Everything seems bigger these days, most of the time. More explosions of energy. More colours. More being there with life (or more accurately here).
I’m sitting in the ferry terminal, waiting for my boat to Toronto Island. It’s ice storm time in the big city – slippery sidewalks, blasting wind, slow as it goes. I just talked to a woman who teaches on the island. She’s worried about the crossing, and talks about the location of lifeboats. And the wind continues to blow the yellow CAUTION tape every whichway, sometimes shrieking in decibel joy.
Gosh, the world is alive!
Energy is swirling over my face. There is a softening of the muscles. I see the beauty within and without. I am with the pastel-coloured lawn chairs sitting in the snow outside the waiting room window. I was with my teacher friend and now the pigeon who’s my companion on this bench. She’s 18 inches from my right arm, just sitting there. Nice.
As a result of the Mutual Awakening course I’m taking online, I can sometimes feel my consciousness inside the person I’m talking to, or in this case … the pigeon. How mysterious, and unmistakably real.
I just took the UP Express train down from my B&B. As I sat there looking out the window, my face fell softly and I could feel tears coming. I looked into the windows of houses flashing by and reached out to the people inside. I saw cars lined up in a left turn lane and felt sad for the occupants. For a second this felt pathological, that there was a weird deficit in me. That glimpse floated away, replaced by a depth of feeling – empathy … care … love.
Last night I watched Laura Smith sing her soul out at Hugh’s Room. She’s a Canadian singer-songwriter with a beautiful voice, beautiful songs, and something so far beyond them both – presence and love. When she sang “I’m A Beauty”, an ode to the well-being of all women and girls, her face shone. Often Laura would lift her eyes and her hand, gazing at something profound, something beyond the physical. All was alive.
Now it’s after the island concert and the land is flooding. We audience members are invited into a van that will take us to the ferry dock. I say no, with great joy. “I’ll walk back on the boardwalk.” Adventure overwhelms me and possible consequences fade to the background.
On my way to the seawall, tongues of water are creeping. I lean over to watch the flow darkening the snow, inch by inch. I’m fascinated. I detour around the new ponds and approach the cement barrier. Waves are crashing against it, sending spray 20 feet into the air. Whoa! Such power, and some of it is coming from inside me.
I walk parallel to the seawall, looking for the beginning of the boardwalk. And there it is – underwater. Oh. Feeling surrounded but somehow supremely happy, I retreat to the church, hoping that the van hasn’t taken everyone away. I knock on the door. No answer. And I smile, broadly. Ten seconds later, the door opens. A fellow human being! We decide to walk to the park road and wait for a vehicle to pick us up. A wee bit of fear and a whole bunch of “Yes!”
What is happening to my life?
Roger and I were picked up by a driver, who was so pleased to help. On the ferry, I stood at the bow and marvelled at the crashing waves. And got so wet!
And then the train to take me out of downtown. Looking like a drowned rat, I stood in the full car. A young woman stood up and said “Please sir – have my seat.” She gave me such a lovely smile. In the past, I would have cringed at the word “sir” and rebelled against being helped. But not today. I felt the young lady’s warmth, smiled back at her and said “Thank you.” We met in the eyes.
It’s been a day