled our plates with roasted vegetables, stewed vegetables, and butternut apple soup, and headed outside to  a long table set up beneath the wide green canopy of an enormous oak tree. Sitting at that table surrounded by old friends and new, with the blue sky above, and the golden light all around us I felt such an incredible sense of gratitude for the community that I have built around me, and that has welcomed me in this past year.

When I left the farm I headed further out of town to spend some time with one of my best friends, Deepali, who I have not been able to see in a number of months because she started a new job at a local hospital as a lab tech, and has such a crazy schedule of night shifts and day shifts that she is pretty much always too tired to get together. Her husband was out of town for a few days, so she called and asked if I would come out for a visit. Her home is beautiful -- it is a geodesic dome, which means it is round, and has light coming in from all angles, including the roof. The house is surrounded by old oak trees, and bordered by a pond on one side and a swimming pool on the other. Deepali and her husband Chad have planted fruit trees all around their property, Deepali planted a vegetable garden, and a group of us helped to renovate a barn on the property that is now being used by an artist friend of theirs to create works of great beauty.

Deepali and I spent our early evening at a local Vietnamese restaurant nursing bowls of rice noodles and vegetables in broth, and catching up on each other's news. Once we were all caught up we headed back to her place for her weekly fireside. A fireside is a gathering of people interested in learning more about the Baha'i faith. Deepali's fireside this week focused on what the Baha'i writings have to say about the nature of the soul. Often the group that turns up is large. This past Saturday however it was a small group of us. Myself and Deepali, Mr. and Mrs. Dunbar, a couple who recently moved back from fifty years of serving the Baha'i community abroad in Israel and Latin America; Sholeh -- a lovely Persian woman who also served abroad in Israel; David -- a half Indian, half Mexican fellow who is investigating the Baha'i faith; and Dale -- a Mormon man who is exploring a variety of faiths. The seven of us spent most of the night reading quotes about the nature of the soul, and having an animated and deeply engaging discussion. At a little after ten it was discovered that Mr. Dunbar was the artist responsible for the gorgeous artwork covering all the walls, and that he had more artwork out in the barn, so the entire group migrated out to the barn to see more of his paintings. It was a night of many, many stories, connections, hot tea, cheesecake, and lots of laughter. By the end of it I was so tired that I ended up deciding to stay the night at Deepali's home and drive back to the city in the morning.

Sunday morning I flew back into Sacramento on the six lane highway that always makes me feel as if I am in a movie (I never thought I would live somewhere where I regularly drive on roads so large to get around) in time to get picked up by my dear friend Dionne for our morning tea date. She and her son Lucas and I headed off to a local coffee shop where we ordered soy chai lattes sprinkled with cinnamon, and headed outside to sip them in the morning sunlight. It was the perfect second start to the day.

At 2pm yesterday Dionne, her husband Todd, son Lucas and I migrated over to the park where a bunch of my friends were meeting up to play bocce ball and frisbee and horse shoe ringing. It was a great day to be outside, and we spent the next three hours alternately lying on a blanket and chatting, and running around on the grass. As the sun started sinking in the horizon we decided to go fill our bellies with Mexican food and then head back to Dionne's house for board games.

Last night, lying in bed, I was replaying the weekend, and realizing what an incredible life I have, and what a fun-loving group of friends I am surrounded by. It is often hard for me to believe that I have been here in Sacramento for over a year and a half now, but when I look around me at the community I have become a part of it is incredible that I have ONLY been here for a year and a half. I often take stock of my life by what I have accomplished with my work, discounting the human relationships. But I think the biggest accomplishments in my life over the past 18 months have been in the human relationship department. I have met SO many new people, and been welcomed into the lives of so many new friends. I have learned a great deal from all the children and youth that come to learn on the farm I volunteer on. I have learned a lot about farming in a more arid environment. I have learned loads about what it takes to give birth to and raise a happy, healthy child. I have become an active member of the Sacramento Baha'i community. I have struggled with, and am constantly re-negotiating and reinventing my relationship with my parents. And I have even learned how to maintain healthy friendships with folks back in Canada over a vast physical distance. It has been an amazing 18 months. I am looking forward to the start of the cooler weather, and to the winter ahead.

How about you, friends? When you look back over the last year, and take stock of what you have accomplished, are you amazed at how much you have accomplished? At how much love you have given and received? At the incredible community that embraces you, and that you can call home? 

Finite disappointments

"We must accept finite disappointment, but we must never lose infinite hope." -Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sometimes you don't get the job. Or the guy. Sometimes you can't afford a haircut. Or a meal out. Or gifts for friends. Sometimes you lose your an entire day's worth of work when your computer crashes. The one person you really want to talk to is not responding to any of your calls. You order hot chocolate, and get served bitter coffee instead. Sometimes someone close to you hurts your feelings one too many times. Sometimes you lie in bed at night wondering where you belong in the universe. When the pieces of your world will ever come together. When you will find work you love again. Get asked out on a date by someone you are actually excited to be with. Find a community that feels like home.

And sometimes you get to plant seeds in a greenhouse in the middle of a rainstorm, and listen to the downpour sliding over the plastic, the wind howling around you, loving the sound. Sometimes friends invite you over for dinner unexpectedly. Sometimes you get to garden with a group of youth that help you to get outside yourself a little, and focus on serving others for an hour, or an afternoon. Sometimes the rain falling rhythmically in sheets outside at night is luxurious and calming. A quiet walk at night on wet sidewalks helps you to re-group and find hope in the reflection of stars and branches beneath your feet. Sometimes a stranger catches your eye in a coffee shop and smiles. Sometimes you win trips to a Caribbean Island in the middle of winter. Sometimes you go into the childrens' section of a bookstore for the first time in years, on a rainy day, looking for a birthday present for a friend's daughter, who is turning two, and end up spending a couple of hours hunkered down on a miniature chair at a little table, fully engrossed in planting a garden that grows and grows, transforming an entire city; or searching for your own colour like Mr. Chameleon, who was tired of turning the colour of everything around him; or trying to figure out where you belong in the universe with a little boy who searches high and low, only to find that he belongs right where he is, in the present moment. Sometimes you spend a Friday evening surrounded by 19 new friends whose company you enjoy. Who make you laugh, and remind you to be silly. Sometimes it rains and rains for days and days, and, instead of wishing it were sunny, you spend time listening more, inhaling the aroma of earth, and feeling blessed.

Sometimes you feel more than a little shaky. But your friends make you laugh. They make you laugh and laugh. They put things back into perspective. Sometimes you drive home after a lovely, long, rich evening with friends, still tender on the inside, but knowing that this moment, too, will pass. That life is full of finite disappointments, but that you are also surrounded with infinite moments of hope, beauty and courage. Sometimes you whisper prayers of gratitude into the night before you fall asleep, listening to rain endlessly outside.

Little gifts of summer

I woke up this morning to sunshine streaming in my windows and the sound of birdcall outside in the garden. There are many things I find challenging about life in California, but the weather is not one of them. Having grown up with hot summers characterized by long lazy days hanging out on the beach and swimming in the crystal clear turquoise waters of the Mediterranean, sitting in cafes sipping cold Nescafe frappes and long nights out at outdoor bars until the wee hours of the morning, anything less than scorching hot weather makes me feel like I have skipped a season altogether. A glance at the newspaper tells me it is going to be my kind of day: 40 and counting.

I have been living, or as I tend to tell people, “visiting” California since May, having decided to uproot myself from my home of the last six years on Prince Edward Island, Canada at the beginning of February and blaze a trail through the snow covered contours of the continent in my Toyota Corolla, visiting friends and places of significance to me along the way. I moved to Prince Edward Island to do my Master’s degree in Island Studies in 2004, graduated in 2008 and then stayed on past graduation to get hands on experience working on Raymond Loo’s Springwillow Farms and Anne’s PEI Farm, a group of innovative and creative farmers scattered across the Island who are developing new markets for Island produce. The grant that was supporting me ended in January 2010 and something in me kept telling me that it was time for a change.

Despite the objections of my family and a number of friends (“Alone? You are driving a used vehicle across the country in the middle of winter alone?”) and my own uncertainty about leaving a community I had come to love and appreciate so deeply, I left Canada on the heels of a snowstorm, spending the next six weeks weaving my way through northern Maine, Montreal, Connecticut, Chicago, Milwaukee, Madison, rural Iowa and Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, Arizona and California. My first stop that was not snow-covered was Tucson. My destination was my parents’ home in Sacramento, California.

I have been in California for about three months now. I intended to use this as a base to catapult me into my next adventure: farming in Latin America or teaching English in China. Instead, after my initial push to send out my resume and connect to potential work opportunities yielded no results, I have spent the last three months spinning my wheels in a seemingly ever-deeper rut in the road.

This past week the news of the death of a very close friend, Ruth Hampson, helped me to realize that it was time to change my approach to my new surroundings and situation. I had driven out of my way on my journey west to see Ruth. I had been visiting a friend in Boulder, Colorado, and intended to head from there to Prescott Arizona. Ruth was living in an elderly people’s home in Salt Lake City, Utah. I was starting to get a bit tired of all the intense driving in bad weather conditions, so driving into prime ski country was not terribly appealing at the time, but I had not seen Ruth in years, and at 90, I was not sure when I would get to see her again, so I took the detour and stopped to see her for a weekend.

I had met Ruth when I was about 8 years old when she and her husband Arthur moved to the Mediterranean island of Cyprus from the US in their 70s. They made a strong impression on me as a child, moving around the world to a country where they did not speak the language, buying mopeds as their primary means of transportation and bringing along their mountain bikes for when they felt the need for more vigorous exercise. Ruth was a beautiful, classy and mentally sharp woman with a courage that seemed unshakeable. She had been approached to do movies as a young woman but decided to turn away from the world of film because she wanted to have the time to dedicate herself to serving humanity in her day-to-day life. Ruth was a Baha’i, and she taught a childrens class that I attended as a child. She was an excellent baker and cook, loved to read, and had no qualms about jumping off the top of a waterfall, speeding along mountain roads on her moped or learning Greek in her 70s. Ruth taught me was that we only get one chance at this life, so we had better seize the day and get out there and live it. She had no patience for people who wallowed or felt sorry for themselves, and more than once gave me a rather sharp piece of her mind when I made me mistake of complaining about a situation that I felt I wad enduring that did not seem fair or pleasant.

Ruth and her husband Arthur left Cyprus years ago to return to the US because he had had a stroke that left him paralysed on one side of his body. I continued to visit them over the years: in Cortez, Colorado; in Eloy, Arizona, and elsewhere. When I visited Ruth this last time she was suffering from Alzheimer’s, so our conversations followed a cycle of reminding her who I was followed by a period of very deep discussion about life, love (“I miss Arthur a lot. I love him very much. He was a wonderful man”); friendship (“Who did we know when we were in Cyprus? Tell me about the friends we had in Cyprus”) and God and death (I really feel I am ready to die, but I am still here so apparently God is not ready for me yet. He must still have something He thinks I should be doing, but I just cannot figure out what that might be”) and then back to determining who I was again (“who are you again?” “I am Ariana.” “Really? Well I knew an Ariana once, but she was just a little girl.” “Yes, I am that little girl. All grown up.” “How old are you now?” “I am 31.” “Really? Well then how old does that make me?” “You are 90.” “Oh dear. Am I really? That is just too old. I really should be dead. You really are a very kind lady, Ariana. Thank you so much for coming to visit me and saying prayers with me"). Despite her memory loss, we discussed deeper themes than I usually reflect upon with my completely lucid friends. I had no idea that five months later Ruth would pass away, but I was deeply impressed by the fact that despite being incapacitated by age and memory loss she was not content to just pass her days idly in bed. She was still asking herself what God wanted her to do in this life in the brief time she had left.

When I received the news of Ruth’s passing I was in the midst of a wild wheel spinning party, wondering where I had gone wrong and why I had still not found my next step in life after all the heartfelt prayers I had sent out to the universe to direct me on my way. The news of her passing made me realize it was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and make some positive changes in my daily activities.

The first thing I did was sign up for ten days of unlimited yoga classes at a local studio. I have never been all that into yoga. I have always preferred activities that are more vigorous, like running. But many of my closest friends are yoga teachers, and have explained to me that one of the primary focuses of yoga practice is to learn how to be present in the here and now so that you can really focus your life’s energies towards living the richest, fullest life you are capable of. I figured it was worth a try. I started on a perfect hot sticky Monday evening with a meditation class and then decided to challenge myself to doing two yoga classes a day: a dynamic class at 6am, and a balanced or mellow evening class to stretch out my sore muscles so that getting up the next day and doing it all again was even an option.

I have been doing yoga for four days now, and somehow managed to drag myself out of bed at 5.15am four days in a row and be in class at 6 sharp despite not being a morning person by any stretch of the imagination. The morning classes are intense and require my body to do things that I have not asked it to do in a long time. We do sun salutations; we balance on one foot with one hand reaching towards the floor and the other towards the ceiling and our other leg floating out behind us parallel to the floor; we do all sorts of headstand varieties; downward dog; sphinx; cobra; we kneel on our elbows and balance on our wrists; we do push-ups masquerading as releases from other poses; we do back bends and back arches and side bends and child’s pose. We challenge our bodies to be strong and flexible and our minds to be courageous and open to the unfamiliar. Most importantly we practice presence through focusing on deep breathing and letting go of the constant chatter that fills my mind all day long. It has been so long since I did these types of movements that I have to learn to rebuild the strength I used to have. Accepting where I am and finding compassion for where I am while still being willing to push myself through moments of discomfort and struggle is humbling. Experiencing my body grow stronger and more sure of itself reminds me how grateful I am for a strong healthy body.

The evening classes are more about breathing and learning to surrender, to be vulnerable and to accept my present reality and who I am in this moment without being critical or judgmental. As we move through a series of slow poses our teachers share thoughts, ideas and reflections with us to help us focus our minds and hearts. My first evening class the teacher shared: “Maybe you are exactly where you need to be. Maybe you don’t know what is best for you right now and you just need to trust that whatever is happening – wherever you are – is precisely what you need right now to help you move forward to where you are supposed to be going.” Last night I went to a mellow yoga class that was very quiet and meditative. Lying on my back with my eyes shut my teacher came around the room placing smooth hot black stones in the centre of our bellies, and asked us to visualize planting a seed in our body and then watching it grow and turn into a tree and blossom. Holding the hot stone in my palm took me back to an early evening walk I had taken on Brackley beach on Prince Edward Island a year ago. I had found a beautiful swirling olive green pebble that I carried cool against my palm as I walked along the shore. When it came time to go, I did not want to take it with me. I was already wondering where I was headed and had been praying for inspiration. Before leaving, I knelt down facing the ocean, dug a hole in the sand and ‘planted’ my stone as a seed of hope. Lying on my back in the yoga studio, the smooth black rock in my hands seemed to be a confirmation that although I could not see how, I was on the right track.

After leaving my Friday evening yoga class I floated across the city to join my parents and some friends at the Shakespeare in the Park festival for a picnic supper followed by A Midsummer Night’s Dream outside under the clear starry summer sky. Lying back against pillows on my back, my laughter merging with the laughter of those around me, I recalled the many hours I spent over the last two summers nestled in tall grasses on Prince Edward Island watching the black vault above get streaked by shooting star after shooting star and the moon wading her way through silver clouds.

This morning while I was eating breakfast barefoot in the kitchen I heard the sound of mail being slid into the mailbox. Louise Mould, a close friend living on Prince Edward Island had told me I should be expecting something in the mail so I had been expectantly dashing to the mailbox every morning hoping that the mysterious envelope had arrived. This morning I was lucky. Sitting at the kitchen table I sliced open the envelope and reached inside, drawing out a tiny notebook that looked familiar and a handmade card with a print of one of Louise’s beautiful paintings on the front of it. The notebook, it turned out, was one I had discarded in my rush to get out of my house on the Island in January. Louise had picked it up, taken it home and filled the pages with beautiful, intricately patterned and textured pen and ink drawings. Having filled the last page, her note in the front cover said, she thought I “might like it back.” I have been flipping through the pages all day soaking up the shapes that shift through the seasons, noting the incorporation of southwestern shapes during the time Louise had been in New Mexico and the lotus and flowering shapes that slowly emerge as she moved through spring. Louise is always full of beauty and wisdom that seem to float like water lilies upon a deep green pond in late summer. Her brightly coloured paintings swirl blinding sunshine, saturated lush vegetation, rolling hills and swaying Cypresses across the walls of my parents’ house.

Opening my email I find more inspiration. An email from Andy Adams from Prince Edward Island – a reincarnation of the BFG (Big Friendly Giant) from Roald Dahl’s children’s books who mastered the art of gluten free baking while I was living on the Island so that he could bake pumpkin scones (his specialty) that I could eat. Andy, a tall man with a big beard and a booming laugh, is one of the most gentle and loving souls I have ever met. He is also a supportive husband, a loving father and an enthusiastic and active volunteer, always stepping up to help out with cooking and catering, hosting and making everyone feel welcome at community events. Andy’s email was full of encouragement for me on my journey, and I finish reading feeling awe at the brilliant friends I have made during my six years in Canada.

I also have an email from my friend Rafael who is visiting her boyfriend in Chile before heading to Mexico to continue her PhD research on desert oases; Ahava, a woman who is in equal measure a writer, story teller, healer, mediator and organic farmer who, having just completed her PhD is establishing a centre for women on her organic farm on Saltspring Island in British Columbia and who was writing to invite me to come up to the farm; Margie Loo, an organic farmer on Prince Edward Island and woman of immense power, grace and strength who has taught and continues to teach me the beauty to be found in following my heart, and Daniel, a newfound friend whose enthusiasm and commitment to serving and growing in new directions and his light hearted approach to everything is a constant delight to me as I watch him teach yoga, learn about green architecture, write children’s stories and spend weeks of his summer volunteering in Bulgaria to help restore an old farm and turn it into an artists retreat.

Taking a break from writing this blog, I find that the lettuce seeds I planted only a few days ago are already sprouting, tiny green shoots pushing up through the soil. The fine line of green reminds me of a conversation I had with a friend last summer who was struggling through a rough patch in life. We wandered out into his olive grove under which he had planted a vegetable garden, most of which was dead due to lack of watering. Usually very conscientious, I asked him why he was not watering it and he replied that he just didn’t see the point. The only thing still alive were his hardy onions, their green stalks a tribute to the ability of living things to survive even the harshest conditions. An avid farmer, I pointed out that the onions were still alive, and that even that little bit of green was worth hoping for. As we watered the onions, the hot dusty wind blowing through the grove I remember thinking how inspiring and healing working the earth can be. We nicknamed his onions “onions of hope.”

I have no idea where I am headed, but I am learning gratitude for the gift of rich, inspiring friendships, the miracle of planting a seed and watching it grow, and the process of learning to remain present with my heart, my mind and my body.

Humble beginnings

A few years ago, while in the thick of writing my Master’s thesis, I finally gave in to peer pressure and joined the masses of Facebook users. Thinking it a useful tool to keep track of my what my friends were up to around the world, I dutifully logged on once a day (or more depending on how much I needed to procrastinate) and caught up on everyone’s news. I was living on Prince Edward Island, a stunningly beautiful but nevertheless rather remote Canadian province in the north Atlantic. Living as I did, in a rather chilly climate come winter and never having adapted terribly well to the cold, I spent considerable amounts of time during the winter hunkered down in my comfy little house pretending to be hammering out my Master’s thesis. In reality, the only thing I was become a master at was developing new, creative and not-so-creative ways of avoiding working on my unruly Master’s thesis.

One day while waiting out a snow storm (or as they say in Atlantic Canada, being ‘storm-stayed’) and long after my eyes had glazed over from staring at the same paragraph of my Master’s thesis that I had been writing for four hours, I took a Facebook break, and found myself reading status updates. What occurred to me at first was what an interesting method of sharing a slice of thought or snapshot of a person’s present reality status updates are. Sure, they could be mundane, but they could also capture a piece of humour or a reflection or inspiration from lives scattered all over the globe and make someone clear on the other side of the world laugh out loud or get out a pen and write down a thought or idea that they connected to. Status updates are a cross section of social reality across the globe; tiny sparks of connections being created by slivers of images, quotes and experiences. I was impressed by how much could be shared in so little space (there is a 420 character limit). If emails were like letters, status updates were postcards. Being a lover of poetry, and, as one of my friends would put it, “vehemently disliking” postcards that arrive with five meaningless words scrawled across the tiny window of opportunity available to record an experience from halfway around the world, I decided to experiment with my status updates, turning them into miniature electronic postcards. Hey – at the time it seemed like an excellent, and conveniently endless source of procrastination material!

I started recording snapshots of landscapes I was moving through, memorable lines from novels that I was reading, frustrations, hopes, reflections and ideas that I found inspiring. Initially it was just for fun. Then friends started telling me that they were really enjoying reading my status updates. A few told me that when they knew I was travelling they checked Facebook just to read what I was up to that day. Over time many of my friends started telling me I really should start a blog that expanded on my Facebook updates. So after a great deal of persistent urging from a multitude of wonderfully supportive and loving friends who have been reading and responding to what they have termed “poetic status updates” on Facebook for the past few years, I am finally doing it.

I have named this blog Routes of Presence because so much of my experience of life has been about searching for connection with community and the natural world around me. There are many routes to becoming fully present with ones surroundings and with our life’s purpose. Routes of Presence is a record of some of the routes I have drawn and am drawing; the questions I have asked and continue to ask; the challenges I have faced and continue pressing up against, and those precious moments of sheer magic, passion and laughter I share with the incredibly inspiring people I meet wherever I go.