Being Mommy

To me, being a mother means sharing the most mundane parts of my day with two little people who are still very near to God, not yet trained in the ways of the world and its Ego-driven rules and expectations.

Every day, these two little people shower me with unconditional love and pure adoration. They trust me with their health and happiness, and look to me to teach them about 'the ways' on this planet: how to manoeuvre through this strange world of ours. And I know that, as a parent, my roles is to teach them to live and thrive independently on this planet. Ironically, they have taught me more about this life than anyone else ever could. These two little people have taught me about myself, compassion, patience, passion, and what it really means to be alive in this world today.

I thank you, Lennox and Lachlan, for blessing me with the gift of being your mom. I thank you for laughing at all my silly jokes, and not judging me for having a laundry-room full of dirty clothes and closets empty of clean ones. I thank you for forgiving me, in the blink of an eye, for the mistakes I make. You have taught me about forgiveness and the power of the present. You know, I bought The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle when Lennox was born, but was too sleep deprived to read it. If only I had known that Lennox and Lachlan would model the tenants of that book for me and teach me its wisdom through their actions- I would have saved twenty bucks.

My darling boys, I thank you for putting your tiny hands in mine, every day, and trusting me as I take you on my adventures. You make trips to the coffee shop so much better than they could ever be and ever were. You make a drive to the grocery store fun because you belt out pirate songs. You make the lineups at the checkout extremely hazardous and very stressful, but I truly love every moment of it because if you were not there my mind would be wasted on useless information about the Kardashian family.

When I was a single gal, walking by day and dancing by night, reading Deepak and pondering life's mysteries over coffee with my friends; I believed that women who defined themselves as 'Mother' were placing a rigid label on themselves; neglecting their other attributes and caging themselves in a label that defined a singular role/profession. I attributed this to the fact that they had clearly lost themselves in 'being Mommy'. Only now, I realise one does not lose oneself in motherhood- a woman both earns the right to call herself "Mom/Mother" (much like a PhD is earned) and is blessed with the title mother (much like a natural blond is blessed).

Our human souls desire and require expansion, freedom, and flight.  Becoming a mother gifts each woman with the chance to truly expand her soul.

Thus, defining oneself as 'Mother' is knowing your soul is expanding, knowing you are blessed to soar above all that is mundane and earthly, to see the truth of this life and the truth of love. Becoming "Mommy" is having wings and taking flight, indeed the furthest thing from a cage.

Namaste and Happy Mother's Day

pale

if it fits to pale yourself in tender flowers and eyelet ribbons, then so it is.
i cannot cloth you in anything but what you feel within.

an open smile from a stranger, scratches the ice thin surface-
'twould sink, warm and ice crumble
coming, if only, from him.
i wait my tea and steep it boiling, water over me.
i watch, i wither seasons stumble wonder where i'll be.
alas the day arriveth-
but i am there no more,
what is left is a distant shadow,
watch it dance across the floor.

Lana Del Rey and SNL

I woke up this morning and read that one of my favourite new artisits 'bombed' on her North American live performance debut last night.  At first, it was unclear to me if they meant 'bombed' as in "Lana Del Rey was the bomb!" or if they meant "Lana Del Rey crashed and burned badly, like a bomb."  Upon further reading, I realized that the public reaction was not a positive one. I was surprised because this girl and this band are extremely well trained, the music is fresh, and they seem to be ahead of the game as they have skill, talent, and uniquness oozing out of every melody. 

So, I came to the internet to watch what happened last night.  As it turns out, Perez Hilton and Huffington Post are sorely confused about the deffinition of what is good music and a good performance. 

It may not have been mainstream: she did not gyrate on TV, she sang differently (always on key), and it was not your regular pop-song.  SNL is having Bon Iver on this season as well, I wonder what the mainstream press will say about his performance!? I am sure it won't be hip-hop enough for them, and thus he will 'bomb' too. (For those of you who are unfamiliar with Bon Iver, he is NOT  hip-hop, the music is also labelled as Alternative).

As for Juliette Lewis, who tweeted her dislike of Lana Del Rey last night, I expected more from you.  For a woman who has starred in many indie productions and has played many off-beat characters, I thought you would understand the beauty in non-conforming.  I think it is cool to speak your mind, and please twitter away, but realize that last night, you were introduced to a band that plays Alternative music, not Pop music.

In the early 90s mainstream press used to downplay Nirvana's live musical talent all the time, saying that they were just a bunch of punk rocker wannabes, unable to keep a tune or play in time during their live performances.  It was not until people who attended their concerts and stood-up for the band's musical skills and talents, that those critics stopped airing their 'mainstream' opinions.

Excellent music does not need to be manufactured and engineered to someone's idea of 'perfection', to be perfect.  I was recently told by a musician friend of mine that Garageband (GarageBand is a software application that allows users to create music or podcasts) is better than the studiorecording equipment that The Beatles used when they were recording their music. And look how their music has spanned the decades!

A beautiful red-head in a white dress does not need to sing a pop song in a particular way to rock the socks off of her viewers. And for the record, I thought that Lana Del Rey did, in fact, rock last night on SNL.

Woot woot!

Namaste

December Orchids

the winter sprigs
turn cold and blue
purple with night flowers-
the sunless days when i was close to you
turned into midnight hours

the blue the jade of evergreen
remind me of the yearning-

the wanting
wondering
waiting
longing
hoping for beginning.

Only those with tender cloaks and steel inside their pockets,
can tell You to move forward-
intrepidly against the pain
and cold december orchids

Yes,
time passes, but cannot erase
the broken of the hearted-
i tumble, stumble, abashed, i crash
amongst the dearly parted.

Down the hall and straight ahead

Hear them whisper
in your bed
                  Make impressions, in your Head.

Go on,
forget the spring time
and
Let the Blues wash over you
in silent hues
                    - and moonshine.

Come on,
Receive the dawn, with its burning light: casting a spell on the Night.

Forever parted.
Forever bequeathed-

Enduring with you- They will-
dry your tears,
                       while you fall asleep.

Anew

the love lost wasn't the love for you.
let go, rewind, the story, unwind, the one that you outgrew.

she held you tight, long, through the night
not wanting to let you go.
only, minds wander and years pass, we often let love flow-
through our fingers
streaming out
far from where we started
darling, i did not mean to leave you broken hearted.

amongst the rubble, ash, decay
where we let our love part
there lies in ruins:
the gleaming wishes of my tender heart.

My Baby Brother, a baby no more

Once upon a time there was a raven haired girl who lived fancifully amongst the love and adoration of the adults in her life.  At nightfall and in the early morning light, she whispered her dreams, deep, into her pillow.  And one day, they started to come true. 

Little by little, as time would pass,
each dream would manifest itself at last. 
Sure their was heartache, growth, and pain along the way. 
And of course she learned of attachment and how hearts are led astray.
But the wishes that felt true and kept her in light, revealed themselves eventually, and she never lost sight.

The first of these wishes was to have a baby brother. 
And alas the day came, happier than no other.
He was born on June1st 1986, and was truly the first of amazing and wonderful gifts.
They grew-up together, the best of friends,
and the story continues, it has no end.

----

Here is what he is doing, a baby no more:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=91W0kovEJuY

http://www.nsnews.com/story_print.html?id=5310530&sponsor=

A beaming big sister!

Namaste.

a teenage dream

Is it okay to hide-
     knock.
turn around the
     clock
under the bed, over my head, was a blanket of stars.

Would play
all day
with you
in my thoughts
no rest
just
a hope
a wish and dream,
a fantasy for me to convene.

when we last saw each other-
the moon shimmered on the sea
and i wanted,
only
to dance with thee.

no rest
thoughts grow
love wanes
and i shook you off-
in the fall-
like the trees with their pretty leaves.

Egoist

Do you remember that Channel commercial from the 90s where beautiful angry women open their balcony doors and yell "Egoist!" into the air of some Mediterranean town? Their long luscious hair beating against the wind; then (the following part may be a conjecture of my teenage mind) the camera finds an unimaginably handsome chiselled man, listening to the wind carry the angry voices to the sea.
This morning, I felt like one of those angry women. I wanted to find my very own balcony (substitute sun drenched Mediterranean town with nippy Calgary), let my long locks flail with drama, and shout the same cat call to a nameless chiselled man (substitute handsome Italian dude with older greying guy in an okay suite).

After a night of my children playing tag-team 'wake up Mom and Dad', I realized that we did not have coffee filters, nor was there any bread in the house, and my equally tired husband was already out of the house and in the office. So, after changing the kids' diapers, filling their sippy cups with milk, and bundling everyone into their winter coats (over our pyjamas) we headed to my favourite coffee shop in Calgary: Fresh Kitchen. It is a small little shop, with home baked treats, fresh flowers, and everything from local milk to rare truffle oil and crackers made by Buddhist monks living in El Salvador (not really, but you get the picture).

It is the kind of place where people smile when you walk through the doors, they remember you but don't bug you with too much talk; and it is never bustling and overcrowded. In fact, this morning, there were three people, myself included, getting our coffees at that time.

I left the kids in the car (I was parked just outside the store) and ran inside- wearing my pink flannel pyjamas, running shoes, and big black winter coat with a broken zipper. After I made my order and paid, I ran the muffins to the car, so the kids would get some food into their bellies, and I went back for my coffee.

Once I got to the counter, there were two gentlemen (and I use that word lightly here) standing at the counter, paying for their drinks. I said, "Excuse me" as I slowly slid my arm past the guy to the left, to get my drink. Now, remember, I just got out of bed, I have on a massive fluffy full-length winter coat, that won't close, over pink flannel pyjamas, and crazy bed hair. You can't miss me. But, when I said "Excuse me" the man moved to the right, oh, about, half a centimetre. The gentleman behind the counter said, "Oh, excuse our reach, just have to give her coffee"- translation: "Seriously man, move over, the store is not packed, I need to give this scary looking lady her coffee." The suited man moved over a teeny smidgen more, and as I reached for my Americano, the cuff of my jacket hit the side of a display and very hot coffee spilled, onto my hand, the cuff of my coat (tightly pressed around my wrist), on the counter, and some on the floor.

The barista exclaimed, "Oh NO! Are you okay ma'am? What can I do for you? Are you okay?" I yelped "Ooh, kinda! Hot! Hot!" then looked at the man next to me and said, "Sorry about that, are you okay?" He checked to see if I spilled on his suite, and replied, "I am not sure." I realise that I have not burnt him, or else he would know. I then recall how expensive a suit can be, and apologize again, but add, "At least there is not milk in it, you should be fine."

Meanwhile, my jacket has absorbed all the hot water and my wrist is burning. I feel I cannot take off my coat in the store because I am in my pyjamas, so I quickly run to my car. Once I manage to take my coat off, I pour cold water on my hand and wrist (thank God I leave bottled water in the car).

Then, as one does when a highly intense incident occurs, I replay the events in my mind. I think about the suited-man's actions. I think of my husband, in his suits, and what he would do if a crazy looking lady spilled coffee on herself and a little on him.

Herein lay the difference between a true gentleman and an Egoist.

The Egoist at Fresh Kitchen cared only about his suit, he was meticulously wiping at it while I was flapping my hand, and clearly hurt. He made no caring or helpful gestures, instead made me feel bad for an accident that clearly hurt me more than it hurt him. Not to mention, had he moved over a few more inches, the accident would not have occurred.

A gentleman would realise that he is not hurt, and that there is someone other than himself needing attention at the moment. A gentleman would help the person in need first; all else is secondary.

I believe George Michael said it best when he sang, "I hope you understand / Sometimes the clothes do not make the man"

Namaste.

LOST and STOLEN

I will not cry for you.

make me fall to my knees
                                                          reach for

                         
free fall
             down
                      into you
slowly
the abyss grew so dark and so cold over me
concealing me-
wayward girl

losing myself to you-
the lost and the missing.
MISSING

no picture of my soul on this milk carton.

i will not cry these tears of regret. they will not fall. they will not
                                                                                                  show themselves

they do not exist. you did not wake me from my life and take me to
another

so dark and so cold

alone

in this world of attachments

And, it was New Year's Eve.  I wanted to feel real, like everyone else.  Looking out my window- at the Christmas lights, linning the streets.  Hearing crowds of people laughing, they were near but not near enough.  My window was fogged with steam.  I had to wipe it clean. It left a mark, a shadow trail.  I couldn't see clearly out that window, I wanted to see what they were wearing, and from where they were coming and going.

Did the fireworks start? Did I miss them? Am I too late? 

I am so sad.
oh! here they go! i see them sparkle
                                             between the tall buildings.
Red, Gold, Opulent, Silver, Vibrant, Emerald, Joyous, Blue
Glitter Glue on navy velvet skies-
it doesn't stick.

my view is obstructed, anyhow.

too dim to see the light
             snuffed
somewhere along my path ...

Frightened.

the stolen and the missing

all a lonesome

Fuck you.

I will not cry for you.

You will starve dry- no longer gleam nutrients from my bitter tears.

Miss Representation

You must watch this:

http://vimeo.com/28066212

Tumbling

you still
  somehow
hold a spell
  on
      me.

could not see
my scar in the sunlight-
blissfully blinded by its luminous light.

But, i cannot forget what i know so well
scar tissue, second skin, from the day our eyes fell
                                                                                 onto
                                                                                  into
                                                                                      one
                                                                                  another.

Trip- don't fall-- so deep this well: dark and familiar.

perhaps it's cosmic
this thick spider web
dust filled with satin
from the day i first fell-

Meditations

A landslide brought me down.
I did not chose who would pick me up.

Who were you before your parent's were born?

Who was I meant to be.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeee-- the thunder rolls over the desert.
The rain reaches tides along the coast.

Who am I without you?

Emerald leaves turn red as the blood count rises.
                                                                             drip.
                                                                                     drop.
                                                                                             red.
                                                                                                   ruby.
                                                                                                           pomegranate seeds.

How can I extricate myself from you, when you are the ones who polished me with your stories.

                                                                                                             Obsidian
                                                                                                   fills
                                                                                           my
                                                                               eyes
                                                         with illusion.

I cannot reshape what you have carved me to be.

I cannot fill the cracks
                                  
created
concrete
within.


Tools of love, redemption, betrayal, manipulation ...
manipulations


i

r
a
n

Miramichi

They
shut down the factory.

The pulp and paper mill.

A great big building
rusting
starkly
against the timeless river.

Trees grow out from the vents.
Vines cover the conveyor belts.
Blossoms crawl up the sides of the building.
And underneath the foundation, live roots pulse.

Nature takes it toll
over the abandoned
soul.

Sorry

Going up the narrow road.  The list of expectations, that have yet to be met, driving circles in my mind.  The apology list grows longer and longer-- saying sorry for things that have yet to come, people I know I will fail. The guilt grows darker, creates a shadow, a blind spot- a thump!

I hit a car.  I hit his car.  He has a nice car.

It's a reflex: stop, drive back, park the car, and step out.

Oh my gosh, I really hit his car.  His side mirror is on the road.

I am so sorry.

It's okay. 

I will give you all my information. 

Yes, let's exchange information.

I am really very sorry.