Heart Truths


3016858194_2555072fcb_oWords are my solace. They are love. They are anger. They are passion, hot and cold. I find my heart in my words. I find truth in my words. Heart truths.

Heart truths are the foundations of my decisions, my choices, and my dreams. They are profound, reverberating through soul and conscience. Hard to ignore, especially once committed to ink and paper as words.

Heart truths test me, they honour me, they change me, they push me over the edge and throw me a rope to bring me back up. They abandon me and they save me. They bury me alive and dig me up as I am running out of air.

I dance with my heart truths, a primordial dance of aching drum beats and burning soul fire. Disease and neglect burn away, opening wounds, filling them, healing them, searing them with remembrance scars, lessons learned in darkness as I felt my last breath being stolen from my lungs.

Breathe fresh. Breathe anew. Let the old burn away. I wear my scars with pride. I let my heart truths ring like bells, declaring my life, my value, my mission to those who are ready to hear it.

465898486_4c009168f9_oSo many walk through life ignoring their heart truths, dead to their passions, loving stuff more than life, forgetting how to live, covering their scars with shame.

Shame. It has no place in authentic living. Can I teach the world how to live authentically? Can I teach the world to shed the shackles of disease, fear and self-loathing? Can I teach the world to use all its senses again? To love the smell of dirt and rain? To open their arms and feel the warmth of the sun, the cool light of the moon? To taste the spring raindrops and the first winter snowflakes? To truly see the fractured light of a rainbow after the storm? To see the new day as a fresh start each time the sun’s rays inch over the horizon to say good morning? To smell the clean scent of food picked and eaten the same day?

I want to, but it starts small. I share this incredible enthusiasm for the world with my three-year-old and hopefully he will carry it out into the world with him and share it with someone else. I share it here in my blog, perhaps you are reading this and thinking, “Yes, that’s what I needed to hear today. I hear your heart truths speaking to mine.”

Listen to your heart truths. Listen to the whispers, they will get louder, you will hear, you will feel, you will know and you will not be able to contain it, so you will share it and pass it on.

My hope for you today is that you will wake up to your song and you will learn to sing it and you will sing it with pride and love and gusto, and others will hear your heart truths and they will wake up too.

Let’s all wake up!

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Feeding my Soul


2683676764_8ed0b79dbe_bFriday I was in my element! I could cook without worrying about the mess. The party wasn’t at my house. I was just providing the food. So I cooked!

I planned my menu, shopped for missing ingredients, and then concocted, mixed, rolled and poured until I had enough food to feed a small army.

I always make too much.

I go above and beyond because I love to share my love of food as well as my ability to feed people well. Friday I got to do just that.

I made veggie squares, salami rolls, roasted pineapple wrapped in bacon, humus, a four layer dip, cauliflower pizza with marinara sauce, and the pièce de résistance, the chocolate birthday cake, a two layer slwpid-20140523_182940.jpgab cake with Oreo cream cheese icing sandwiched between the two layers which I then iced in milk chocolate icing with Oreo crumbs sprinkled on top. Mmmmm good!

Everything was good!

Oh I dream of a huge kitchen with space to experiment, with elbow room to roll, pound, mix, shape and create food to feed and entertain the souls of my friends and family. Room to make a mess and actually enjoy the mess, instead of feeling like I’m fighting for every inch of usable counter space.

I’ve had friends over on a spur of the moment invitation for brunch and whipped up a feast of waffles, muffins, bacon and sausages.

I love feeding people, and I’m always trying new ideas, experimenting, and creating amazing food to share. The process is inherently artistic as you are taking basics like flour and eggs and turning them into something soul inspiring.

I came home Friday night and I was still in my artistic mode, still feeling incredibly inspired so I pulled out my new beads and sat and played with them, stringing different beads together until I created something beautiful, a flower.

20140526_183906It’s all about creating beauty.

Beauty as food, as a beaded flower, as a poem, and even as the art of loving someone else. Touching them, awakening them, vibrating them. All of this is fuelled from the same creative need to fill the soul with beauty, to connect with a world on a level that is more than trudging through life and making do. It’s about stopping to hear your heart beat, to listen, really listen, to the whispers of your soul and let it free to create something beautiful.

This weekend I did all this and more. My soul stretched its wings and created food, art, words and love. Then I released my creations into the world to connect with the souls of others. This is how life should be lived, how my life should be lived. Sharing, giving, opening up, creating, loving…. If I can base my life on those principles I will find the happiness I am looking for, longing for….

“Here I am, Hear My Words”


1964799_10151887478276618_1939716282_nI sat, quietly chatting with my husband, waiting for the Arcade Fire concert to begin. Lucky to be there courtesy of a last-minute half price ticket sale. My husband and I used to go to concerts a lot before our third child was conceived and my husband embarked on his second round of schooling. I missed the energy of the live shows. I waited impatiently for the main act to start, passing the time checking in with Facebook, discovering who else was at the show.

The opening acts were not really my thing but many enjoyed them. To be honest even the main act, Arcade Fire, I was mostly familiar with their radio releases. I’ve never been a downloader of music, even when it was easier to do, and though I’ve requested their albums, I had never received them. This concert would introduce me to a lot more of their work.

I would not be disappointed.

The show started, the music building in intensity, inviting people in their seats and on the floor to get up and to get ready to move, to be a part of the music. Everyone contributed to the energy of the evening.

The songs had no titles for me. I experienced the music in a raw explosion of emotion. Words, stories, memories, musical notes beating, strumming, ringing and drumming through my soul.

I had to move! I had to dance!

I don’t experience music as just notes and sounds to be appreciated. I experience music as raw energy flowing through me, echoing off my tight, tense stressed-out muscles, resonating through every fiber until the muscles vibrated with a need to move, to stomp my feet, clap my hands, and just move and sway and move…

I felt the muscles in my back resisting and holding tight as I twisted and gyrated but I refused to give in to the pain, to the pent-up anxieties, the rage that pulled my muscles tight. I fought against all the crazy emotions and stresses of everyday living that were stored in the clenched muscles across my shoulders and down my spine.

And I moved!

And it felt amazing!

The experience continued for two hours, two incredible hours. It filled me with inspiration. Ideas to write. I ached to write before time buffed the edges of the memories into soft, fuzzy dreams, reducing the vivid pictures in my head to old worn out black and white photographs.

I want to remember…

To remember how the music made me feel, how I moved and danced like no one was watching (judging?), how the beat tapped into my soul and released emotions fueling my desire (need?) to write, to express myself, to be heard, to be seen in my rawest, aching form.

The music ebbs away and the memories grow rapidly fuzzier, my soul retains the vibrational inspiration to write, to move, to be seen, to scream out,

“Here I am, hear my words!”

and with some luck, someone will hear them and feel the resonating echo of the music and also be inspired….

A black hole



I am completely overwhelmed.

I am in a very dark head space. That is why I have not been writing. I don’t want to share how I feel because admitting to it means admitting I’m losing the battle with my depression.

I have better days. I didn’t write a to-do list this past week but Monday through Wednesday I worked hard to spend time doing the things I want to be doing. Reading with my daughter. Playing with my son. Turning off the computer more. Just trying to focus on the little things.

It’s hard to keep it up….every day….when I just feel utterly miserable inside… all the time….

Most days I barely drag myself out of bed. Just the act of waking up reminds me of my pain, and all I want is to cry, yet I can’t even find relief in tears. I push them down and force myself to get out of bed and do the bare necessities of what needs doing. Get my daughter on the bus in the morning with a lunch. Do laundry so my family has clean clothes to wear. Get myself dressed.

Most days I don’t even manage getting dressed. I live in pajamas and yoga pants, and on more occasions than I’d care to actually admit to, I have worn the same clothes for nearly 36 hours straight.

As a human being I feel like a complete and utter failure.

I feel beaten up. My bruises invisible to the world so there are few words of comfort or understanding. Mostly a lot of messages of “just deal with it” and “why can’t you manage this?”, even if they aren’t said in so many words and many come disguised as words of encouragement.

I took a college course in the spring of 2013 on communication. I loved it. One of the exercises the teacher had us do was draw a picture of an object that represented how we felt.

I drew a black hole.

I drew a blackBlack hole hole because it felt like my whole life was being sucked into one and no matter how hard I fought against it, everything, including myself, was being pulled in. It was dark and angry and destructive.

Then the teacher asked us to take that same image and change it, turn it into a positive image. At the time I couldn’t do it. I just stared at the page and swirled my black pen around and around, making the black hole bigger and darker. I didn’t see anything positive in that black hole or its existence in my life.

But what if there is….

In science fiction there is a theory that a black hole is a gateway between worlds or galaxies, that while its immense gravity pulls everything into it and initially destroys it, something different is reconstructed from the pieces on the other side. Sometimes better, sometimes worse. Either way it’s a one way trip, you are changed forever.

Surrendering to the pull of the black hole is overwhelming and my first instinct is to fight against it with all my might, holding to the familiar, holding to the comforting lull of even the most destructive habits because it’s all I know, and while it hurts, it’s pain I’m familiar with.

The act of being deconstructed is violent and painful. My whole life must flex and break, shattering everything that was so that there is room for the new, and it requires a level of trust in the universe that I will admit I don’t currently possess. A trust that the universe has a better plan for me.

Does it?

I have seen glimpses of a better world for myself. I’m afraid to reach out and take it. I’m afraid to let go of the doubt, the self-loathing, the destructive voices in my head that convince me I’m not good enough, not good enough to be a doula or birth instructor, that I’m not good enough to be a mom or wife, that I’m not good enough to even be me. Failure becomes my only option because it’s the only thing I’ve convinced myself I’m good at, and the voices constantly remind me of my short-comings.  I’m just not good enough…

But what if I am?

What if accepting that I, as I am right now, am good enough, and letting go of all the burdens of angst and anger that weigh me down is the first step of surrendering to the pull of the black hole and allowing the process of deconstruction to happen, so that I can find out what I’m truly capable of?

I just have to be willing to surrender to it.

To take the risk.

To believe I can survive being pulled apart at the very essence of my soul and then be put back together again.

I really, really, really want to but I’m completely and utterly terrified…. What if the result of this cosmic deconstruction means the end of my family as I know it? What if I end up losing some really important stuff a long the way? What if, what if, what if…. There are so many what ifs…

Thus I remain trapped between what is and what could be, frozen by my fear, imprisoned by my loneliness, ensnared by my pain and betrayed by my anger. I just find myself wondering how much worse things can get before the power of the black hole sucks me in and forces the changes on me, willingly or unwillingly?

Breathe Consciously

A singing bowl - Listen to the sound....

A singing bowl – Listen to the sound….

Listen to the sound…..

It rings through the silence, surrounds you, holds you, rocks you.

Feel the breath in your lungs, it is old and stagnant.  Let it out.  Feel its dustiness as it leaves your body, out through your mouth, tasting its archaic-ness, a mustiness of fruitless choices, un-forgiven sins and old wounds still harboured and nursed.  Let it leave.  Breathe it all out, consciously aware of everything you are releasing into the atmosphere.

Then breathe in crisp, fresh air.  Feel your lungs fill with hope, with potential.  This new air is complete with possibility as it brings life-saving oxygen to each cell.  Revitalization.  You must breathe this new oxygen in deep to replace the old, so that slowly with each repeated exhale and inhale, the old is cleansed and the cobwebs of self-doubt are cleared to let the life-renewing light enter, replenishing the flea bitten, shackled soul. Let the light burn away the excuses, the walls put up to barricade ourselves from pain, from feeling anything real and unfiltered.

Society has conditioned us to be tough, hardened us against the world.  What if we didn’t have to be so tough? What if we were all just real? Could we handle it? Could we expose ourselves like that? Soul nudists! I want to be a soul nudist, and let my passions, my loves, my joys, and yes, even my pains, just exist without editorials or footnotes or justification.

It will take practice as I have spent so much of my life bottling it up, hiding from who I really am, and listening to others dictate my choices.  It is time for a change, it is time that every exhale and inhale I take have a purpose, and not just to keep my tired bones moving zombie-like through life. No, when I exhale and inhale, I want each breath to be taken with purpose, to exhale the old, the gunk that clogs up the arteries of my soul, and inhale the new, the powerful regenerators of purpose and to find my way to the life I want, and to be the person I want to be.

Listen to the sound…..