Sonjah

Waking up from emotional numbness

2009-12-13T16:16:00.000-08:00

In response to Shayla's blog: A planet in peril - The way of perseverance - in which she writes about the candlelight vigil she attended to raise awareness of the Copenhagen talks and global warming.

Waking up from the emotional numbness, so that we can actually feel the enormity of what we are facing, is so crucial at this point. And then finding that place of freedom and balance, from which we can engage without being dominated by either fear or desire, is the other piece. I pray that more and more of us find our way to this level of consciousness, before things reach a point where they cannot be reversed.

Emotional numbness is how I cope with feeling the enormity. There was a time when I was not numb. Mining made my heart ache, I could feel the blood being sucked from the Earth's veins. When I saw clearcuts, I felt as if my legs had been chopped at the knees. Somewhere along the way, my passion turned to anger. I lost hope and my conviction.

As I drove past the candlelight vigil last night, I was humbled and embarrassed. I'm pretty sure I covered my face, so that my conscious neighbours who gathered to raise awareness of global warming, would not recognize me. Technically I was not driving, and for the record I did raise a stink about driving too often as I climbed into the passenger seat. But there's no denying it, I chose to come along for the ride. And while I do make an effort to walk where I can, driving has become a habit; a lazy means to my comfort and the epitome of my numbness.

I'm tired of pretending that my actions are miniscule. Today I had the distinct feeling of my enormity. At the Shambhala meditation today we were led through a bodhichitta practice - first sending love to someone dear to us, and then spreading that to our community, to the country, the Earth and beyond. I have never felt so expansive in my entire life. I felt the edges of my body merge with the space around me. It was as if I was extending out into the universe. I opened my eyes and peered down at my body; it was so much smaller than this feeling.

On my walk home I felt a deep longing and pain in my heart. I turned the ache into a poem, the poem into a song and then had a good cry. I sat on a picnic table by the lake and wrote the words in my journal. My pen ran out of ink and with it went my drama and sadness. I reflected on the words that we collectively recited at the Shambhala centre, something along the lines of: "may all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering". I laughed at my indulgence and my fondness for suffering. Perhaps I could reflect the bodhichitta practice inwards and direct love to my own heart? Why do I find this so hard to do?

this girl needs discipline

2009-11-17T11:52:00.000-08:00

I watched Julie & Julia the other night and it got me thinking that having a concrete objective for my blog would be very useful. In the movie, Julie Powell set out to cook 524 all recipes from Julia Child's "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" cookbook in 1 year. She kept a daily blog about it that eventually transformed into the movie...

I would love to get into the habit and discipline of blogging daily. I would love to become a better writer and feel like I am contributing something positive to the world, be it inspiration or laughter.

Some ideas:

The Enlightenment Project: committing myself to a daily spiritual practice.
The House Life: I've created this blog/site but haven't done a thing with it. The plan was to write about sustainable craftiness - like making hats out of stuffed animals and other random objects
The Dance Project: a daily dance blog, has the potential to be hilarious. Teaching myself to dance based on online dance tutorials.
Hmm, how about a combination of the 1st and 3rd - The Enlightened Dance Project - committing myself to a daily dance practice...That sounds like fun :)

Sap on my ass

2009-10-08T09:30:00.001-07:00

I went for a walk this morning and sat for a little while on a boulder perfectly sculpted to my butt. Mmm...I can still feel the sunshine warming my face. But, little did I know, sap was soaking onto my other cheeks.

I love trees, you might even say I pine over em (pine pun #1). But like any infatuation, at no fault of their own, they eventually get on my nerves. In this case, the pine I so admired, got on my pants.

Which lead me to google search how to get sap off clothes...I'm going to start with rubbing alcohol and then step it up from there.

In my google search, I came across trapperjacksurvival's Youtube channel. This guy loves pine trees. He's inspired me to harvest some pinenuts...

wei wu wei at the pub

2009-04-28T00:35:00.000-07:00

I went to the Royal Pub tonight, expecting to dance to some reggae music, but instead I did my Radiant Mind assignment - Project 5.

The original instructions were to go to a cafe (I think a pub is a suitable alternative), order a drink, and leave the moment after I need to leave.

Here are the instructions for the exercise (with minor edits in italics to fit the scene).

THE INSTRUCTION

Go to a pub and with a jar of muscle recovery drink. Stay in the pub until you don’t need to leave, then leave. In other words, don’t leave if you need to leave. But leave the moment you don’t need to leave. This practice is known in Taoism as wei wu wei, or acting when there’s no need to act.

Once you have completed this exercise, go on to answer the following questions.

1. What happened for you in doing this exercise? Write a brief report.

I sat alone at a candle lit table in front of the stage. A man (who greeted me with a deep bow outside) danced through my gaze. My eyes darted to avoid his gaze and I focused on something safe; the singer, her presence subtle, she felt the space.

I watched my thoughts, witnessed the witness. I determined that my witness needed fitness, and exercised presence. My eyes met his. I scanned his tattooed face, his posture and tried to read his lips. Was he talking to me? He moved behind me, still conversing. Is he talking to himself? Ahh, perhaps he's mentally disabled...do schizophrenics talk to themselves?

I observed my thoughts.

How quickly I judge, I packaged him in a box, label and all. This reminds me of Eckhart Tolle's story about the woman on the bus...I wonder what people are thinking about me. If I had no verbal filter, and they could hear my thoughts, they might see that I'm not as relaxed as I posture.

I stretched my back in an attempt to free myself from intense discomfort.

He moved into the center of my gaze, arms flapping. Our eyes met, he winked and made the "cuckoo" sign (his finger twirled at the side of his head). I wasn't too sure what to make of this, not sure whom he was referring to. I asserted my gaze & felt my expression harden. Using my eyes I escorted him out of my safety-bubble.

I felt threatened. Not uncommon for me, especially when I'm out alone at night. I have a theory about small animals, of which I am one, when faced with imposing predators (most people over 5'8) determine the best course of defensive action in the unfortunate event of an attack. A quick glance is usually enough to deem the level of threat - bone size is a reliable indicator, look toward the wrist.

I don't think it's necessary to describe escape tactics at this point...Let's just say, I wanted to leave but I stayed. This was a slight variation on the instruction "don’t leave if you need to leave".

Did I need to leave? At multiple points I was uncomfortable to the point of really wanting to leave. I don't know if I ever needed to leave, but after an hour of toying with the notion I packed my jar back into my jacket and strolled home to finish my homework.

2. How much of what happened really happened? How much of what you’ve just described is your interpretation? What really did happen?

Hmm...under different circumstances, I might have interpreted tonight's events very differently. And I imagine that someone else might have a very different account of the evening's events. What really happened? This account is much less exciting...I arrived man danced and spoke. I sat. I watched them and my senses. I analyzed the thoughts in my mind.

back in the blogosphere

2009-04-09T13:50:00.000-07:00

been a long time
been a long time
been a long, lonely, lonely, lonely
lone-ly time...

got to get back
got to get back
...?

i don't remember the rest

i've been twittering
i've been f-booking

but baby
i sure love to blawg

tea break

2007-10-19T22:27:00.000-07:00

Chatting between sips of steamy vanilla chais, I discovered that we're both feeling a lack of appreciation in our respective workplace.

She is hurt by office grumblings - a target of their discontent. Should she voice her hurt? It may look easy on the surface - but it's hard being the bosses daughter. She assumes the bottom rung and gets stepped on.

I told her that lately I've been feeling a major lack of confidence. At work, I'm the new kid on the block. I don't yet know if my presence is appreciated. I hate to admit it - but I'm in need of some ego-stroking.

I become self-centered when I forget the source of true beauty. I fish for comlipments but remain empty - feeding my big ego with little nourishment. Commend me and my ego takes flight through a grandiose dream. Criticism, while hard to hear, sticks to my ribs and ties my stomach in knots. Condemn me and my dukes come up, ready to fight.

Yesterday I told my manager that I've been avoiding talking to him out of fear of conflict. "Is there conflict here?" he motioned to the space between us. I confirmed that it was in my mind. I could feel the knot in my gut coming undone. While I tread carefully for the remainder of my shift, I felt lighter.

While I still don't know if I'm doing a "good" job - in the process of standing up for myself, dropping my niceness, and being authentic and vulnerable - I lost my desire for compliments.

flesh covered guitar

2007-09-14T13:46:00.000-07:00

It's been too long since I last played my guitar.

I can tell because it's cloaked in dust.

Crazy to think that the guitar is wearing my skin.

I wiped off my flesh speckles and began to strum: g, e, d...

A few sad strokes later I lay my old friend to rest.

Sprawled on my bed, my guitar looks better that it sounds.

It's not you, it's me.

oompa loompa

2007-08-04T19:28:00.000-07:00

I'm 5'1 and 3/4'' I've been struggling for the last 1/4 inch for a few years. I didn't struggle before my university room mates set me up to the wall with a tape measure. It was a humbling and humiliating experience. I teared up as they sang the Oompa-loompa song (from Charlie & the Chocolate Factory). I hadn't seen the movie, not sure whether my lack of reference helped or hindered the situation. Whatever the case, I was crushed.

I stood up against a wall today to be measured (7 years later), this time willingly. It was much less traumatic. I think I've grown...

contemplating life and death as a fruit fly

2007-07-05T10:19:00.000-07:00

Leap of faith = fruit fly in my compost bucket

I scraped the discarded remains of my lunch into the compost bin today, turning my head in the usual way as to avoid swallowing any fruit flies. I used to think these flies were crazy for waiting for the lid to open so that they could get inside. What a leap of faith...

Hmm, I guess if I was a fruit fly I would dream of getting inside a compost bucket. The warm, aromatic remains of fruit peels and vegetable skins would be irresistible. Sweet molting compost would lure me in and the plastic bucket lid would seal me in. Feasting on a heap of orgasmic organics I wonder how long it would take for me to realize that I was trapped? I wonder if I would relax into the sense that this was the best way to die...

fear of failure

2007-06-24T19:33:00.000-07:00

I reluctantly entered my first climbing competition yesterday. I dragged my heels getting there, convinced that I was too tired to climb. I moaned and complained about my moontime apana. I wasn't willing to admit that fear was the real reason for my lethargy.

I love climbing and I'm quite competitive. Sounds like a perfect match for a climbing competition. The only problem is that I'm terrified of failure. And so there I was at the competition, yawning between attempts - putting around, half removed. The risk seemed to great to put in 100% effort.

To my delight and horror, I made the finals. The final route was a mystery on the outside wall. The finalists, all friends, descended down into the pit to await their turn. With time to spare, I skipped home for a hit of Floradix and a bowel evacuation :)

I returned to the gym, laid down in the boulder pit and visualized myself climbing strong and smooth. I had no idea what the actual route looked like, but I figured that some imagery was better than none. After a few rounds of alternate nostril breathing I felt calm and focused. In some ways my fatigue was a blessing - I didn't have the energy to get myself in a nervous tizzy.

I did my best to share some calm energy with the crew of fellow competitors ("competitors" is a bit of a stretch since most of them were friends that I'd been climbing with for years). When my turn came I was summoned from the pit and had my first look at the route. I climbed the wall with my eyes, miming the moves with my hands and feet. After a solid attempt to decipher the route from the ground, I roped up and gave it my all.

The route was vertical to start but grew slightly overhanging higher up. The holds were few and far between, which is a tricky and common predicament for me (being 5'2''). I'm not complaining, it just makes for more dynamic and committing climbing. I surprised myself and a few several lunging moves. Then I hit the first tricky section, I attempted to climb a corner arete with no holds - my feet slipped and I fell off the wall. My effort and fall were greeted by excited cheers.

I came in second place, I was just a few inches shy of where Elly touched before she fell. All in all it was a positive learning experience. I witnessed my fear of failure, I gave it my all and learned how to graciously accept the place of first loser ;)

who's at risk?

2007-05-04T19:02:00.000-07:00

I went for a walk tonight, Venus was out in all her shining glory, side by side with sister moon.

I walked past the stumpy remains of a massive tree. The sidewalk beside it was cracked and bulging, pushed up by it's massive root. I assume the tree became a hazard for the house that was built next to it.

The climbing tree in Lakeside was chopped down on Monday, while the kids were at school and the parents at work. A limb came down this winter and they couldn't risk it happening again.

Two brilliant trees chopped down because they put us "at risk".

Sometimes I get the sneaky suspicion that we treat our trees like wood.

fast and ferryous

2007-04-19T15:57:00.000-07:00

The ferry is late. The captain announced that he'll go as fast as he can but, the best he can do is still late. The bus was late getting to the ferry. I willed the driver to speed. I didn't mind getting rocked off my seat.

We arrived with time to spare. I walked in the sun to the walk-on passenger waiting area. Head down, I focused on the toting task: office on my back, wardrobe in one hand, yoga mat in the other. To my side I heard the quick patter of footsteps running in the opposite direction. I figured someone was late, for something...

Shortly after, two cop cars raced in the same direction. A throng of on-lookers followed with their gaze. I turned, taking direction from their eyes and spotted a man walking briskly on the beach below. I assumed he was the culprit. Strange that he was walking - isn't it more common to run from the law? Perhaps his blistery escape burned him out. I can relate; I've made the same mistake - not spreading my energy out for the long run.

The policeman was running. Ahead of him the hooded culprit turned left and scaled up the rocky bank. With sirens blaring, the other car headed him off. The chase was over. We boarded the ferry.

I'm heading back to Vancouver, to complete the second weekend of the Level One course. The first weekend infused my practice with mindfulness. I've had a wonderful few days with my brother and sister-in-law. What a pleasure to walk in nature, to sit in stillness, to read under the sun, and to be alone. I love being in the company of kindred souls. I also savour my solitary time.

I spent my first solo morning immersed in a sutra-inspired practice. So moved by the reading, I transcribed the sutra and poured my emotions onto paper. I folded this special note and tucked it into my back pocket. I lost it on route to the Sunshine Coast. Bummed by the loss of my next class plan - I blamed my awkwardly small jean pockets. A few thoughts later I pondered how excited I would be to find a handwritten sutra and poem. It's somewhere out there. Perhaps it's in a garbage can, or someone's pocket ... I hope it is deep.

Chrystos rodyvsya

2007-01-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

The holy-days have nearly come and gone. Ukrainian Christmas is just around the corner.

"Chrystos rodyvsya!" is the traditional Christmas greeting which is translated to "Christ is born!". You answer this with "Slavite Yoho!" which means "Let Us Glorify Him!".

On Sunday we're going to have a simul-celebration of Uki Christmas, Mikale and Rik's birthdays.

My heart aches for my snow-less Ontarian family and friends (although not all of them are complaining;). My dad is the maybe the saddest of the bunch. He asked me to email him a picture of snow - "I've forgotten what it looks like". Sniffle.

Here's a picture (taken on Dec 12) of Talka's car coated in snow. The snow under the windows reminds me of saggy under-eye-bags. Looks more like a basset hound than a beetle. The snow on the top looks like a massive afro... snowfros everywhere I go.

Our sweet suite #6, is in the background. It's nice to have a home that doesn't sway and roll. Though I miss the Airstream dearly.

It is turning out to be an epic winter. There's already 261 cms (103 in) at the ski hill. Yip-yip.

Rik, Mikale and I went up today to play in the powder. Mirek led us down a beautiful backside run (Mikale's first). These deep powder runs just keep getting better.

Yesterday I got a bit tripped up on the start of a backside. I didn't watch the leader closely enough and when it was my turn my eyes made a quick turn to follow a set of tracks (was that the way?). My body and board didn't make the turn in time. I ended up in a tree well (which is the deep hole under the boughs of a pine tree). Since my board went in first I was totally safe, but perfectly stuck. Luckily there were three guys behind me. Two grabbed my arms and the other pushed from behind. Quite hilarious and humiliating. A great lesson in abandoning my ego.

The Tsunami Story (the first part)

2006-12-26T22:29:00.000-08:00

Another Tsunami Anniversary

Here's the first part of my tsunami story. I've included some preamble to set the scene and such.

It's been a while since I wrote or read this (march 2005). I shared it with Naia who encouraged me to write more, but I was lacking energy and will. Writing this was very cathartic and immensely exhausting. Perhaps more will seep out soon...

Enjoy?

blessings,
Son

DEC. 2005

When we first arrived in Sri Lanka we split up into pairs to find the perfect beach to spend a month or more before heading to India. Liz and Sam headed east to Arugam Bay and we headed down south to Mirissa.

Both places were well known for their surf. Arugam Bay was determined to be the most private non-touristy spot as it was off-season and most surfers were in the south. Sam and Liz set up a place for us, mere metres from the sea. A bamboo thatch bungalow with the necessities of home: a fridge, a toilet, indoor and outdoor showers and a hammock with an ocean view. There were three bungalows on the property. This one was closest to the beach. We spent our first night in this one with Sam and Liz. The next night we rented the third bungalow from the beach. Jonas and Erik joined us in that one on Christmas Eve.

I remember lying in the loft staring up at the stars, waiting for Rik to come to bed. There was no mosquito net up there and the skeeters would bite my cheeks in the morning, feasting on my sleepy head. This bungalow was smaller and it was without water or a stove. It was comfortable enough for the four of us, but I don’t know how that family managed to squeeze themselves into the middle bungalow. There were 12 of them and they were literally spilling out the door. It seemed absurd to me, so many people sleeping in such a small space…

Jonas climbed up into that loft when the wave came. He grabbed their bags and ended up saving all of their things. Mind you the electronics were fried and when we were airlifted out they weren’t allowed to bring their bags. Luckily we were the last ones to be airlifted out and since they loaded the dead bodies onto Sam and Liz’s helicopter, we brought their bags with us. Unlike the Swedes, we sprawled out and made the main bungalow our home. Our stuff was all over. It felt nice to be at home there. We spent most of our time in the main bungalow or on the covered porch. I was surprised by how much time I spent in the shade. I usually love basking under the hot sun and then dunking into cool water. It was just to stinking hot. Since Arugam Bay is predominantly Muslim, wearing my bathing suit on the beach was an uneasy option. I hated wearing long sleeves and pants in the blazing heat, but at least I didn't stick out like a disrespectful thumb.

On Christmas morning I woke up feeling pretty awful. It was an unfamiliar feeling, in between nausea and cramps. I felt feverish and just plain ill. I was struggling emotionally too. I was bottling feelings up and growing increasingly frustrated by my inability to be open and honest with Rik. I didn’t want to stay at home and miss out on all the fun. I felt like shit but I wanted to spend Christmas riding motorbikes out to a secluded beach. I think I was pissed that I couldn’t drive. That was the runt in me screaming for equal rights – I wanted to drive, but I really didn’t know how and I felt out of form. I took a swim in the ocean that morning. It was my second time going out into waves by myself. I felt like a little kid, looking over my shoulder to see if Rik was watching me. I wanted him to see that I could handle myself. I also wanted to see that he would be there if anything happened. Rik was nowhere in sight. It took me a long time to get in. It was different from the waves in Mirissa. The beach sloped down in front our bungalow. The waves broke close to the beach. I had to summon a lot of courage to get out past the break. I was afraid that I’d get slammed. I was all alone, I felt weak. I’m not sure what compelled me to run in, maybe it was ego gratification - a strong urge to overcome my fear. Whatever the case, I was compelled by ego.

We were six friends hanging out. Then I was alone in the dark water. The feeling is hard to fully describe. It was such a beautiful day, how could I die? The wave hit me by complete surprise.

On December 26th I woke up in a fog, despite the blazing sun. That morning seemed especially bright. The sun was intense. It illuminated every sand crystal, spreading rays from above and below. I felt ill. I didn’t want to go outside; the heat was too much to take. I traded my shirt for a bikini top.

I stretched out on the long couch and enjoyed a lazy morning with Liz. The guys were gone, returning the motorcycles. I worried about how much of the deposit would be used to repair the damage and replace the key. I was tired.

When they returned we all convened in the front room of the bungalow closest to the beach. We watched a slide show of yesterday’s pictures on Rik’s computer. This was our last day together. We were heading back to Colombo and then onto India. We were calculating how many rupees we owed each other.

I first noticed that the water was breaking much higher than I had ever seen it. The cactus fence, a few metres from our porch was getting blasted by the ocean. The foam rushed through it and onto our porch. We moved towards the front window and door to see what was happening. The ocean was coming. I stared at the front door, my only escape. I wanted to get out but I was no match for the force of the water coming in. Liz grabbed me by the arm, “Let’s go into the bedroom”. I was a frustrated, trapped animal. There was no escape.

I lost sight of Rik. He stayed in the front room with Erik. As the water flooded into the bungalow, Rik pulled plugs. Sam and I both had some good shocks during the week while we were cooking on the electric stove. Sam went to throw the breaker but it had already tripped. Erik climbed onto the sofa, and shouted to Rik, standing on the kitchen counter, “Rik! What do you want me to do with your camera?”

We didn’t expect the water to keep rushing in. It didn’t make any sense. We tried to maintain control, by protecting our things, unplugging appliances – but as the water lifted the bungalow and everything in it, it became clear that we has lost control.

Crackling, snapping wood
Climbed the wall, the house came down, pushed under water, trapped in darkness…

I remember when I was alone in the dark. I felt all alone, but not in a lonely place. I knew that Rik was nearby and I thought how ironically sad it was that the wave hit us in the middle of tallying our expenditures and evening the score.

My mom told me that if I had died, her emotional life would have ended. What does this mean? I guess it means that a part of her would be gone. I felt the sadness of her loss. I didn’t try to patch it up and paint it into a pretty, clean and happy picture. I felt it that day. I felt it when the water filled in beneath, around and above me.

Thoughts of surprise, sadness, guilt for the pain I would cause my mom, how fragile life is, stuck, how easy death would come when I blacked out…

I clawed my way out of the roof of that house. I can’t even remember doing it. I remember being in the dark and then moving towards the light. Everything seems very clear, except for the part where I got out of the house. I was breathing, I was alive. My first thought was to free myself from the mangled bamboo net. I tore myself out of the roof and started to swim. I could see and feel the water bubbling and rolling all around. I reminded myself to stay calm and to prepare for big waves. I wasn’t scared; we had played in waves more violent than what I was floating in now. I started to swim towards a tree that Jonas was already climbing up.

I remember the sorrow that filled the air after the sea left. I didn’t think the mourning would ever end. I heard mothers torn apart by grief wail into the night. It doesn’t matter what language you speak, grief is universal. The language of our heart speaks from truth, unmasked by accents.

a dance

2006-12-17T13:04:00.000-08:00

A recent poll cited in the paper stated that 72% of BColumbians think that the world in end in the next 2 generations. Fear is the fad of the new millennium.

When I get scared a funny smile creeps through my lips. What am I laughing about - the ridiculousness of it all?

After the tsunami I felt compelled to bring awareness to the possible dangers we all face. I was and still am compelled by fear. This doesn't help anyone.

I'm looking for hope. Do you have any to share?

I have plenty of passion. I feel it when I'm dancing, singing and playing guitar. It's not all good. Sometimes I act it out as anger. In my most humbling moments, I act passive aggressively.

Sometimes I shout when I'm trying to sing. I punch when I'm trying to make you laugh. I punish myself when I'm trying to be healthy.

I feel my body when I need grounding. I touch my skin to bring my awareness to the present moment. I lay my hand on my heart when it is pounding. I feel my solidity.

Am I my body? My mind soars without my limbs. I don't need to move to feel moved. There's no need for touch to feel touched.

Remembering Thanksgiving

2006-11-14T17:35:00.000-08:00

Inspired by Martin's adventurous Thanksgiving (a lightning fast ascent and descent of Mt Alpha), I've decided to spice up our turkey(less) day.

On Thanksgiving day Rik and I summited and unnamed mountain. The locals refer to it as Uphill Nelson, but I call it Mt. Mama since the final destination was mom and Uwe's house.

If my memory serves right - it was cloudy, but visibility was sufficient. We made it up without any mishaps or misdirected meanderings. Come to think of it I think we got a ride up with Mikale. Whatever the case, it's a steep road and we made it.

It's a significant elevation gain from our downtown suite. To put it in perspective, in the winter it rains down here and it snows up there. It wasn't snowing that day, but that's irrelevant.

At the summit of Mt. Mama we were treated to a scrumptious celebratory feast. Two words synonymous with Nelson: pot - luck. Hot damn, we were lucky indeed! Homemade dishes to honour our ethic brothers and sisters: cabbage rolls, Moroccan chicken, schezuan tofu, samosas and fruit cobbler.

I've attached photos from the summit. Enjoy!

tasty tofu summit shot mikale's well earned rest

Inspiration

2006-10-14T18:46:00.000-07:00

Wow. This made me cry, laugh and cry some more.

What an amazing story of a father who runs, swims, bikes, hikes and skis with his disabled son.

One word of caution - get a hanky.

Here's a link to the article and movie.

Watch this and then call your dad.

Stalling

2006-10-07T14:34:00.000-07:00

I'm stalling. Procrastinating. Busying myself with chores and tasks. Keeping my hands and feet moving so that I don't have to sit and think. Sit and type. I'm writing an article for a youth zine and I want it to be perfect. Trouble is - I have to have the perfect start to properly begin.

I don't like these cold, precise, perfect people who, in order not to speak wrong, never speak at all, and in order not to do wrong, never do anything. - Henry Ward Beecher

Ouch. That one hit the spot :)

Another one:

Perfection consists not in doing extraordinary things, but in doing ordinary things extraordinarily well. - Angelique Arnauld

Here I go...

psedo-woman

2006-09-12T20:33:00.000-07:00

September has a way of kicking my butt into high gear. 'Back to school' mode has carried into my pseudo adult life.

Psedo-adulthood defined:
1. Whining at the thought of holidays being over.

In my case, this refers to starting a new job. This new job requires me to leave the house and be somewhere at a pre-determined time. Working from home has spoiled me. Oooh boy - you should hear me whine...

2. Old enough to know better, and too young really know anything.

When I was 9 I made the startling discovery that I knew everything. Or at least, I could pretty well follow along with any conversation.

Almost 20 years later - I discovered that what used to pass as 'following along' is a confusing blank stare (i.e. I get asked this a lot: "Sonja, do you have a question?").

I wonder how often my face looks bewildered?

3. Oscillating between self-discovery and utter confusion.

In July I decided that I would start a reggae band so that I could sing my heart out and inspire positive global action. A few weeks later I decided to become the editor of an online Yogi community. This week I started my new job at the climbing gym. I'm sure these paths will eventually converge. At this point I'm feeling slightly nauseaous from my rapid twists and turns.

ride on, ride on.

A Prayer for Peace in the Middle East

2006-07-22T22:16:00.000-07:00

Perhaps I'm nutty over words that rhyme, if I had it my way, I'd do it all the time. Rik laughs when I write poems like this. What ev - it's my blog, not his :)

On my bike ride home from the GIC*, a homeless traveler rolled up next to me.
A francophone all on his own, with his bicycle and the pack on his back.
Could I offer him a place to crash, some food to gnash and perhaps some cash?
I told him he couldn't bunk with me but I gave him my burrito and some money.
He offered to buy me a coffee if we met again. I told him the 5 bucks was a gift and not a lend.
On my way home I changed my mind. I raced downtown. I had a French man to find.
He was talking to a young man in front of the liquor store. Another target I wondered? An easy score.
I swept my judgment clean from my mind and told him that I had a favour of another kind.
War is raging in the Middle East. Please pray for our brothers, our sisters and for peace.
He turned to the young man "will you join us in prayer?". The young man replied with a confused stare.
A street sermon, beneath a fluorescent sign. With one hand on my heart I called on the divine.
A lot of awful crap is going down and we know it is not right.
Those soldiers aren't evil, all they know is to fight.
I wasn't quite sure how to end my piece, I figured it was done - we shared a prayer for peace.
The man gave my hand a firm squeeze. Our eyes connected, he looked and really saw me.

*GIC = Global Inspiration Conference. Visit www.gic2006.com

Here's Pamela dancing at the GIC talent show. She's got fast feet :)

Micey catches a ride on Froggy during a monsoon

2006-07-12T19:42:00.000-07:00

WHAAAABOOOOM...KRRAAAKOOOM...

It's storming outside. I'm glad that I decided not to ride 49er with Rik, Kris and Ty. When we bike it last week, the sky was alive with bolts of lightning. Luckily we were far enough away and stayed dry. But as we rode throught the dark to the truck, the thunder claps and mind-blowing flashes made me tremble in my padded chamois.

"Is this normal? Have you ever seen lightning and heard thunder like this?" I ask Rik this question every time it storms hard. Looking for comfort, assurance that the world isn't about to lay the smack down on us.

When I was a kid I wore ear muffs to bed on stormy nights. Eventually, I replaced them with ear phones and a cassette player. The soft crooning of Sting and George Michael drowned out the chaos. I began to master avoidance at a very early age.

In my teens I postulated that in my past life I drowned in a flood. I had visions of being inside a house during a flood. It made sense to me. I liked my hypothesis - it explain why rain, thunder and lightning scared the beegeebees out of me.

back in nelsonia

2006-03-28T22:39:00.000-08:00

been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely-lonely-lonely ti-ie-ime...

When I was 9 I began to keep a diary. In the months and years that followed many entries began like this:

Dear diary,
It's been a long time since I last wrote...

I guess it's the Catholic in me, "Forgive me Father, it has been x years since my last confession..."

Guilt sucks.

It literally sucks the life force outta me...and coincidently - it dissolves my motivation to make amends.

My first instinct would be to make a grand public apology for my tardy blogginess

Luckily, I'm developing a new instinct that tells me to spend more time and energy with people in the real world and less of my free time on the computer.

On Saturday, Rik and I are moving into our new place (our first rental since July '04). We're stoked to settle in and unpack for good...Well, at least for a few years;)

I'll be back in good blogging-form soon but if you're wondering where the the heck I've gone - chances are that I'm playing outside, dancing up a storm, or having a chin wag with my mom.

Ahhh Nelson...It's so good to be home.

Heading Home

2006-02-28T21:16:00.000-08:00

The road trip is coming to a bittersweet end. I miss Canada, no doubt aboot it. I miss the trees, the people. As we entered Oregon I looked around and it all felt very familiar – just like BC. Which makes me wonder, what is the difference? What does it matter? Why do I look for disparities instead of similarities?

Back in Starbucks again, it has become our mobile office. A different city with different weather but the office stays the same with its wireless internet and dim lighting. Even the furniture is the same, along with the merchandise, the New York Times rack. The arrangement changes as does the clientele. Last night I overheard a gaggle of cops get into a hot gossip session until they got called out to something more important than talking behind their Captain’s back. Tonight I watched a mysophobic man in a poor fitting toupee demonstrate how the barrista touched the rim of his tea mug. At first I found his obsession quite strange but as I watched him open the door with his foot I recognized his fear. I too employ my fair share of germ-avoiding techniques – he’s reached the next level. I felt for him and his endless battle against contamination.

I’ve fought my share of battles, but lately I’ve taken a back seat. Example 1: Veganism. Somewhere along the road I gave in to fast-food hamburgers. At first I protested against Rik’s cravings, pointlessly suggesting that maybe he’d rather have a bean burrito? But he loves cheap beef patties. Hungry and curious I began to take small nips at the forbidden fruit. At first I cringed at the saturated fatness of it - a well rehearsed, disgusted face that accompanies most nutritional atrocities.

Somewhere along the road my protest became silent, so quiet that I didn’t even hear it. I quit preaching. My guilt melted like a slice of processed cheese. I’ve had a total of 2 burgers (that doesn’t include the nibbles I took from Rik and Rob’s burgers). Rob introduced us to Fat Burger and life hasn’t been the same since. Rik moans and salivates whenever we pass one. I have stopped pointing them out for fear that he’ll instinctually pullover.

Two burgers too many – but I’m happy to say that I didn’t order them. My false pride brings me some comfort. I’d have to admit to completely losing my scruples if I actually ordered a Baby Fat with Cheese. I’m looking forward to spending some time with Ryan and Carole, my vegan bro and sis in law. My ethics are slacking – I need backup and inspiration. I don’t believe that eating meat is entirely bad – but I’ve been ignoring the truth behind most of the meat out there: animals are imprisoned; force fed and slaughtered en masse. Ugh. That’s a lot to swallow. That's a lot of suffering that I can’t ignore.

Its raining cats and hogs

2006-02-27T18:17:00.000-08:00

It’s raining cats and hogs. Our plan to spend some time in San Fran has literally washed away. After a wet stroll that ended with us eating a lot of za at Pizza Orgasmica, we hopped in the truck and headed north to Sacramento. Somehow we managed to take a circular route back to where we began an hour earlier – but then we were on our way.

We found a Starbucks along the way (an easy task) and settled in for a late night work session. In the morning, I followed my bladder across the parking lot into the mall. All the stores were closed but the mall was alive with sneakered seniors - Mall Walkers. I’ve seen them before but never really understood why they preferred fluorescent lighting and recirculated air over sunshine and fresh air. Now I understand. On a rainy day, a mall is a great place to take a walk.

This particular mall offered two tracks (an upper and lower level) and a plethora of water fountains. At first my walking was very focused, I had come for a reason. After taking care of business I joined the ranks and took a couple of laps. I have to admit, malls are much better when the shops are all closed. The people who strolled along beside me were here to walk – not shop. Consciously taking steps towards improving their health rather than unconsciously consuming, buying, spending.

I walked past headless mannequins dressed in cheaply made clothes. Clothes that will be gobbled up by people who believe that their perfectly good clothes are no longer acceptable. I walked past a set of stairs with detailed instructions on how to use them safely: look ahead; use the railing; no running, walking backwards or baby-stollers, etc. I was amazed at the detail. I wonder how many people fell down these stairs and how many future law-suits this sign will prevent…

Parking Police

2006-02-21T10:44:00.000-08:00

I used to think that parking lots were wild places, devoid of law and security. I’ve learned otherwise. In Las Vegas, parking lots are highly patrolled. Mind you, many security guards ride around on bicycles. From an environmental perspective this kicks ass, unfortunately – I doubt their ability to kick ass.

At one time I might have been grateful for this patrolling, but since I started living parking lots I find the stalking extremely annoying. This week I have met 5 parking lot guards:

The first encounter occurred outside of Borders. Rik and I were enjoying a candlelit Burger King Fusion dinner (I made a salad). We made the mistake of putting our cooler and door mat outside the trailer. This is a parking lot faux pas.

The second confrontation occurred at the library. What a shame, it was a sweet spot. It was our second day in this spot and I had become too brazen. I pulled out the 5 foot solar panel, cooler, doormat and our bikes. I was in housekeeping mode, listening to the radio, beating and shaking dusty things outside. I didn’t see him coming but I heard the knock at the door. I recognized him, the shiny head guard. I’ve watched him over the past few weeks patrolling the library: scoping out the study rooms and peered into the planter box (I’m not sure why he did that but I found it fascinating). I think he recognized me too. We both blushed – I was embarrassed to be wearing short, booty shorts and he seemed genuinely regretful for giving me the boot.

I was alone again for the third confrontation. I was chilling in the trailer, resting a climbing injury while Rik was working online at Starbucks. It was an uneventful encounter. I assured the guard that despite the solar panel and cooler, we were definitely not camping in the parking lot. He was satisfied by my promise to roll out in a few hours and he pedaled away.

The expression “3 times lucky” has proven true, the fourth encounter was ugly. I lost my cool and mumbled a few sarcastic remarks. Did she have it coming? Probably not, I mean she was doing her job…or making her boring job more interesting. We told here that we’d leave as soon as we finished out lunch and cleaned up. I guess she didn’t dig our relaxed pace. Whatever the case, she got her knickers in an awful knot and threatened to call “Metro”. I have no idea who Metro is, but I think she meant we’d get towed away. I laughed (note: do not laugh at people who pretend they have authority) at the thought of being towed away while washing the dishes. I felt bad afterwards, albeit curious about the karmic consequence for being petulant.

The fifth and final encounter was fun. I saw the flashing lights, blew out the candles and ducked. Bang-bang-bang. Busted. I stood up from my hiding spot, like a red-handed criminal. I turned off the stove. Mmmm, dinner smelled great. Then came the awkward interrogation.
Who are you?
What do you mean?
Who are you?
That went on for a good while. I was buying time until we determined that I wasn’t supposed to be there. I’m not sure where I get my ambivalence for the law, but I definitely put up a very polite fight. He was nice and told me that the day-guard was a bit of a stiff and had ticketed us. He didn’t mind if we spent the night in his lot but if we were still there in the morning we’d likely get towed. He asked for my name and I suggested he write it on a piece of paper. He thought his hand would be fine…16 letters and a few hearty chuckles later, Tyrone and I parted ways.