I choose to be me

I love my life. I love having friends and family, a job I love, intellect, compassion, a voice, song, passion, insight, vision and soul-fullness. I'm so grateful for the gifts I have today and I hope that I'm doing them justice in the ways that I share them. I sometimes forget that I've given my life to something higher. I sometimes forget that the universe (or whatever's out there) leads me to better places than I could have plotted myself. I often forget that I can be a shining work of art, a star who lights the way, a channel for higher love. I forget and then I remember. I remember and I feel soulful, strong and grounded in certainty of self.

If I could wish for one thing right now it would be to express my highest nature and live my greatest truth - as a mother, as a lover, as a citizen, and as a human being. I wish to express godliness in all facets of my life, to shed the films that block my light, to lose the fear that holds me back, to birth the love that lies dormant in my heart. I wish to let go of all those things that hold me back, that keep me thinking small, that keep me closed and self-protective, fearful and full of limitation. I wish for exceptionality, exquisiteness, sublime expression of passion and truth.

As I recall these aspirations I feel nothing but peace and serenity, because I know that in truth, I'm already fulfilled. I am this potential, whether it comes out all the time or only sometimes - I still hold it in my heart. And the filters that block the beautiful light from shining through are not attached, they aren't part of me. I cling to them like shields or cloaks but in fact they are simply props in a rather comical drama. When I let go of them, I'm amazed at how quickly they drift off, like helium balloons, never meant to stay in one place...…

I'm humbled in reverence for this revelation of my own true identity, mystified that I could have missed it only an hour ago, antagonizing over the trivia of my job insecurities or imagined domestic entrapments. Suddenly, I'm freed. I'm soaring with the knowledge of what really matters, and am able to tune into the real source of my own satisfaction, contentment and pure joy. I can almost feel the sensation of wings sprouting, pulsing, lifting me up out of my own confines to the swifter currents of coalescing light, higher awareness and fearlessness. I am charmed by new rhythms and sounds, rainbows and celestial beings of light. I play in their world, share in their laughter and take comfort in their knowing. It's not that suffering doesn't exist - it does, it's been a big part of my journey. But there comes a time when hanging onto it becomes a choice, and when one knows that it's OK to let it go without judgement or prejudice. Today I choose joy. I choose elation at the beauty that I see everywhere around me. I choose self-satisfaction at my progress instead of condemnation of my shortfallings.

I choose to be free and alive. I choose to be me.

What My Mother Never Knew #22: A Walk on the Wild Side

It's hard to say when things shifted from being really crazy to really bad. Maybe they always were. The thing is, I was getting closer and closer to the razor's edge that separates risk taking from self-destruction.

I woke up one morning with a wet spot on my pillow. Somehow, I decided that my Himalayan cat had puked near my face. It was clear and smelled mildly of fermentation.... yet rather than admit to myself that I'd vomited in my sleep, so intoxicated the previous night that I could easily have asphyxiated, I adopted the explanation that it had been my cat. Years later, the truth came to me suddenly, like a Newtonian discovery: I had actually lied to myself and totally believed it!

There were other questionable uses of my brain. One night we were out and about for a street festival downtown. My friend dragged me over to a small grove of trees and introduced me to someone she used to know. The girl was a few years older than us, maybe 17 or so and had obviously not been raised in the middle class neighbourhoods we came from. She pulled from her dirty jean pocket a small packet of white powder that she was trying to sell. "Coke?", I asked, getting a feeling of panic and exhilaration at the possibility of trying cocaine for the first time.
"No", she said. "It's exactly like coke though, just a man-made version, synthetic cocaine. Only 10 bucks will get you guys high all night". And so it did.

We ended up at a party in a ritzy neighbourhood and before I knew what I was up to I had stripped down to my bra and panties and jumped in the outdoor pool. I think that although we technically were crashing the party, they let us stay just for the amusement. By the end of the night, the booze I'd consumed negated any euphoria induced by the mystery powder. I guess it didn't put me into the hospital or anything but it just seems so asinine looking back - taking something unknown from someone unknown, without pausing to think about the risk.

Another day, we ended up hanging with a guy we'd met downtown and he invited us up to his apartment to smoke some dope. He was wiry and depleted, like someone who'd just been released from a concentration camp. When we got to his 'apartment', we found it to be a single room in the "Royal Hotel", which was really a cockroach infested dive providing only the bare necessities for the most destitute. We walked through the dark hallways with Marcel and up three flights of squeaking stairs to a 5 X 7 room, with a hot plate and bar fridge, take out containers on every surface and the smell of stale cigarette smoke and old socks.

We played it pretty cool since he was the one buying the dope but I'd never seen anything so sad. We should have been buying the drugs if this was all he could afford. Sitting there passing a hash pipe around, I looked out the two foot square window down into a small courtyard. It wasn't open for residents but since the four sides of the building encased the small open space, you could look out and see windows of other tenants. Most curtains were drawn or apartments empty but a movement caught my eye. An older woman lying in her bed looked right at me, an oustretched hand reaching, asking for help. I thought I heard her moan. My new friend Marcel shut the curtains, said that the woman was crazy and redirected us to the process of ordering Chinese food. By this point we all had the munchies pretty bad, despite the somewhat nauseating surroundings.

We ate, I gave him a massage and Lori cleaned up his room and washed the table off. It was the first of July and we planned on heading down to the park where the Canada Day fireworks were to take place. But before going, Marcel explained that he was diabetic and needed some insulin. He leaned out the window, slightly out of view and injected himself. We let him relax for a bit and then headed down to the park. I'd agreed to take Marcel's syringes of insulin in my purse, under strict instructions to only give him a needle every two hours. Any more than that and he would run out too soon, he explained.

Navigating the crowds to a spot on the grass, we waited for the show and smoked a bit of weed. I suddenly wondered if my mom and brother had come down too and decided to try to keep a low profile. Before we knew it, the show was over and we left to find a beach where there was supposed to be a party happening.

Marcel asked for a syringe. Only an hour had passed since his last one and I pointed that out. He pressed for it again, and, trying to be helpful, I said "No way - I'm not going to be responsible for any diabetic seizures tonight." He grabbed my wrist hard and with an icy tone, through clenched teeth, he whispered loudly "It's not insulin... Give it to me now." I immediately handed him all of his syringes and breathed a sigh of relief as he moved to some bushes to shoot up. The battery-acid taste of fear stayed in my throat for an hour though. I'd never seen anyone with that violent look in their eyes before, especially directed at me. Lori and I decided to boot it out of there and let our junkie friend find his own way.

That night, I feel like I slipped one or two notches down the innocence scale, as if I were clinging to one of those greased poles at the country fair. And I also had a startling glimpse of what lay waiting at the bottom: filth, degradation and despair. The people I'd met that night were like empty shells, souls left behind in some bus station locker somewhere. Well, I certainly wasn't like them - was I?

Divine Intersection

I sometimes wonder how it is that you have stumbled upon the path to who I am

You may know me or think you know me or perhaps you're just someone looking up from the crosswalk

But through our crossing, mingling or simply observing, we become for an instant, co-creators of a joint reality

You say something that leaves me wondering, look at me oddly and leave me doubting, or smile in an instant of mutual knowing

I love you, despise you, long for you or judge you,

See your grace, sense your pain, feel your weathered skin or hear the truth of your soul's presence

And knowing you makes me whole, broadens my sense of what I am and who I might become

In your eyes I discover lost essence, I heal my own pitted scars and I birth parts of me that you and only you might ever come to know

It's joyous - this intimate connection you and I have, freed from the confines of self-centredness, buoyed by a new perspective on our own small lives

Be with me in this moment and know that we will never again be the same

Touch me in this instant and we shall nudge each other closer our own true wholeness

What My Mother Never Knew #21: Jailbait Intruders

I recall so little that didn't involve drug use. For example, we traveled to see a Black Sabbath concert one weekend and had bought an ounce of pot about two weeks ahead of the concert because it was a good deal and we had the money. We divided it in two, rolled it up, fought over who rolled the best joints (mine were always tighter) and smoked a couple then and there to make sure they'd turned out OK. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that we were nearly dry again by the time we got to the concert. Finding more, luckily, was not a problem. And that's it, I don't remember any of the concert - just the drugs, running out and getting more. I think we may have went skiing for a day while there, but likewise, all I recall is the joint we smoked with a ski patrol on the chair lift. I honestly don't think I cared about anything other than getting high.

But I suppose, when I think back to other events, I recall a few other strange things, like where my bed was in my bedroom during different time periods. My surprise lover, gained entry when the bed was on the far left, against the wall. My sleepover orgy happened when the bed was against the far wall, near the closet with the spyhole. When the bed was in the middle, right under the window, other memories surface, ones that I've not considered in years. One of these memories also brings to mind the smell of underarm deodorant.

I'd met the guy at an AA dance which my friend had dragged me out to. Her mom was in AA and she in alateen and she suggested we go to a Saturday night dance. We drank "Silent Sam" vodka first, thinking that we would be safe from detection (duhhhh-right!!). Well if anyone did smell, they didn't make a fuss and so we proceeded to dance and scout for boys. I ended up meeting Clint, who had just come out of a federal prison. He was was 24 and had pulled an armed robbery which had landed him in prison for quite a few years. We left the club to smoke some dope and ended up dating for a while. He was so sexy but had an edge I'd not been exposed to before.

He'd developed a heroin habit before and during his incarceration and I'm not entirely sure that he was off it. I didn't see any but his face had this hollow bony look that I associated with hard core addicts. Clint was a bit hard to figure out. I was developing feelings for him but it wasn't clear to me where he was coming from. It wasn't long before I discovered enough to know what I needed to do. We'd been out with my best friend and his best friend and I guess I thought that at some point they might get together. Through the course of the party they did but then the conversation got a bit weird. Clint suggested that if we were in a really zany mood, we should switch partners later on, just for the hell of it. It was a casual comment and nobody really responded. Later, however, he made reference to the planned switch and I realized he really intended to go through with it. I didn't know what to say. His friend Steve was cute, but also newly out of prison and I just wasn't really into recreational sex. I liked Clint and didn't really want to share him with anyone. But somehow, not voicing concern earlier left me feeling like I'd committed to the experiment by default.

They snuck us into the federal halfway house through the fire escape on the third floor. I think they had found a way to disable the fire alarm on the window and we all climbed in quietly. I was petrified! Weren't there guards downstairs or something? We sat in one of their rooms for a while and then Clint grabbed my friend's hand and I was alone with Steve. We kissed on his bed for a while but it was completely empty. Finally, he confessed that he wasn't into it. He had a girlfriend back home and while he thought I was nice, he felt like it was wrong. I was so relieved! So while my best friend and 'boyfriend' had sex down the hall, we sat in his bed for an hour and talked about how he missed his girlfriend and planned to change his ways. Needless to say, I got out of that involvement pretty quick after that. I was pretty hurt by the whole stupid thing. I didn't really blame my girlfriend, but in retrospect, I realized that Clint had really wanted to sleep with her all along and didn't really have any feelings towards me. Well, live an learn. I still pass by the half way house sometimes and shake my head at the gall we had at 14, sneaking into a federal institution to sleep with 24 year old convicts!

A Walk Under the Radar

Let's take a walk to the unseen places where children don't tell and there are no witnesses

I'll show you the the thorns, the blood, the fear-infested air - maybe you know this place

The discarded toys, the pleated bedspread, the precious childhood things, all left to turn to dust

Feel no pity for those empty-eyed children, who speak no evil, and show no pain

But if you meet one at the park or riding on the bus, smile or wink playfully

Let just a hint of love fly under their wary radar - reflecting elusive beauty

And know that it's never too late to heal - them... you... me.......

When one is ready, it's never too late to heal