The Pilgrim

She walked.

Backpack, long curls tied tight.

Cane to the ground and face to the tower.

Her smile said what she accomplished:

Moved,

at the end of her journey,

her long time to think, grieve,

find and be 

herself.

She cried.

Unapologetic.

Elated.

A fleeting moment of witness,

I felt it with her.

The pushing, walking, thinking, surviving

The accumulated struggle.

Pain.

I watched it fall away for her,

for this moment

present and aware,

face to the height of the cathedral.

Tears, unquestioning.

I saw her breath

like an exhale and inhale

all at once.

I wanted to meet her eyes.

I wanted to hold her and be held by her.

I wanted to be there.

I quietly cried

while my hand played thumb war

with a giggling child

blessed to be unaware 

of the tightness in my chest

the pause in my breath

the desperate holding together of my bones 

wanting to crumble to the floor

in this, my only moment

seeing something around me, 

for me.

So glad for her.

So tired for me.

Eume

I slept beneath the earth.

To wake with some connection.

Like a light breeze,

beginning to turn the polkadot windmill

in the clay pot 

beside the aloe.

Moisture returned and I wept

knowing it would pass.

I’d look up again.

The windmill is spinning now.

Fragas

Carrying a sadness

Uninspired

He’s a pleasant stranger and they act the part

Kind tones

Cold undertone

Careful

Is it my child

Saying mommy a thousand times

Is it my mind

Only grieving when afar

Is it the heat, the tired, the drink, 

the years gone by

I need to cry today

Overstimulated is

Noticing 

the sound that chair made 

sliding scross the floor

6 tables away is

the same note as coming up

in the second line of the chorus

of this 80’s pop song playing

over the din of

so many voices

different words saying the same.

Hungry like the wolfs guitar  

is too white.

Although i picked them all,

there’s too many flavours

on my plate.

The volume in this room is 

unchanging, but

the constant buzz 

gets louder.

I’m suddenly 

so 

tired.

Alice is all of us

Some weeks back, I received a message from a woman I’d never met, asking if she could send a voice note. I will call her Alice.

Her message was thoughtful, respectful, and also ominous. I instinctually knew immediately what the topic would be. I expected she knew we had a common story, something from both our pasts long gone. I accepted her offer of a voice message, and listened with trepidation - I was right in my instinct, but was surprised at how wrong too - it was not at all long past for her.

From this moment, a calm but shaky, steady but weighted processing began. I’m feeling a lot of things. Not least of all, what-ifs.

But I continue to fall back to this brimming of compassion for the people and families affected by a man over the years, myself included… these are my proverbial sisters, mothers, aunts from what seems a lifetime ago, all of us carrying an immense weight that we, at times, imagined lighter, or even may not have been consciously aware of at all.

What’s happened since this person connected with me, is a painful but astoundingly beautiful opening. This has come with so many emotions… the same that I experienced as a youth having been sexually assaulted, repeating now… vacillating from societally-ingrained minimization of what occurred, to accepting the violation for what it was. The guilt, disappointment, disgust, anger…

What is loudest through it all, though, is the compassion.

For my past self, still in so many ways a child. For the hurt caused to others since, and frustration, shame, sadness at not having somehow prevented it.

For his partner, what she must have been and must be experiencing now. 

For Alice, perhaps the bravest of us all, forging forward, taking no shit, calling for accountability.

For everyone who experienced this, having to revisit something that’s much more comfortable to put away…. Revealing so clearly these days, the complicated layers of our experience in this world, exposed to these behaviours and violations. There is so much we share, that by nature makes us feel alone… what irony this is. 

I’m amazed at the strength it takes to revisit such vulnerability. I’m awakened that this amazement is when I am considering the others, despite logically knowing this is what I am doing too. I’m strengthened by the knowledge that everyone in this is decidedly entering our own individual processing, strengthened by, and in order to, support of each other. How moving is this.

How long we’ve sat and accepted this thing that happened to us, until Alice, who, when learning it was not a one-off, could not let it slide. Now, so much is changing. While we may need to do work we never asked to do, and process feelings we never asked to feel, there is so much healing happening in this. 

I will lean in, as much as I can, knowing if I cannot, there is space, support and respect for that as well. 

Something beautiful is happening here. 

I am inspired by Alice and so grateful for that voice note, a gentle invitation from a stranger to open the box and give it voice if I am ready. 

I’m ready. Thank you.

To anyone with a story, whether you are ready or not ready to give it voice - in the words of Alice, “Whatever you choose to do is the right thing.” 

There are so many people who support you, either way.

Fluidity

Of the things I cannot change

I’m thankful.

As thankful for the freeze 

In my bones.

The human in me,

Needing moments to thaw.

Even these moments 

have space 

for more than me.

I return to water, adjusting to

The stone in my path.

I make my way around, or through

Brushing by, 

As gently as I can.

I’m in no rush.

While there is weight behind me, 

and power,

I owe no apology if 

you are moved.

I owe only thanks, 

As I do

If you are not.

Gentleman

Tastes of salt and sea,

Of ripened olives.

Smells like soft light 

In early morning orchards.

Feels like rounded edges

After a glass, or three, of red.

Sounds like the soft landing

Of shyness fallen.

Gentlest of gentle man,

Lowered shoulders

Sweetly familiar.

Lay down your pen

Listen.

Feel the drumming?

Calling you to heal

So hard

That you can hear

Beyond your wounds.

Thundering bass

Can startle, shake, 

and scramble our story lines.

Our pens scratch wildly

Trying to make order

Trying to cover

Profound sound.

We armour ourselves 

with narratives familiar and 

closed.

Comfortable in chaos

And cages

These stories write and wrap

‘Round and ‘round 

Like a layered long embrace,

We feel safe in.

Holding us so tightly 

we forget how it feels to 

truly

breathe.

We’re more than the story

We write of ourselves.

We’re the drumming.

… Listen.

Carries low (lyric)

 Shame carries low, carries low

 Shame carries low, carries low

 Shame weighs you down, weighs you down

 Shame carries low, carries low

I didn’t let go because you did it

But because you couldn’t see it

Shame carries low, carries low

In the bend is not the breaking

In the words is not the meaning

To be seen within the weeping

Is to heal

Even deep inside the fearing

We live our way into believing

Hands were reaching for the taking

Or not there

 Shame carries low, carries low

 Shame carries low, carries low

 Shame weighs you down, weighs you down

 Shame carries low, carries low

I didn’t let go because you did it

But because you couldn’t see it

 Shame carries low, carries low

Untitled (lyric)

Ten foot waves come crash against the sea shore

Washing clean the marks of an old war

Spins the breeze to blow away the feelings

Holding you from walking through to more

Here you are

It’s ok to fall

Step into the forest breathing deeply

Humming low with life no questions asked

Spread your arms and touch the lovely lichen

Feel yourself a part of all that’s passed

And in the spring when all is drenched in dew

Wet your lips on tears of this breakthrough

Dig your toes deep into earth and life

Welcome morning where you’ll realize

Here you are

It’s ok to fall

Nicotine

Today I woke tender,

Tired.

Weighty with disappointment.

I feel sorry,

For the ways I

Get in the way 

Of love.

For the shaking

Of heart and

Weakness 

Of resolve

To do better.

For the fear,

Of the needed breaking.

Of the spillage

Bound to happen,

The mess I’ll make

In order to clean.

Gender Role Based False Security

Lately I’ve been getting questions of who/where “the father” is, in my travels, or from strangers and known folks alike online. It’s really got me thinking.

Many of the men who ask are intrigued, but transparent in that they’re amazed it can be done without a man. Some even have judgement behind it, and have gone as far to say a child needs a father. It’s reminded me of someone I dated once. 

I was writing about an idea around the buried, subtle shame a large portion of men seem to carry for being a man, having born witness to men wronging women, and raised by strong, opinionated and feminist women of an era. How it can sometimes be the culprit of mansplaining, controlling behaviour, and overall insecurity, surfacing as overcompensation for the anger, (real or perceived), directed at their gender. This idea did not intend to excuse, by any means - but came about in an effort to understand the root cause.

I was studying IT at the time and wondering about job prospects - to which the person I was dating then said, with some disdain, “You’ll get hired because you’re a woman”. Not because I was bright, and able. Not because I loved problem solving and was a natural leader. Because I was a woman, and companies are pressured to become more diverse with equal representation, “ruining good job prospects for white men”.

In response to what I was writing, this person at the time went on to say that he feels he is rendered inconsequential. That “equality has set us back 100 years, because men are no longer needed to provide, and on top of that, only women can make decisions about their body when it comes to pregnancy, so they (he/men) feel lost.”

I should note that I'd seen no signs of these attitudes up to this point in dating him. I was floored, and thought, I must not be hearing right. So, I focused on trying to grasp his real meaning, as I am even to this day - and I can understand his feelings and the roots of them, triggered by changing times. I even had empathy. There was fear and sadness there, however misguided, and it was very real to him, and many other men. Clearly, that consideration was one-way, and I see now that my having empathy, while helping to keep me sane and human, also kept me in unhealthy dynamics too many times. I’ve since learned that I can have this understanding, but it does not mean I need to relinquish my own needs.

To imagine a life and children with someone with these insecurities, poorly cloaked in self-righteous resentment for equality, or womens rights… I would have continued to dim my light for his sake. 

I’m guessing he caught wind that I have a beautiful babe, as suddenly, 6 years later, my “Your profile was recently viewed by…” has several occurrences of him. 

I sure hope he has grown. That he is well, and happy.

But I’ve decided to block him. Because while I feel it’s important to reflect, and share this bit of my story now, I won’t need the reminder again. And because whatever opinion he may or may not have of me and my life now - I don't need to consider it, it is none of my business.

I am so grateful for the career I have now. For the confidence, encouragement and support I have found. For the male, female, and non-binary leaders who have and continue to create spaces where all can be fed and flourish in previously unwelcoming industries. And for how seldom I come across attitudes that are contrary to that inclusion now - they srill exist, there is work to do, but I am as out as I've ever been from under it. 

And so grateful for my sweet babe, who will be raised to love, to seek understanding rather than blame, to accept with respect to self - and to reflect on their feelings, as well as where those feelings really come from. I hope you never dim your light.

When We Were One

I was born to a giant in a small frame

Who roared like a lion but softest she sang

To her babes in the meadow on a hill in the fog

Where she’d dance with the fairies 

And cry to the gods

Now I see how far we’ve come

From the days when we were young

I gave birth to a warrior barely awake

He cried then laid his head for seven days

I meant to hold him as the roots, the river bank

As I’m held by the women

Who I could never thank

Don’t you know our time is spun

Upon the days when we are one

We are all of us made of the same things

Made of dust, and of spirit and of heartache

In our joy and our sorrow 

We’re finding our strength

For the love for tomorrow

And the world we create

Now I know how time is spun 

upon the days when we are one

Máthair

This week

I met my soul.

In the beginning

The air tasted of sweet grass

And strength -

I dug into the core of the earth,

Burned my hands on history,

Every sister and mother dampened my 

parched tongue with drops 

of woman water,

Their sweat and tears cooling my brow,

Their moans and howls 

my meditation.

Last night 

I met my son.

Who broke my heart

And reached my roots 

Into natures womb,

Resting my head

On her bosom

Between pushing.

Gripping her strong branches

That wrapped and held me in return

Before relaxing.

Roars faded to low rumbles

Exposing my own power, of which 

I’ve never known,

And vulnerability splitting my 

core wide open,

Safer than I’ve ever been.

Planted

By the goddess

To be yours.

Profound Shit My Dad Has Said

For all those who knew and loved him, 
and those who didn't get the chance.

May 2013 - On Perspective

When I look at you guys, and how you see the world... 

I swear I've never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life…

March 2013 - On Forgiveness

You don't have to talk about forgiveness. You can talk about all the reasons to do it. But we already know why. You just have to walk through it. 

You gotta forgive.

February 2013 - On Family and Dying

Hey Guys,

Just thought it would be worth mentioning... that this thing we're doing could possibly be a long haul... and I want to give you a heads up on the fact that it will, over the long term, deplete all of you in some way, so careful with your kids, and be aware of the fatigue that comes with watching someone disappear from your life one cell at a time. God is good, but this will be a drain .

So, continue to Talk to each other, I mean much later down the road when you are wasted from trying to endure the experience. That's a time, regardless of who it is that's passing, when we need each other, but, don't have the will to ask for help (sometimes there are days like this).

The great thing is that "This" is the time for developing a connection with your sense of "Higher Power", (or god). Which, if you have a problem with those three letters being put in that order, could be and be spelled "Love." Those moments when you've got to get real, and you need support, a best friend, a true confidant.

However I just want to remind you that this power, (connection to higher power), exists not only within you, as individuals, but You have great power as a Family... I'm saying Right Now, you are a powerfully connected group of people, (connected to seeking higher ground). Your own integrity is your fastest route to that higher morality and conscience. You guys, together, are a very powerful team and in a beautiful way - like a Freight Train - and that power is connected directly to what modern man refers to as God.

I wouldn't know this kind of Love if it wasn't for you. 

Proud Dad

May 2009 - On Working

"Reign all that focus into this,

Don't push. 

Don't pull. 

Just Be."

March 2008 - On Failing

Although you are special and one of a kind, (we) don't suffer anymore or less than anyone else, the fact is that suffering is relative.

One might lose his (her) family in a fire, being the only one to get out on time, (I know this person, I met him), or just losing a job or a lover, it feels the same and no-one has the right to say one suffers more than the other. A broken heart is a broken heart, no matter what the cause. So it is incumbent (american political word) upon us to realize that we are all fighting to get on top of what brings us DOWN, so we can be of service to our fellows.

"Don't worry be happy" is the moral guide of "this" decade, as there is so much to be concerned about in the world. Being an artist, you (we) have a tendency toward compassion, but we can't let it burden us to the point where we become negative and loath the time we are to put in here, and Give Up before we start. Understand I'm talking to myself here as much as you, because we tend to use things to bring ourselves down and then medicate with overindulgence - in beer, chocolate, love, whatever. Balance and knowing you are part of a large world that has a higher power and a purpose for you and Loves you unconditionally, (as I do) is what to keep in mind ALL through you day. 

God Bless,  Love Dad

PS: You know I'm not a religious fanatic, "God Bless" means May the power of nature be with you and guide you and your decisions, let go, don't play god and things will sort themselves out the right way. Love you.

March 2006 - on Greatness

Anyway, you I’m sure, have lots of friends who love you and an active life.

That’s the way it was for me in my early 20’s.

You’re very talented and bright - of the many things you could do well, don’t be afraid of the big ones (eg: the sciences or literature). You could be a great pitcher, great singer, great poet, and still discover a cure for cancer, you know. When you think of it, those are the kind of people who achieve greatness.

Don’t be afraid of greatness. 

It might not seem or feel normal to you. 

Oops, watch your head.

Love Dad

July 2005 - On Music

Here's what I KNOW, and it's true for every single one of "US":

When we get ill, or sick with sleeplessness and confusion; when we lose sight of who or what we are, it's always because we are not singing or playing at our Gift. Always because we're not allowing "it" to "BE".

We cannot turn away from our "Gift" without getting (mentally) sick, and then we get physically sick, and pretty soon we don't even know who or what we are and what we're supposed to be doing with our lives. Then, as with many, many others, we fall into the abyss of unknown beautiful but lost human beings who try this and that, experimenting with a wardrobe that never seems quite right.

Standing naked and BEING is a very difficult thing to do even when it is made plain and obvious as to who we are and what we are supposed to be doing.

I have to play my guitar to keep from getting sick, just as you have to sing and grow to keep from getting sick, and lost...

I love you Chels, as a daughter and friend, and as an "artist " just as I loved Kevin and Bach and Rembrant. Honour who and what you are, "BE" it, out loud.

July 2005: Cause it’s so damn sweet - While I was in Alberta

Hi Love You Too Chels. xoxoxoxox. Thanks for responding. 

So what's going on, do you like your new place?

You should come home, live with me and study music, for real. It's a wonderful world with lots of history and cool people in it. Even Mozart was a nut. The whole of NASCAD is a great place to study. (Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, or The Local Conservatory of  performing Arts is a recognized Institute.)

I'm not into girlfriends or much of a social life outside of music... 

so I would make a better Dad now. 

Love D

June 2005 - On Birthright and Nature

There was a birth in the field. A doe had given birth to a fawn. 

Everything Stopped, just for a moment, the moment the fawn was born.

Then, as if a signal was given, Everything Resumed, Everything started to interact as if nothing had Stopped.

Only, without the knowledge contained in the Stop.

June 2005 - On my friends suicide

Chelsea,

This is so sad. Someones baby, who didn't stay long enough to realize the party was for HER. I mean, LIFE holds so many new discoveries, even when you get to be 50 (or so).

Nobody told her... GOD Bless her little Heart... 

Send your love in a prayer, that she rests in peace.

I Love You,   

Dad

Unknown Time

Time doesn't change. Things shift around but way down where it counts, we all hold onto what's real.

Lyric for Two

Foreign but
Familiar.

Wide, surprising smile 

Makes his eyes take
a new shape, 

playful.

The screen door 

Of the front porch

In a country home 

Opens - 

You taste a childlike charm,

At ease enough, but
yet 

to invite you in.

His eyes a brighter blue 

each moment
Passing
Quick laughter
rising, crackling, 

making sense of that saying -

He cracks you up too.

Later
in the quiet 

Dim light doesn’t hide
that weighted, 

pensive look - 

Thoughts passing through his face
like 

soft-footed cats, 

shadows

Behind silhouettes,

Sensed more than seen.

Words, unfound,
let alone 

shared with you.

Brings to mind
A boy 

I knew once.

Who wrote to me, after
our knowing 

had long passed,

To say he was
sorry.

He thought he had used me -

Sweetest heart, 

I had seen the shadows, 

Muted sorrow,

and stepped forth
willingly

To hold hands and hold

loneliness,
yours and mine.

This man, and he, share that similarity

Those quiet moments,
bringing comfort 

along with

Sadness.

Not meant yet to be shed

of the shell that 

cracked them open

And
led them
here.

Nova

The brave and balmy coast of home
The greens in blue and white
Give welcome to any who roam
Her slow but stoic sights

More hues in forests, lakes and sea
Than captured in the eye 
More peaceful, lazy country roads
To contrast lively skies

In quiet of our isolation

Waves climb cliffs to kiss our roots

Then torn up by the devastation

Our hearts dare not believe it true

Where birds once sang to earth ovation

Where broken bliss let forth a moan

That shook the rich soil at its station

And plundered us into unknown 

While lighthouse stood t’wards the sea

No sign of danger nigh

While hearts began their breaking deep

And names read far and wide

Then morning came with nation singing

Our waking an unwelcome sigh 

We thaw and soften in the grieving

We weep our last goodbyes

If nature could have been the culprit

A storm of sorts had entered in 

I would that wind or wave had done it

Our playground lost its innocence

Yet like our namesake indicates
Like moon will pull the tide
We’ll still stand tall beneath the weight
We’ll push forth strong our light

On rocky shores our candles lit
While skies shine red to join
The send off for our fallen kin
And love to guide them on

Night Talks, We Listen

He visited me at work for tea one afternoon.

He walked through the office and kitchen of a Georgian mansion, with his faded jeans, leather coat, and shuffle-swagger - slightly crooked, from years of carrying a guitar. 

Stopping by, to squeeze my shoulders too hard, plant a kiss on my forehead, put a smile on to say hello to everyone.

He sat in the lounge, chatting and drinking tea, while I typed a few emails. 
After a long quiet moment, when the lounge was empty of all but us, he said,

"I admire your work ethic."

His voice was soft, and broke a little. 
I looked up from my screen, and his eyes were teary.

"I admire you. I'm proud of you."

I smiled, said thank-you, and puzzled a bit. 

To be honest, it was an unfamiliar moment. I wasn't sure how to respond. 
I was at work, as well...
and I thought those things mattered.

I wish I had responded as heartfelt.

I didn't know that simple gesture - the open vulnerability he offered - would remain so vivid and profound.

That it would be the thing that comes to mind on restless nights. 
When school gets overwhelming. 
When winter months have me feeling low. 
When, for a minute, I can't seem to care enough to do better.

I didn't know then, that he'd soon be gone.

I didn't know how that small, simple moment would embody so much of who I knew.

Perhaps that's what parenthood does; 
some depth of him reached, stirred, shaken gently and told

"Wake up! It's time to love with all you've got."

All you've got. 

The insecurities. The tenderness. The envy. 
The exposure. 
The fear, and failure. 
The selfish, and selfless.

The love... that it be stronger, always humming beneath the rest.

... Perhaps it was some depth of him,

    reaching for some depth of me,
    to say the same.

1952

Tonight...

I'd sift through sorrows to
find moments of smiles and
hand-holds.
Too-tight arms around
weighted shoulders,
quiet thoughts bending my
mouth to frown. Lost
in heavy hard-truth
revelations.

Blue-eye contact burrows,
knowing of depths found early,
taking a toll...

Called back by the space
you'd hold,
bamboo stake standing for
this winding vine to wrap and
lean on.

Tonight,
I'd leave the dirt and roots,
To say to you, today;

This trembling heart is a growing wave.

It is ocean's fullest tide,
and the falls that feed the sea's whip and froth
under immeasurable night skies,
It is the stars -
their wild laughing glee
at my force, in the wind through mountains,
flying bitter cold, to shake the branches
pounding rhythmic, hollowed wood on wood.
All my mighty soul, making music
for being born to you.

My heart;
the impassioned crack
in the shell of the seed
of January fourteenth's
babe.

Louder Now

We live in a culture that invalidates our experience.

Families, afraid to rock the boat,
must "correct" our thinking.
Unhearing.

Partners, in fear of feeling at fault,
dismissing, discrediting, the hurt of another.

From private homes, to society's whole.
A perfect reflection.

Were we ever listening?