reflections on the water

Every space holds an energy... and we soak it up with more ease than we even realize. Today, we spent a magical day at Rhonda's island: surrounded by water and feeling totally relaxed. As soon as we stepped on to the island we felt a calmness fill our bones and rejuvenate our souls. The island seems to carry with it a sense of stillness that allows our busy minds to be put at ease... no matter what else is going on in the world, in this space nothing else matters. It was so rejuvenating and I am still feeling the positive vibrations. Both girls got to drive the boat... Anaïs focused and calm, and Isabel excited to get to steer (sometimes to excited to keep her hands on the wheel).

Our time at the island also gave me some space to digest the amazing couple of weeks we have had since arriving in Canada. The time has been so full that I have hardly had a moment to actually absorb the intensity, chaos and beauty of it all. From the moment we arrived we have been trying to see so many people... each visit seems to be shorter than the last and as the time goes by I feel almost to exhausted to actually enjoy the moment. I found myself getting lost in the fact that we are not at home... and yet we are at home. What an odd sensation... to be 'home' and yet simultaneously to feel like a 'stranger'. Everything being totally familiar, and at the same time completely foreign. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced before.

I love the time we have to see friends, and yet there is never any real escape to refuel in our own space. Every space we are in is 'borrowed'... and even the time shared seems to be borrowed time. We exchange stories of daily events and talk about the things that are meaningful... and as children demand our attention many conversations are interrupted. There doesn't seem to be enough time... and yet 'enough' has no meaning because it is just about being with what is... the time that we have. With each visit we are jarred into the present moment... with each reconnection we are reminded of what we miss as we make our 'home' in another land... and with each day we feel simultaneously more distant and more connected to this new reality of living a life abroad while visiting our family and friends at 'home'. So where is home...

It is drifting and changing... but above all it is like time, right now, this instant. And this is the gift today has brought to me... the realization that we will not have 'enough' time, energy, resources to do everything, to see everyone... but we will enjoy whatever opportunities we have to be with those we love. For whether we are living next door, or a continent apart... our hearts continue to keep us connected, and our connections continue to be real, just as they are.

keeping it in perspective...

It's amazing what a little bit of sleep can do for one's perspective. How easy it is to fall into a cycle of doubt when we are plagued with fatigue. Yet, as soon as the fog lifts we can see clearly... and realize that each wave of challenges is simply that... it passes, it flows, it moves. That is not to say that being caught in the motion is not difficult or disruptive... but dedicating our energy to analysis of the situation rarely brings us closer to clarity or sanity. In fact, all to often it is the contrary... our mind can take us even further from the truth.

And so, here we are, enjoying our first weeks in Canada... and while there is no schedule, our girls are sleeping less than ever, we are filled with the emotion of seeing family and friends who we have not seen in ages... we are simply being present in the wave of this experience. Without need to worry about what it will mean for re-establishing sleep patterns, eating habits and so on... it's a wonderful way to be. It is, afterall, vacation time!!

We are so lucky to have had a great place to stay in Toronto with our friends who recently renovated their home. I was in awe at how much beauty they put into their space... designing every single detail with attention and care for how it will be used. And just two weeks after moving in opening up their space to us for an extended visit with the girls. Now we are in Morin Heights enjoying the peace of life in the country, and the magic (and chaos) of being all together (five brothers, four wives/girlfriends, five grand-daughters, grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins and friends with kids of their own). We have a beautiful home where we can retreat with the girls whenever we need to... and mostly we are relishing in the joy of all being together. I am continually struck by the beauty of family... how well cousins get along, how magical the relationship is between uncles/aunts and nieces (no nephews yet), and how much fun it is to be together. The love is overpowering and simultaneously liberating... with a freedom to just be present... right here and right now.

As usual, there are more photos posted at picasa -- following the link in additional links!!

patience...

Some people seem to have an endless supply of patience... no matter what challenges or surprises they face; they approach them with complete grace and calm. There are so many moments when I wish to tap into this resource. At times I find myself standing at the edge of a cliff... around me is a state of calm, a presence, a security in knowing that this moment is exactly as it should be... but as I look down I feel myself hover over an abyss of chaos. As I steady my feet, I am strangely aware of the fact that a mere breeze could tip me over. I hold firm. I take a deep breath. I imagine there is no one else watching. I try very hard to remind myself that beyond the frustration, exhaustion and loneliness, I can find strength and exhileration in the simplest acts -- a hug, a smile, a song. The ordinary moments become extraordinary. Yet at the same time, the challenging moments take every ounce of patience I can find to move through. No matter how bad it gets, I know it will pass... and with time and reflection I always realise it was never that bad. But at that very moment when I hover at the edge of the cliff, I am never sure if I will find the patience to be present, to understand, to open my heart. I suppose it is the fear that creates the feeling of vertigo. So, if only I could release the fear, then the feeling of being at the limits of my patience could also be freed? What is it that I am so afraid of... that my children experience pain, unhappiness, illness? I know this is a part of being human and being alive... yet when I see it in the eyes of my children I am completely paralysed. I want to do everything I can to wipe away the pain as I wipe away the tears... whether the pain is emotional or physical, or even appears to be imaginary. Sometimes I just keep searching for answers -- answers to questions that I cannot even articulate. Yet I keep hoping that someone can tell me, show me, guide me. I know in my heart that it is my children who are guiding me, and all I need to do is listen. This is easy to say when I am not tired and feeling burned out... and in turn feeling uncertain as to what steps to take next. The answer is simple: just put one foot in front of the other. But what if in front of you is a screaming child, having a tantrum about something you are completely unable to understand or diminish. It's as if there is a fire burning out of control and there is no water anywhere in sight. I search for something to calm the situation... and I hope that the choice I make is the right one (whatever that means). And through it all, I keep searching for patience. Hovering... trying desperately not to fall; and always getting up each time I do. Someone recently told me that between one and a half and four years of age are some of the hardest years of parenting... as the kids explore their independance and try to find themselves in the myriad of possibilities before them. As we/they get older more means of communication develop and frustrations subsides... we/they learn new ways of expressing their tantrums that perhaps are less painful to the outside world, and we/they learn better coping mechanisms. I suppose this is all part of learning to walk alone... not just with our feet, but with our hearts and our minds too. There will be falls, and there will be bruises... and while they (we) may never really be alone, the steps they (we) take are theirs (ours) to own.

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. ~ Anais Nin

she walks alone...

"The loving mother teaches the child to walk alone. She is far enough from her so that she cannot actually support her, but she holds out her arms to her. She imitates her movements, and if she totters, she swiftly bends as if to seize her, so that the child might believe she is not walking alone...And yet, she does more. Her face beckons like a reward, an encouragement. Thus, the child walks alone with her eyes fixed on her mama's face, not on the difficulties in her way. She supports herself by the arms that do not hold her and constantly strives towards the refuge in her mother's embrace, little suspecting that in the very same moment that she is emphasizing her need for her, she is proving that she can do without her, because she is walking alone." It starts with baby steps... and then the independance continues to grow... little by little... getting dressed, putting on shoes, baking cookies, reading books... And suddenly you realize that she is doing it all alone. The memories are there to cherish... the moments exist to be lived.