Where The Heart Finds Rest

Where the Heart Finds Rest

the heart finds rest in random illuminations

in minute ceremonies of ordinary miracles

it is a marvel to be conscious of courage

wade in the sweetness of acceptable silence

revel in the looseness of peaceful prose poems

the heart finds rest in accidental happenstance

in small increments of clarity and welcome whimsy

it is a pleasure to be unabashedly redeemed by love

to be augmented by firmly shaped acts of imaginative thinking

to understand the eminent shorthand of binding kinship

where the heart finds rest is in the little things

elegantly plotted stars and a grain of fine sand

where the heart finds rest is in the kindest things

the knightly things the brightly shining things

turning a narrative into a realized dream

                is where the heart finds rest

 **

The theme of this weekend was everything to do with the marvel and beauty of children. I spent a little time with good friends and their little guy on Friday night. It was a lovely way to decompress after a long work. I don’t get to see them often enough and I was in awe of his smallness which is truly his greatness. All of that wonder in his sweet little face, his curiosity, his innocence, his peacefulness; all astonishing. It did my heart to sit on the floor with him and play toys and to dole out quick kisses to his soft little cheek and hear his laughter. When the world is upside down, the sound of baby giggles, is the best thing in the world.

On the same night, I received a text message from my best friend that her daughter’s water broke. Baby Britton was on her way! After a long labour, the brave and exhausted Mama delivered a gorgeous baby girl into the world. I got meet Baby Britton today, barely 24 hours old, and fell madly in love. She felt like a little miracle in my arms. I look forward to watching her grow and become one of the fierce and wonderful women that make up her amazing family. In the aftermath of losing my Dad, seeing new promising life swaddled up in my arms put so much into perspective. It took everything to suck in the tears but if any had fallen they would have been happy ones. Another friend of mine had her baby boy this week as well. My FB newsfeed is currently full of joy and baby love and I couldn’t be happier.

I always insisted I didn’t want children. It was one of those things, being from a large family, being the baby, all of my siblings brought wonderful creatures into my life and I always maintained that they were enough for me, they all own my heart, every single piece of it, and now even some of those kids aren’t kids anymore and have babies of their own that I love just as much. The only time I truly fell in love with a man, it caused me to re-think my thoughts about having a family. Loving another person can do that, can alter your map. It was a short-lived thought of course, as the love failed but I always appreciate that it opened my heart up enough to consider changing my heart. It left me with some painful regrets, especially knowing that there won’t be a little person to carry me into the world, through their eyes and their dreams and in their own children. It makes my heart ache but it is constantly healed on days like today when I am given the privilege to inhale that intoxicating newborn smell and to be part of a support system and watch them grow up and move through this world. Blessings.

I also designated this weekend to a new writing project. I started to work on a creative non-fiction piece for the CBC competition. My goal is to have it finished by next weekend, the rough draft anyway. It has to be postmarked by March 1^st. I’m confident in myself in that I will meet my writing deadline and get it in in plenty of time.

Without giving too much away, I am writing about my Dad. It took some time to narrow down my options but I found something that I think will appeal to those who knew and loved him. It is a memory of mine and I look forward to sharing it. I just want to do him justice. I said the same when I penned his eulogy and I received good feedback so I know I’ve got this.

It was a productive day. I managed to finish the enclosed poem. To spend a little time alone in my writing room with my headphones on, the window cracked just a touch because it’s mild tonight, to write. And now, after this post, while the laundry is in, I’ll light a candle, sit quiet and count all of the things I’m grateful for. Good things happened today. Good things will happen tomorrow. They will because my life is full, it is rich, not with things or in money, but in people, in poems, in peace.

I hope whatever you did it today, it brought you joy.

In propinquity,

Nic

Creative Meditation

So I don't forget ...

All The Poets In Heaven

Yesterday I took myself out and framed a childhood photo of me and my Dad. It was one of those photos that I hadn’t seen before from the day we did the memory boards for his ‘life celebration’. It is housed now in a crisp white frame, sitting on my writing desk. I sat myself down this morning to write and my insides sunk looking at it. I am really missing him today. Wishing I could pick the phone up and check in to see how he is and what he’s up to, have him make me repeat myself just so he can say, ‘That’s twice you said that!’.  It escapes me a lot of the time that he’s really gone. It feels like he’s just wintering in Florida, hanging out with his pals, raising heck. The popular kid on the block, the fan favorite. Turns out I can’t call him but I can still talk to him. It’s a comfort but nothing beats the sound of his voice booming back at me and his jokey tone.

I watched ‘Heaven Is For Real’ yesterday and since I’ve been thinking a lot about Heaven. I would like to think it is for real and that my Dad is young and able again, happy, with his loved ones, in a place that is beautiful. When you lose someone you love, it raises questions and worries. I watched that film, read about the family and the boy’s experience and it made me hopeful. I want that for him, for Joe and for those I have lost along the way. I want that peace and that wondrousness for them.

Dad showed up in a recent dream I had. I was sitting in a movie theatre, the second seat in with someone, I can’t remember who it was. The seat next to the aisle was empty when we settled in with popcorn and treats. At one point I looked to my right, at the empty seat. It was no longer empty. There was my Dad, sitting next to me with his big winter coat on, unzipped, and his ball hat. He was smiling. I did a double take, I felt relief to see him and said, ‘Dad, I really miss you.’ Then I woke up. There was no time for him to reply. It was nice to see him but it made me that much lonelier for his company, his thoughts, his advice, his wit and his presence. I know he is always with me, logically I know that and can turn to him any old time I like but emotionally it is a strange denial.

So I write poems. This one, especially for him:

All the Poets in Heaven

the one who gave me life rests in a darkened room

my Father impatiently awaiting the end of his days

I capture his weakened hand with both of mine

move gently to him and  whisper softly in his ear

I ask him kind-heartedly that whenever he arrives

to please give my love too all the Poets in Heaven

**

It’s a stormy Sunday here in Halifax. Our first notable snowfall that has now given way to freezing rain and then rain. In a word, messy. It’s a good day for hunkering down with books and films. I’m grateful to return back to my regular routine tomorrow, work, gym, rinse, wash, repeat. Winter is a downer but I am going to try to make the best of it instead of complaining about it but I really do detest winter. I don’t like to shovel snow. I don’t mind the scarves and hats and accessories but the commuting and clean-up are hindrances. I was born in the wrong climate. I need to move somewhere where it’s sweater weather all year round. Dare to dream, dare to dream.

In propinquity,

Nic

All My Fears Are Trivial

I don’t believe in resolutions. Well, not anymore. Resolutions, eat better, exercise more often, be kinder, be better … blah blah blah. I believe in intentions.  And not just on January 1^st but 365 days of the year. Life shouldn’t be about the annual clean slate but rather the on-going mission for growth and goodness. But, that’s just me.

For me right now, there are a few areas that require a little extra work on my part but that has little to do with a new year dawning but from circumstance. Isn’t that usually the case? I have meditated on it over the Christmas break and realize my problem areas and am now striving to improve upon them, which includes but is not limited to strengthening the fortress around my heart to prevent impurities in and firming my small but mighty circle of friends. Time to purge the toxins, metaphor intended.

The one exception to the resolution rule this year is I started a gratitude jar. Nothing fancy but today I dropped my first slip of paper inside. I vow to add to it, even on the difficult days, one little thing that brought joy to my hours. I will do this until December 31^st and then hunker down with a celebratory beverage and read them all. 2104 was a difficult one so this is my attempt to remember the good stuff if things go south. It’s Amorian, it’s good for me. I challenge you to do the same. It’s a negativity net if you will. I’ve reached my threshold and my ability to cope with drama and folks who don’t deserve a chapter in my ongoing saga. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Just happens to coincide with a new year but if the need had come in June … same tactic would apply.

2014 had magical moments. Singing on the top of my lungs under the most incredible moon I’ve ever seen with The Killers and my people in PEI, Gord Downie squeezing my hand, watching people I love and/or admire succeed and flourish, beautiful reunions, getting my tattoo, meaningful conversations with my Dad, card tag, good deeds, daydreams, Hubbards in summer, nights at The Carleton, seeing my dearest friends smile and laugh, my Mom’s 80^th birthday, the amazing rock shows and ringing ears, all of the poems and notes and stories I wrote/tried/wanted to write.

I have struggled for a really long time, trying to tap back into my creativity. I was nowhere near as prolific in 2014 as I should have been. I’m sad that I let life and hard lessons get in the way of the words that wanted to be written. I am working my way back to that self. I know, I sound like a broken record but the long cold winter us upon us and I have to pick up my heart, dust it off and put it to good use. I have to turn off the TV and turn on the poetry. I need to make an Open Heart Forgery reading. I need to dig back in, visit the new library that opened in Halifax and have more artist dates that include writing, research and results.

So, here’s to you all making your fresh start, wiping the slate clean, I’m here with you, listing my ongoing intentions, rooting for you, hoping the best for you and smiling when you succeed.  And even if you don’t, when a door closes a window opens. It’ll be okay. Chin up, open heart, and try try again. If we are always doing our best, we can never truly fail.

In propinquity,

Nic

Happy birthday, Patti Smith ...

"To be an artist - actually, to be a human being in these times - it's all difficult. What matters is to know what you want and pursue it." - Patti Smith

Creative Meditation

Because I need to be reminded of this ...

Thank you, Maya.

In propinquity, 

Nic

Wish You Were Here

The Heavens claimed him, my Dad.  The days that follow continue to feel surreal and hazy.  My father was a larger than life force.  He was as kind and loving as he was firm and rooted in his firm beliefs that if you apply yourself and work hard, you can have anything you want.  I think that I am still in a little bit of shock.  It feels like he’s away wintering in Florida and he’s coming back.  Although, when my birthday came, a week after his passing, and there was no phone call, I felt the reality a little.  It doesn’t matter that I gathered with my family to kiss him one last time or congregate at the Lions Hall with legions of people who came out to show their support and mourn the loss with us, it still seems unreal.

It was heartening, to see so many people come to help us celebrate his life.  There were so many in fact that he caused quite traffic jam.  The Lions Hall is on Hornes Road and currently in our community there is construction on the main artery so the bulk of local traffic, including transit, travel along Hornes Road.  A friend of mine who works for the city sent me a text message to tell me that complaints were rolling in about the cars parked all along the street and people were really getting frustrated by the jam.  I laughed because there is was again, causing a ruckus.  His last prank and it was glorious.

I delivered his eulogy to a swelling crowd:

For my Dad:

The word ‘eulogy’ originates from the Greeks and it means ‘to praise’, ‘to speak good words’. I have an endless amount reserved especially for this guy.  I was afraid that I may not be able to write and deliver an adequate nod to him because in the hours and days since he’s passed, I felt like I had lost all of my words.  But when I sat down by myself and starting thinking about him, reminiscing and looking at all of the photos, the flood gates opened.  Still, it is hard to find the words to express how much I will miss one of the first people who ever loved me.

Everyone had their own relationship with Dad and knew him in different and unique ways but on each of us he left a deep, lasting impression.  A perfect example of that is a childhood friend of mine was in touch when she heard the news of his passing.  To her, he was an amazing man, and how lucky was I lucky to have him as my father because hers wasn’t much of one.  She told me that my Dad made her growing years so much fun. I know that would make him really happy to hear.

He was a loving husband, a good father, and grandfather, a brother, a role model, a gutsy salesman, a world class entertainer and jokester, and certainly, everyone’s comic relief.  I’m almost positive, as I’ve heard it a thousand times this week, there isn’t a soul in this room he hasn’t barked at at one point or another. You could always count on him for his ridiculous sense of humor and his infectious smile just when you needed it most. 

As a family, it is true that we have experienced our fair share of setbacks, misunderstandings, and real sorrows but for each of them there are a thousand moments of joy and comfort and closeness with Dad at the heart of it.  And I think that his physical absence will be the truest sorrow we’ll ever know, he was a larger than life presence, a big wonderful personality, he was loud and funny and always on the go.

To me, Dad was the promise of a long talk on a short drive.  He was always there listening and good at helping me see things right side up and I relish that there were even times I was able to do that for him too. The quiet assurance of his voice rocking back and forth against my heart while driving around in whatever car he may be in that day or week made me feel safe and valued.  I thought my Dad lit the sky, now he actually does. 

Dad had an appreciation for the good things in life.  He was well traveled and knew a little bit about a lot of things. You could always find him with a strong drink and a good story, pulling a prank, grilling a steak, hitting a golf ball, watching sports or his favorite shows, looking after others.  Some of the greatest gifts he gave to us kids was the ability to appreciate life, to endear ourselves to others with the captivating Myers charm, with a joke, a kind word, an ear, a hand – a sense of humanity, just as he did.  I look at my brothers and sisters and their kids and it is in all of them.  Dad will never truly gone from us because he is in the things we do and say, our gestures and our features.  And we’ll carry him forward with the utmost pride.  It used to always annoy me, you know, when someone would say, ‘Oh, you must be Lawrence’s daughter.  You must be a Myers.’ I wondered if I’d ever have my own identity but I realize now, it’s one of the best parts of it.

Losing Dad was not unexpected but that doesn’t make it any easier.  He had a quiet dignity about dying.  As he faced his final days feeling as miserable as he did, he occasionally lost his good humour but did not dwell in one single moment of self-pity.  During our private conversations when he was in the hospital, talks I will cherish forever, he talked a lot about how rich and full his life was, how much he enjoyed each day and how fulfilling it is to live without regrets and hoped that us kids could all do the same.  I promised him we would, we had excellent leadership despite the fact that he is the guy who as a kid taught the nuns how to roll cigarettes in the stairwell of St Andrews and then was politely asked not to return to school.

It is heartwarming to see so many people here to celebrate Dad’s life because it was such a good life.  He would hate all this fuss and attention on the surface but deep down he’d love it.  I know you all cared for him and enjoyed the life he brought to your parties.  I can tell you with great certainty that he loved you just as much. 

And Carol, from all of us, I want to say thank you for caring for Dad with your love and your compassion and your promise.  I watched you turn yourself inside out for him and I know with every fiber of his being he felt safe and brave because of all you gave and did for him.

A childhood story of Dad’s was relayed to us not long ago about when his mother was going to the hospital to have Aunt Clara, he was just a wee Lawrence then.  She told him that if he was really good while she was away, when she came home she would get him a brand new bike.  Of course, she never did get to come home.  Now that he’s with her, we really hope he got his bike.

**

It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.  I could see my one dear friend in my line of sight, otherwise it was just a wall of people with fuzzy faces.  My cousin Cathy stood beside me and I’m grateful she stayed close otherwise I may not have made it all the way through.  I did it for him.  And as awkward as it was holding a microphone in one hand and trying to steady my sheets of paper on the podium, I just kept thinking he could hear me, see me, and I wanted to do him justice.  I’m told I did beautifully but in truth I can barely remember it.

It’s my 41^st year, my first year without my Dad.  I don’t know what it’ll bring but I am confident he’ll be close to guide me when I need it.  It is one of the many reasons I agreed to spend my birthday afternoon getting a tattoo that represents something important to me, something I believe in.  Dad would dig the concept of ‘Amoria’ – living with intention to love and serve others, Amoria, the Empire of Love, with no physical location but something that is in all of us.  My good friend and extraordinary artist Matt Epp spearheaded the movement and I hitched my wagon to it in a heartbeat.  It’s simple really, love can really rule the world if we allow it to.  I am proud to be Amorian and will happily explain the ink to anyone who asks.  It is for me, it’s for Matt, my Dad and the world I live in.  It is my intention to carry on, to move forward in love, to share that with my people and the world and to carry on my Dad’s memory. 

The world is going to be so different without him in it, but my goodness, Heaven is lucky.

In propinquity,

Nic