Cultivating Restlessness

My aunt Mary died last week. She was 90 years old and she was a woman of action. My aunt was a nurse, pilot, teacher, poet, environmentalist, musician, linguist, and a natural born raging granny.

I ask myself why so many "spiritual" traditions drive me crazy, particularly the ones that constantly tell their devotees to cultivate a calm, passive state of being. My aunt was restless. She loved adventure and travel. She saw injustice in the world and she did something about it as a nurse, educator and activist. Instead of going on retreats to take time to "work on her self", she wrote letters, made protest signs, and learned to speak French, Spanish, Portuguese and Umbundu. Instead on sitting on her meditation mat, she put prayer into action, travelling to Angola, The Congo, Zaire, Nicaragua, and northern Canada to practise as a nurse and educator, teaching people how to avoid crippling diseases and showing new midwives how to deliver babies safely. Instead of contemplating the paradoxes inherent in life that can paralyze us with indecision, she just got to work to make the world a better place. Making peaceful world takes restless people.

Cultivate your restlessness. That's what leads to true inner peace.

Photo: Mary Ethleen Pyne (nee Clark) at the G-20 Summit in Toronto, 2010. She was 86 years old.

It's All Going to Come Together

Yesterday I was sitting at the bus stop on the way to my choir concert, feeling under-rehearsed and over-stressed. A man who appeared to be quite inebriated came over to me, looked me right in the eyes and said, "It will all come together, somehow. Either or . . . somehow. It will all come together." I was calmed. It was uncanny. The concert was fine. It was dignified. I made a few mistakes, but none that sent me to cry in the washroom. The worst thing that happened was being admonished for minor uniform infractions. My brown shoes and deep decollatage were upsetting the costume mistress. I felt like I was going to get a red card or be forced to wear the choral badge of shame. Strewth. At least I didn't show up in my pajamas.

Today was the most beautiful day possible. I gardened. I went out for lunch with my lovely parents. I made supper and gardened some more. My dad is the official violet, viola, and pansy picker. Mom helps me prep the salad greens. We had morels and purple broccoli for dinner. Life is good. I  strolled over to Shaktea to collect my thoughts while sipping their fine green blend on ice. I went to chat with Catherine through her fence. The setting sun lit up her white curly hair like a halo. And then a little bee landed on my wrist just to say hi and have a little rest. I gingerly pulled my camera out of my bag with my left hand and took several pics. This was another affirmation. All your trials, all your worries, all those loose threads running over your grey matter-- they're all going to come together.

1000 bee blessings to you.

Thinking of Nelson Mandela right now and all the gifts he brought to us.