It has been neither nor, not either or lately. The weather has caused the persistence of my flowers setting hopeful buds and the continued infill of grass in the bald spot in my lawn.
Trees heavy with no snow
I have also been floating in some kind of bubble since I returned from Los Angeles for the Airbnb conference. There I was surrounded by 15000 other hosts and constant stimulation.
I followed my “open door” policy that I adhere to when I am travelling. If a door is open, I go in. I found an architecture school retrospective and a feminist film festival. The experience was delightful and I felt happy, excited and at home.
Los Angels looks like a Castle in the distance
Getting back to Kelowna was less stimulating. I fell into distraction mode by watching netflix every evening.
So I am neither totally at home as I stretch out my desire fingers for more stimulus, nor ready to travel. It is an in-between state.
I find myself thinking a great deal about Christmas.
Christmas is, basically, about time. It is when we slide from past images of ourselves surrounded or trapped; supported or sabotaged by our immediate family.
Rituals are powerfully present. The old ornaments are dug out of boxes. The archived rituals like museum displays of half remembered or reconstructed narratives surround us.
Some try to recreate what went before and others like survivors of an undisclosed war suffer flash back intensity moments.
out my winter window
Another group tries to sand away the family chisled pictograph stories and start again.
The pressure from the societal mindset to experience the “most wonderful time of the year” leads to scarcity mind. Comparisons lurk everywhere. It is a time of the highest suicide rate in Western culture.
The chasm lies like an earthquake severed landscape between what we are told we “should” be experiencing and what we have actually experienced in our lives.
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We are desperate to cover up the crevassed split between that which we see in our own lives and the mythical saccharine made for TV movies.
But we do have the ability to walk about this shifting landscape and between the seasons with grace and skill.
We each find our own way forward to the place where our own version of the everyday super hero lives.
We can move away from the seasonal quaff from the cup of bitterness or booze. We can clear see the mindless expectation that are trying to script our decisions.
Getting to the next thing… the next season… the next stage of who we are becoming is an immense relief.
The question is: “Who am I now?”
“Who am I now?”
“Who am I now?”
We step as children into our own past and re-author all of it with every new thought.
Freedom to love comes from freedom from the old stories.
What is this time that now holds me?
The season moves to a wall of cold and winter shows up. Christmas shows up with so much possibility.
my livingroom sanctuary
We are free to run towards others with a child like innocence and love. I am here. I showed up.
It is all new. It is all now. What fun.