Lovers Be Warned: St. John's Holds My Heart.

 I was reading one of my posts from my last trip, the one where I woke up and felt the reality sink in that my ex was gone forever.  I was alone, and the thought of that future seemed so daunting.  Immediately afterward I opened my journal to my most recent entry.  It was written at an open mic.  I realized quite suddenly that right now the idea of a future with a romantic partner feels surreal: maybe even impossible.  How could I expect a lover to follow me around the world, or patiently wait until my wanderlust is spent and I fall breathless, exhausted back into his/her bed? Who would want to fall in love with someone whose ultimate goal in life is to leave for weeks at a time? To find intimacy (though not physical) with strangers?
I have been feeling an undefinable inner conflict with my most recent (and very new) relationship, but I didn't understand why I bounced back and forth between wanting to keep it casual and nurturing the possibility of love.  It's because I gave up the life I wanted to be with a man who simply could not travel the way I wanted to.  I won't do that again.   St.John's solidified that for me:

This island with it's steep sloping fjords, covered in trees so wind-battered that they grow entangled with each other to survive... She is like me.  She falls fast and deep yet stands high above sea level, her heart bursting with colour, her pulse the music that drowns out the gale, her light that draws many a sailor into her bay...

Walking downtown I realized that I wanted to possess St.John's; I wanted to call it home, make it mine.  Then a voice says to me: can't you be happy just knowing it exists and that you got to inhabit it, even if just for a week?  That it will continue to exist as you do, even if not in your direct reality?

I realized I need to feel this way about my lovers as well.  The feeling of relief with this thought was overwhelming.  I felt gratitude for those I am blessed to be able to share my love with at this moment, all those in my past who still walk this world, the ones I shared a coffee "moment" with and
those in my future. I have been intimate with so many people over the last year, in conversation, art
and music, though only one physically...Why some of them I am fine with moving on from and others I want to hold onto... This is still a mystery to me.

St.John's is one of those I wish to hold on to.  She was my lover, my mirror image. However, for now, it appears we are simply not meant to be together. I do like to imagine that over the next couple of years I will find a way to be back with my beloved and I will curl myself  into her nooks and crannies while the damp cold winds of winter swirl around her coast.

Miracles in the Mundane

I unzipped the black pull along suitcase. Tiny shells like crumbled crackers were settled in the corners. The smell of ocean flowed over the sides and I leaned in breathing deep. I tried my best to scrape them out with my fingers, but in the end it just seemed right to let the east mingle west on the plane ride home. Perhaps one day a dusting of broken shells from yet another Ocean will be added to the mix. Now I could be finishing my packing, but instead I am drinking Beer at the pub and watching the sunset. I live in a beautiful part of the world. I have good friends and a great community in which to raise my kids. I am blessed. Sometimes I think I want more. Sometimes I try to push too much into a small space. I limit the happiness I feel from what I already have in order to fit in the joy from something new in. Problem is, the joy from the new is fleeting and unstable. I need to keep my gratitude for the miracles that may otherwise become mundane. The mundane is a miracle. We look for grandiose signs; burning bushes, angels and resurrection, but our own chests rise every minute with no conscious effort. Literally more than a miracle every minute takes place inside your own body. People are looking to connect with God, what they don't realize is that they're connected already. They expect God to speak in a big booming voice or in tongues. But God whispers in spinning poplar leaves, rumbles in your heart beat and laughs with thunder. Everything you experience with your senses is God telling you: I am here. I am here. I am here. Faith is answering back: I know. I know. I know. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

To My Dad

Amongst the many articles about rape culture and fathers perpetuating it, I want to take a moment to give a shout out to my dad.  To my father, who taught self defense (which I absorbed via osmosis) to the youth in our community, females and males equally.  While doing so enforcing the idea that no one should touch you without your permission, and vice versa.  To my father who didn't hang mildly pornographic magazines objectifying women in his gym.  To my father who focused on building self confidence via personal challenges and self discipline. To my dad who never uttered a word about women "asking" for it.  To my dad who never used the term "slut" or "whore" when describing a female. The sexual jokes you made (which were rare in my presence) were never degrading towards women.

I didn't realize until I got older, that my father was the exception.  That he was surrounded by a rape culture, yet never perpetuated it in my presence.  So, thank you dad, for being a decent guy and setting the standards for the behaviour I will and will not accept from men in my life.