Why I will probably never know the woes and sufferings of the destitute

(c) Ariana Salvo. May not be used without permission

I have been realizing this week that no matter how little I have in the way of financial resources, I will never, unless some major catastrophe hits my entire network of friends and family scattered across the globe, experience the physical hardship of poverty. When I say this I mean that kind of poverty that the majority of the global population lives with every single day. The kind that results in homelessness and starvation.

The reason that I will likely never experience poverty has nothing to do with me. It has to do with where I happen, by chance, to have been born, and with my incredible family and friends who would never allow me to be homeless or go hungry. Which has had me considering the idea that poverty may not be a symptom of a lack of financial resources, but rather an indication that our global family may actually be experiencing a lack of love. Because if we really, truly loved one-another the way my friends and family love me, we would simply not allow them to be homeless and hungry. That's what I'm thinking.

I have a number of new mantras. One is THE UNIVERSE IS ABUNDANT. I repeat this to myself often throughout my day and week, especially when I am operating on a shoestring and am hungry or tired or just wishing that one of the vehicles that speeds by me as I walk home at the end of the day would pull over and offer me a ride. Repeating this does not immediately change my circumstances, but it does make me reflect on all the good in my life, and focusing on what is truly awesome somehow makes the awesome expand. I guess it is the idea that whatever you focus your attention on will grow, so if you focus on abundance, you will attract more and more abundance in your life.

I find that not only do I attract abundance when I think this way....I also notice myself doing things for other people to help add to their share of abundance: holding doors open for elderly people, giving someone a compliment, smiling at strangers, making my friends laugh, baking muffins and sharing them with my flatmate, giving someone who needs one a hug or saying a healing prayer for someone in need. Abundance need not be big things. Often it is small details or gestures or words that completely reorient a day.

This evening a friend treated me to supper. I had not eaten since breakfast and was very hungry. This same friend then accompanied me while I walked a dog that I am caring for, and then walked home with me, inviting me in when we reached her home for a cup of tea and a break before I continued on my walk home. Having her company all afternoon added so much joy to my day. This afternoon another friend gave me a ride back downtown so I did not have to walk, saving me some valuable energy. My mother sends me notes on Facebook and Gmail expressing her love and sharing her news, which not only makes me feel valued, but also makes her feel a little bit closer despite the vast geographic distance that is now between us.

Abundance is a choice -- one that is easily overlooked when we get caught up in the hectic pace and details of life. Love is also a choice. One that I find tends to blossom out of a life of abundance. Wherever you are, and whatever your circumstances, try taking the time today to recognize all of the abundance in your life and to share some of it with those around you. What do you notice?

By heart

"God doesn't give you the people you want. He gives you the people you need. To help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you, and to make you the person you were meant to be." 

I found the above quote here. Not sure who said it, but today it is resonating, so I thought I would share it with you. I have been thinking a lot lately about the people who have influenced my life in positive ways. Most of these people are still in my life. A few of them are not -- they came through and headed on down a path that did not include me; I headed off in a direction that they did not understand; some have passed away, so they are still a part of my community spiritually, but no longer physically, and some friendships just fade as inexplicably as they arrived.

I have been thinking a lot about a friend of mine who has not been in my life for many years now, but who I still think often enough that when I read the quote at the top of the page, he immediately came to mind. It is his birthday this week, and as often happens with people whose lives touch me deeply, even long after they are no longer around, I find myself slowing down every year on his birthday and giving thanks for the positive ways he has influenced who I am. For the gifts he brought. The laughter. For opening my heart in new ways. Rarely do I thank God for bringing someone into my life to hurt me or leave me, so this quote is giving me pause to reflect on how having this man both leave and hurt me has helped push me further towards being the person I am meant to be.

It is one of life's many hidden blessings that it is rarely the people who are mere acquaintances, the people who do not really matter to us; who pass by without staying long enough to form lasting bonds--that hurt us. Usually those who hurt us most are those we love the most. Those we have allowed ourselves to be vulnerable with. Whose presence in our lives feels essential. It is a blessing because although it hurts, usually there has been enough love shared in these relationships that we do not, or can not simply write them off. Whether we mend the relationship or walk away, the pain and loss that we experience in these relationships make us pause to listen, because we know there are important life lessons in this kind of pain if we tune in to them and use them to grow.

Today I was thinking about this one particular friend, and how much losing his presence in my life has influenced who I am today. I often see this from the perspective of who I would have been if he were still in my life, but I think that many of the things I am most proud of being today -- honest, affectionate, faithful, committed, true to my heart, respectful of myself and others, prayerful, consistent, devoted, strong-hearted and independent, graceful, and loving others for who they are rather than who I want them to be -- are things I have become since my friend let go of our friendship in order to stay true to his dreams and heart. Sometimes losing those we love helps us to become the person we are meant to be.

Life is so rich in comings and goings. In knowing when to take risks, when to fight for something, when to let go gracefully, and when to love with everything in our hearts. Today I am feeling grateful for my friend. For the joys he brought when he was in my life, and the gifts he gave me by leaving.

And you friends? Have you given thanks today for those whose paths have crossed your own and kept going? For the beauty of that point of meeting, and the direction, texture and purpose that your life has developed since you headed off in different directions?

 

This is a recording of Eva Cassidy singing I Know You By Heart, a favourite song of mine, and one that always reminds me to be grateful for the gifts that everyone who passes through my life -- whether for a short or a long time--bring to my life. I am not a big fan of the video, but the sound quality on the recording is excellent.

Pumpkin pie smells like love

"Thought is an agent of change." -Aura Estrada, 2003 

I am reading the book "Say Her Name," by Fracisco Goldman. It is an interesting read, made more interesting by the fact that I started reading not realizing that it is a true, non-fiction work based on his relationship with the woman who he was blessed to call his wife for a far too brief period of time. Knowing it is not fiction only makes the story more moving. The quote above is by Francisco's wife, Aura. It is so true. What you think as you wake up in the morning sends out ripples of energy into the world that influence EVERYTHING and EVERYONE around you. Worth reflecting on what we think about, wouldn't you say?

Yesterday my mother and I baked pumpkin pies. I have yet to taste them. The joy for me was in making them with my mama, and getting to inhale the warm, sweet aroma of the pies baking in the oven and then cooling on the counter while I sat and had a hot cup of black tea with my mama in the kitchen with the back door open into the garden and that late afternoon/early evening golden sunlight falling into the back hall real slow.

Earlier today I sat with my dad and said prayers for a three hour hospital procedure that he had to go do this afternoon, but that ended up taking much longer than expected. It took so long for the anesthesia to wear off that he came home in the midst of neighbourhood tricker treaters. Mom and I practically carried him up the front steps, trying to not scare the kids streaming up and down the sidewalks in our tricker-treating mecca neighbourhood, and into their bedroom, tucked him into bed, fed him chamomile tea through a straw and warmed his icy cold hands up with our own. I thought: this is my dad, and no matter how rarely we connect at the level I wish we could connect, I love him. It's as simple as that. It doesn't matter how close I am to my father...it is scary to see him look so awful--even when I know this time it is nothing too serious. This time. But I know some day it will be, and some day he won't be here any more physically for me to warm his hands and hold the teacup just so, so that he can sip it using a straw. So I sit on his bed and think: "I love you, dad."

It is late. The tricker treaters are all gone home to bed. I am ready to crawl into my own nest and read until I fall asleep. Outside it is finally cool enough to close the windows at night and not boil inside. Not like we are having snow storms that put thousands out of power like they are experiencing on the east coast, but it is cooling off. I am thinking about a story I am trying to write. About a job application I sent out into the universe today. About an editing job I just got helping a friend of a friend with two book projects he is working on. Wondering where I will be come spring. Wondering where my work and heart will lead me. Wondering what I will create tomorrow. I am also thinking that I am grateful for my parents. For the walk I took with my dad yesterday afternoon. For the baking session with my mom. For the chance to cook dinner for my tired mom so she would have something hot to eat when she got home from the hospital tonight with my dad. For the book I am reading, and for Aura's comment: "Thought is an agent of change."

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? 

The joy of clouds

I woke up this morning, looked out the window, and saw clouds! If I had said this a couple of years ago, with as much enthusiasm as I am saying it now, my friends in Canada would have looked at me with a perplexed expression on their faces. But I have not actually seen ONE cloud in months. Not one. Hence my delight today that although there is blue sky, the sun has yet to burn through the clouds, which in my hopeful opinion, is an indication that the chance of rain at some point in the next few weeks is that much greater!

I met a man at a conference I attended this summer in San Francisco who paints clouds. That is his life and his love. Clouds. I was intrigued, and spent a good deal of time talking with him. His name is Chris Page, and he lives in Belchertown (what a name, eh? ;-), MA. After Chris and I were done talking and before I moved on, he handed me a card. On one side of it was his personal information. On the other side were clouds, and this:

"Find an individual cloud in the sky. Acquire it in your mind as part of your art collection. Watch your acquisition until it is gone from view. In your mind let go of your acquisition." 

The conference was about changing our patterns of thought. He was challenging people to think about how they see the world differently using clouds as his tool for perception altering. Are there clouds in the sky outside where you are? Have you stopped to watch them lately? I used to lie on my back on the cool marble front porch of my house as a child in Cyprus with my friends, while eating ice cream. While we ate we could watch the clouds, pointing to dogs, cats, cars, birds, and all sorts of other things that passed by in the clouds, before morphing into something else, or drifting past completely.

I don't know why as adults we stop taking the time to lie on our backs and watch the clouds. Maybe you do. I should speak for myself. I know I don't do it nearly enough these days. Same with the stars and the moon. When was the last time you took a blanket out in the back yard or into a park, lay on your back, and just watched the stars?

I am feeling grateful for the clouds today. I am also feeling grateful for the cool breeze that is moving in my window -- a rarity for the past few months, and a clear indication that we are definitely headed into Fall. I am also grateful that the poet Jane Hirshfield is giving a reading tonight two hours from where I live. I am hoping to drive down there to hear her tonight.

This morning when I woke up I came across this video of an incredible woman named Bel Kaufman who is 100 years old who is a comedian and educator, and just completely set aflame with the spirit of life and joy. Check out this clip. I guarantee it will make you smile!

I am about to head out to the funeral of a friend's husband, another friend's father, and another's brother. I never met him, but his wife, daughter, sister and niece are all in the women's devotional group that takes place in my living room twice a month. Deaths can be incredibly sad times, but when I saw this man's wife last week, right after he passed away, and looked into her eyes, I saw such brightness, love and clarity there. I told her what I saw, and she smiled and told me that her heart has never felt more open, because with her partner gone from this physical world, she has been looking around her at her children, her sister in law, her niece, and even her religious community and realizing that every joy in her life was brought into her life by her husband. That he gave her so much beauty and joy, and that all of that she will have with her forever. I teared up listening to her. How hard is it to let go...how much easier to cling to the person you have just lost, and yet what better way to honour her husband than to celebrate all the joy he has brought into her life?

The clouds are slowly dispersing, as I write, and the sunshine again falling down among the pink blossoms covering the branches of the bush outside my window. I am feeling grateful for the opportunity to enjoy the clouds; to watch them as they disappear, and to let go of my acquisition, as Chris put it. The joy is still here, so really nothing has been lost.

Whatever you fill your Monday with, I invite you to take the time to sit quietly and notice something that brings you joy, take it in, watch it, enjoy it, and then let it go, while holding onto the joy that it brought you. Leave a comment if you feel like sharing your experience with this. I wish you all a beautiful gratitude Monday, friends!

Polka dots and patience

Last night I threw a ladies only pre-wedding bash for one of my best friends, Dionne. I decided to do it in in the back garden seeing as I actually *have* a back garden, and a cute one at that, and seeing as I am living in a place where it is still so hot at night that I can still sit outside wearing a strapless dress at night and feel completely comfortable.

Dionne and Todd are getting married this Saturday in Vegas. Straight out of a movie, right? That's what I thought. It is going to be a gorgeous wedding. 

Dionne loves polka dots. Her grandmother loved polka dots, and she passed this quirk along to her granddaughter. So polka dots were a must. Another must were fairy lights in the trees. And coconut passion fruit mousse cake. And fresh grapes. And a watermelon from the youth garden that I volunteer in. I also had passion fruit mango iced tea (hey, you can never have too much passion (fruit), right?) and a bouquet of flowers that all had meaning (I looked them up at the back of The Language of Flowers: A Novel): Calla lily (modesty), Stock (you will always be beautiful), and Aster (patience, because the owner of the flower shop said: "Honey, she's gonna need a hell of a lot of that!")

The carpet I threw in to make us feel more at home out there. It was hand made in Cyprus and was on my bedroom floor throughout my childhood. Hey -- at least *I* felt at home!

We ate, we drank, and we told stories. Stories of our first loves. Of our first kisses. Of our crushes, our disaster dates, our most embarrassing dates, and our heartbreaks. We also talked about our dreams, our hopes and our fears. It was a night filled with laughter. A faint breeze was blowing through the trees. The lights in the trees shed warm light down over us. The moon was bright above us in the sky. A violin was playing...(ok, ok--not really, but it would have been PERFECT if there had been a violinist)...

 

 and the polka dotted tablecloth rocked, if I do say so myself :-) 

We didn't have any men jumping out of cakes or anything...*sigh*.... (although I was told today that one woman's husband --a fireman-- HAD thoughtfully offered to come over and light some fires, but she banished that idea right out out of his head as soon as he verbalized his offer to help us out), but we did have a lot of fun!

It is such a gift to have such a great group of female friends to celebrate moments like this with. Women who remind me to laugh at myself. Women to eat cake and sip tea with. Women who have such truly awful dating stories (I'm looking at you, Meredith!) that they put mine to shame. Yep. I am glad I have such a great group of female friends here in Sacramento, and I'm incredibly grateful that Dionne is one of them.

 
Dionne and Todd fly to Vegas in the morning. Standing on the sidewalk late last night saying goodnight to Dionne, I felt a mixture of sadness and excitement for her. Sadness because she herself was full of the emotions that come right before such a big transition, and in all truth, a chapter is ending. But excitement because she is embarking on a new adventure with a man who is absolutely crazy about her. I cannot wait to see the wedding photos!

Do you have a tight network of incredible friends in your life that make every day just that much better, and that are there to support you and celebrate with you during times of transition? Do you buy them polka dotted underwear? ;-)  

Have a great Thursday friends. See you Friday!

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.