22

22

We walked into the restaurant,
scanning for a free table.
The one at the back,
we gestured,
and our wish was what we got.

22 was its number,
behind it the original 7,
reminding me of heaven
and the delights to be enjoyed now.

Where light reigns instead of darkness,
and hope shines bright for all.
Thought to be a story for the future,
an actual reality now.

Awakened from the first dream,
I'm learning the terrain of a landscape
that is at once new and old.
Life is full of joy and wonder again
as it was in the beginning.

Best Solo Day Ever 2010: Episode 1

Yesterday was my first best ever solo day in 2010. On a whim I decided to check out a friend's concert downtown in the evening, and since I'm not a fan of busy crowds, I went early to mosey around the Annex area, one of my favourite neighbourhoods in Toronto.

I scored a great deal at Seekers Books, Coldplay's X & Y album was on random play at Outer Layer, and I finally got a chance to check out Ten Editions Books, a store that always intrigued me when I rode the Spadina streetcar from the station. It's got real character with books stacked up to the ceiling and wooden ladders too; I loved the feel of history that seemed to permeate the store. Bought some great finds there too, 4 books for under $15 dollars!

After that it was on to the Hungarian Restaurant on Bloor Street that I've been meaning to try out for ages. Ordered a cabbage roll with sauerkraut and potatoes, and a raspberry soda, apparently a Hungarian favourite. The food was okay, I thought it would be more unique... maybe I'll try something else on the menu next time.

Since there was still time to spare before the concert, I decided to hang out at Starbucks and do some journaling. Fortunately it was full, so I went to Aroma Expresso Bar across the street instead. Got to enjoy the most delicious cup of hot chocolate I've had in a long time. It was actually like drinking a gourmet milk chocolate bar! Will definitely be recommending this place to friends.

Finally, it was time for the concert at the beautiful St. Anne's Church on Gladestone Avenue. The Urban Flute Ensemble was awesome, and my favourite piece was their "Improvisation for Four Instruments" where Darren, the guest soprano saxaphonist played a beautiful solo while walking around the church, and then Lucas joined him with the cello, followed by Jamie, also walking around playing his flute, and Max out-of-view playing his violin. The beautiful music echoing through the gorgeous space felt like a primordial creation song, I was glad to have experienced it. In tribute to the evening, here's a new poem, titled "St. Anne"

St Anne

Snowflakes dancing in a ballroom of air
was this evening's marquee show.
Naked, free and beautiful,
they twirl, illuminated by the street lights.

Inside St. Anne's
the music swirls around,
pirouetting in the sacred space.

Speechless,
the walls stare back,
holding this fleeting beauty
in an icy embrace.

They become one
and birth a joy
that is everlasting.

Seeds of love
sprinkled on each soul
in attendance,
they leave,
a hint of heaven in their hearts.

Chicopee

I've wanted to try downhill skiing since my university days, but it never came together. So I was excited to finally have the opportunity to try it out yesterday at the Chicopee Ski Club with my friend Jessica and her family. I signed up for the $59 "Discover Skiing" package which came with a one hour group lesson, equipment rental, a beginner's ski lift pass and even a $5 food voucher for any purchase over $7.50. I got more than my money's worth cuz I ended up getting a private session with Glenn, who was an amazingly patient and encouraging ski instructor. The conditions were ideal, the weather was not too cold and it was not too sunny, but I found the speed of the sport too fast, even on the bunny hill. Next winter I'll probably try out cross-country skiing or snowshoeing instead.

Here's a new poem I wrote this morning commemorating the trip:

Chicopee

Observing the skiers gliding gracefully down the hill
was quite different from actually strapping on skis
and attemping to slide down the slope.

Although I was moving at a snail's pace comparatively,
the speed was too fast for me.
My whole body tense, my legs burning,
I was glad when the lesson was over.

Instead of going up the hill again,
I chose to trade the skis in for my hiking boots,
and enjoyed a leisurely walk observing all the activity around.

So what if I'll always be a slowpoke?
It's a wonderous feeling to not be in a hurry
and stay in the moment,
content to watch the world go by
while I take in all its beauty.

Art of Living

Art of Living

I get jealous so easily,
but habits are hard to break.
Perhaps when I become more convinced
that this is a world of plenty,
I'll trade in the envy green
for a ruby heart of love.

It's hard to unlearn an outlook
that took years to build.
Even though the lies weaved within the truth
have become easier to decipher,
I still mistake them for rules to live by sometimes,
and cause myself to stumble.

Patience, I remind myself,
for I am still learning the new blueprints for life.
So I let the jealousy be
and eventually my attention moves on.
Some say practice makes the master,
so I'll take my time
practicing the art of living.

Disappear

Disappear

The disappearing act
is my favourite trick.
Just stay quiet long enough
and people will move on in their lives,
memories of our time together
a distant memory.

It's a quick fix
but not a permanent solution.
Why is my heart so afraid of breaking,
dashing for the exit sign
before anyone has come in?

The ocean of love
has room for all.
The beloved slowly prys my fingers
away from the ledge,
leading me out into the open sea
where I learn to relax, breathe,
and enjoy the moment

Second Story

I'm currently reading Don Miguel Ruiz's book The Voice of Knowledge. His teachings really mirrors the way I've been perceiving life in the past year, and I'm so glad that he's able to put into words what I've been feeling in my heart.

Last night I was reading the chapter where he shared the Toltec wisdom called the dream of the second attention. This happens when all the lies we've been taught growing up is revealed, and the whole edifice of knowledge collapses, and we lose the human form. Then we can use our attention for the second time to base our stories on the truth instead of on lies. Ruiz calls it our second story because it's still a dream, it's still a story. But now it's our choice and our will is free again.

I've experienced this truth in my own life since February 2009. It felt quite unsettling at the beginning when I realized that the truths I've been taught were not all true. I also seemed to be on a lonely road, because I didn't know anyone else that had been freed from the voice of knowledge. But life/love is good and brought me to this Toltec wisdom that resonates so strongly with me, and I know in time I'll meet others on the same journey. Here's a poem I wrote, inspired from what I read last night:

Second Story

I like my second story
much better than the first.
Freed from the lies that
entangled me in the past,
I feel free as a bird
flying into a horizon,
the cerulean sky my blank canvas.

The journey to this state of mind
was my hardest experience yet.
My old reality crumbled to the core
and I died along with it.
But love rose me from the grave
and breathed new life into me.

Revived, the whole world seemed new to me,
and I was given the gift of words
to create a story of my own.
Instead of fear I choose love
and I trade in hate for understanding.
Life is blooming again in my story
and love is there too,
so take my hand if you' like
and we can explore this wonderland called life together.

Olympic Spirit

A poem inspired by the 2010 Winter Olympics happening in Vancouver right now and on for two weeks. May each of us strive for our personal best in all we do and all we are!

Olympic Spirit

I don't understand this world of competition.
Why do we have to divide the world
into winners and losers?
What's the point of counting down
the milliseconds between competitors
just so we can hand out medals
that will soon fade from memory?

I'd rather create a world
where each person knows they're loved.
No one would be without
food, shelter and friendship,
because we would genuinely
treat each others as members
of the same family,
the beautiful human race.

Then each moment could be an award
and the Olympic spirit can thrive
more than just once every two years.
We can all strive to be the best
and know even before we begin
that each of us are winners,
with medals of love, courage and imagination
opening us to a world of
endless possibilities.

Trying

Trying

Sometimes I get tired of trying
to lift you out of the trenches.
The world is so full of possibilities,
yet you seem to prefer
drowning in your own pain.

The pool of suffering
belongs to you and not me,
so all I can do is watch on the sidelines,
cheering you on to the finish line.

My sense is that one day
life will blossom for you again,
as it did for me
when LOVE lifted me
out of the mire.

So I will try my best
to be patient and wait with you
until this nightmare turns into
daylight and sunny skies.

Castles

I was chilling out at home last evening, listening to my iPod in shuffle mode when Doveman's "Castles" came on. It's always been a song that's touched my heart, so I leaped up to grab pen and paper to write a poem in response to it. Here is my offering:

Castles

So you sing
"tear your castles down
they fall without a sound."
But have you thought about
the aftermath of your words?

My castles have crumbled
and my world caved in.
Home is no longer
here nor there.

Stuck between lines
a lonely place to be.
But that's where you left me,
so I wait for the music
to begin again.