Be still my bleeding heart.

At four years of age I recall having a sense of wonderment and fulfillment when I escaped the confines of our modest home in order to explore our neighborhood. Alone.

The family story about these occasions involve me escaping my bedroom in the early mornings in order to galavant, unescorted, around my downtown Toronto 'hood (Coxwell and Danforth). One particularly notable occasion involves me using a screwdriver in order to pry open the lock my parents had put (in desperation) on my bedroom the front door. These early morning escapades must have scared the bejesus out of my parents. Not in a 2012 way though. This was 1971, in the era before mass publicized child abductions. Four year olds were accorded a lot more intelligence and street smarts back then.

I have no recollection of guile when performing these Houdini like efforts. What I recall, with pristine clarity, is the glorious feeling of freedom that I had to observe and marvel at the world around me. One particularly crystal clear memory from that time involves me staring at what I now know is a bleeding heart plant that was in a neighbour's backyard. I couldn't tell you now if I stared for a minute or an hour. A plant that grows pretty pink hearts. Kinda incredible isn't it? I still think so.

In fact, I can tell you that each and every bleeding heart plant that I have seen in the subsequent 40 years has brought a smile to my face due to the recollection of the joy and marvel I experienced as a four year old seeing it for the first time.

And now, when my heart is seemingly bleeding from the despairs and regrets that are searing through my middle age, I can turn to my four year old self and remember that I will always have the ability to view the world with marvel...as long as I 'escape' whatever is holding me back. And if I had the smarts to figure out how to do this at four years of age, I most certainly can do so at 44.

RHRN: Joyfully Disconnecting

I have become a person that gets startled regularly by moments of exquisite joy. I just had one of those moments.

And, thanks to my newly installed blogger app and wifi, I am taking a few minutes to give more airtime to this stream of consciousness from the comfort of my bedroom.

Most of my startling moments of joy do not take place in proximity to a publishing device such as the iPod I am currently writing on. I do not own a cell phone so I am frequently 'disconnected'.

In writing that last sentence I arrived at the very crux of the matter. In the culture I am immersed in I am regarded as disconnected for not having a mobile communication device that is ON AIR 24/7.

However, the very state of being disconnected allows me to be regularly startled. Not by the buzz/ beep/ringtone of a mobile though. I get startled by moments of such exquisite joy that I literally have to sometimes fight tears back when to share them would be socially awkward, These moments of joy are like pearls from the banquet of life and leave me feeling connected to every last morsel on this planet and beyond. I am humbled and often overwhelmed by these moments (ergo, tears).

I feel unprepared for these moments because it seems to me like the events and culture I am nearly constantly immersed in are so extraordinarily opposed to where and how I am experiencing joy.

Today's moment of joy, the one that prompted this impromptu broadcast, is not one that I could explain easily. In fact, I think it could take a book or a 10 part miniseries to explain how I arrived at it's zenith.

Joy has become like that for me. It is as if my life contains a near infinite supply of puzzle pieces and all of a sudden WHAM... a bunch of them slam together and create a piece of art that can literally move me to tears.

So for me, for now, I think I'll remain 'disconnected' and see if I can ever start mainlining this joy stuff. After all, it is not likely to happen if I'm constantly pixelated and not taking in the RHRN (right here right now) world.


[pic was via a friend's fb feed and was likely one of the 'puzzle pieces' that inspired this morning's moment of joy... original pic is from this wonderful collection: http://stomaster.livejournal.com/1102877.html#cutid1]

Nollaig na mBan

"A strong woman."

I heard this slip out of a man's mouth as I passed by him walking my dog in my local Toronto hood a couple of years back. The comment was uninvited and he did not use these curious words as a greeting. It seemed to be merely an observation of my aura. At the time I wondered briefly if it was a figment of my imagination.

It wasn't the first time I had been called those words and it wasn't the last. At times I curse this reality, for it is often a very lonely road. At other times, like my chance encounter with the street side truth teller, and more recently, with the grandson of a Peruvian jungle shaman, I feel honoured that the core of my very being is acknowledged. I daresay that as I age, I embrace these words more and more.

Fortunately for me, there is an ancestral custom that is specifically geared to celebrate strength. The strength of women, to be precise. In Irish it is called Nollaig na mBan and it translates to Women's Christmas. The date of this celebration is January 6th (today).

And so today I am preparing for my second annual weekend brunch to celebrate this festival. I hope to continue with this tradition that my mom first reinstated on this side of the pond a couple of decades ago.

For our family this custom involves a gathering of women and homemade food and small gifts that are brought together in order to nurture and celebrate the awesomeness we are. The date for this celebration is generally chosen some time after the hustle and bustle of holidays. I recall a few February gatherings at my mom's. This year I have the good fortune to be able to celebrate twice...once in my home and the week after at my mom's home in Newfoundland.

If you are a woman reading this, please consider taking a moment to reflect on your own strength and the strength of those around you. And others, take a moment to reflect on the primal female/uterine strength it took to get most of us out and about on this planet.