Into the Light

Secundo’s been talking about lighthouses for a couple of months now. He tells a story of a little boat, lost at sea, in the dark. His eyes get big and round as moons, and his little mouth purses up like a gorgeous kiss and makes that cute “oooooo” shape when he says, “No moon, no ‘tars. All dark.” And then there’s the Light House. Which shines a light onto the dark water. And allows the boat to find its way home. All very meaningful to a two-year-old, no doubt.

So when Andy and I take off for the San Juan Islands this weekend, I’m pleasantly surprised to see lighthouses everywhere. On Friday we ride the ferry from Sidney to Anacortes and watch the harvest moon rise up out of the North Cascades. First a single mountain tip glows, then that fat old orange moon comes sailing up over snow-capped Baker, like a kid’s balloon. Somebody must be crying ‘cause they let go of the string. But where we are, it’s only awe and excitement: everybody runs for their cameras. Young and old alike gaze at nature’s beauty and feel the magic. How often do you exchange goofy grins with strangers on a boat?

Some moons are bigger than others. That was a big one. Maybe it didn’t help that I kept asking for more: more clarity, more consciousness. Problem was more confusion is what kept coming up. Challenges, things that aren’t easy to deal with. Andy asks if I expect him to support me. Yes (wouldn’t that be nice), and no (I’m growing up, finally!). Primo’s six year molars have at least another three months to go and they pain him until he cries most days. Secundo is sad every time he leaves me: more tears. And then there are my own tears and fears -- I have to keep the faith. Andy and I have a conversation about Angelina and Brad – what kind of parents are they? Andy figures the nanny does all the mothering in that family. I freak – my kids spend many of their days with caregivers and I’m being the best mother I can be. I consider packing it in – how will I become financially independent? (It’s in my best interest to do that as soon as possible, that’s advice from the BC Families in Transition Society (because I asked).)

Annie Lalla had a hard month too. That moon was drawing it out: pushing us to give it up. Ain’t nothing to hold onto. I want to be free. More than even that, I want my kids to be free.

“The storm abated,” writes Annie. “The sky, presently, is clear. The only thing I know is what I know NOW. Each NOW that presents itself is without any fear.”

On Saturday, on San Juan Island, I ran (westward I go free) and the story (my next novel, the one that’s going to become my meal ticket and turn me into a breadwinner) plopped itself right into my arms. The whole damn thing, just like that. And then Andy and I walked along the beach at Cattle Point while sea lions tore apart a small seal and seagulls caught the chunks that flew out of the water and Magic followed us over rocks and driftwood and tried to drink from the ocean. Then we went back to our cabin on Snug Harbour and made love. After that I read. We went out for dinner. On the drive home I cleaned my comb. And – hey -- I didn’t feel guilty. That’s a switch. That’s the switch.

“Mumma go away?” Secundo asked with his cheek against mine yesterday when we returned. “Stay Dada house.” Yes, darling. “Mumma here now. Go mumma’s house?” Yes, darling. He hasn’t started to ask why yet, but I answered it anyway. This is part of our life, I told them both then. Saying good bye and being apart will always be part of our life.

I hoofed it up the mountain this morning. OK, it’s only 800 feet high, but I can see the peak from my house and believe me, it’s as powerful as any mountain, specially how you can see the world from up there. I hadda go to Braefoot and drop off Primo’s lunch first and he kissed me good bye, right on the lips, without wiping it off. That’s when I know he means it. After that I ran and ran, and sat at the top for a while, and gave thanks.

Why do you do that, Andy asks? To plant seeds of gratitude. Why? He wants to know. Because sometimes there’s only the dark. No moon, no stars. Why no light, he asks? Why do you ask me these questions?

He pushes me, doesn’t let anything slide. Down the rabbit hole we go. At least he’s such good company down there. I’m interested, he said the first time he did it. At that my defensiveness quickly changed to ownership. Take for instance the rabbit hole at Cattle Point this weekend. I tell him I think Primo has challenges in his life that make it harder for him than some other kids. I see a happy, normal kid, Andy tells me. At the bottom of this hole, I see that I’ve been projecting my own “poor me complex” (which I’ve come by honestly, no doubt). And I want him to be free. I don’t want him to go through life with my baggage.

At the top of the mountain I feel all the love that’s in my heart. Thankful, I burst with it. My life is so good. Except for when it’s not. Hey, I can sing because I know how it feels to be free. And then, then I’m walking down the other side and another wave of grief slaps me sideways, and I fall down clutching my heart. Fuck, that hurts. And I’ve gotta act like it’s OK when I drop the boys off, when we say good bye -- again.

I’m looking for other people who are going through this. I don’t care if you live in Kalamazoo – I’d love to connect. It’s not easy.

It can be easy, says Andy, if you let it be. Oh, damn it, maybe I don’t want to let go of the pain. I stopped going to Bikram yoga because every frickin’ time I did the camel a whole lot of grief came pouring out of my heart and I’d spend the last half an hour of yoga licking the mingled tears and sweat off my skin. How much sadness is in me? I think I’ve accelerated the grieving process with all that hot yoga. I do know that it’s time to stop crying, at least in front of the children.

So I go climbing at the gym now, call people dude, and crank until I can’t even bend my fingers, much less hold onto anything. Now that’s letting go.

I will do anything – run, sit, pray, fuck, write, laugh – rather than go to that place of darkness. A friend of my friends in Canmore took a swan dive off Ha Ling on purpose. And she had a good life, so they all said, two kids among all the other stuff. Hey, I feel for Britney Spears. I am sad and it’s OK. I move us along. This is how it is now: it is good. That’s how God does it.

I’m not the only one. Andy’s grandfather reminded him of this after Andy found his wife in bed with another man. I know Steph is often lonely when the kids are with me. And I’ve had the majority of them so far. (70/30, now it’s 60/40). My friend and her partner have his kids with them 50% of the time. Sometimes when they leave she says he walks around with that sad look on his face. “But I don’t want it to be this glass half full thing when they’re not with us,” she says. I so agree. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And that’s probably because I think it’s hard. If I thought it was easy, would it be?

Yesterday Secundo fell asleep at 5:30. Any two-year-old who doesn’t nap will crash at supper. Nothing cuter than the big eyes going down to half mast, the plump cheeks falling into the mashed potatoes. We put him into his bed in the light of the lighthouse lamp we found at Friday Harbour. When Primo dropped the Mousetrap game in their room, his little bro stirred, so Primo sang him back to sleep in a warbling Vienna boy’s soprana with an open throat. “That puts him to sleep, Mom,” he said. No doubt.

Secundo woke up at 5:30 this morning. Me and the boys got out of bed and turned the lighthouse on and read books. Then we went to Tim Horton’s for breakfast, filled up the car with gas, and explored Willows Beach – all before 8 a.m. I hold nothing back. I give everything to them. There are no blocks that keep us apart.

So, little men. I set you free. Free from the chains that still hold me. See that lighthouse shining across the water. Clear sailing. I’ll be right here beside you, even when we’re not together. And remember that I believe every person can be -- should be -- free. Starting with me. And I actively work to make it so.

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free

I wish that I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish that I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say them loud, say them clear
For the whole wide world to hear

I wish I could share all the love that’s in my heart
And move all the blocks that keep us apart
And I wish you could know how it feels to be me
And to see and agree that every man should be free

I wish I could fly like a bird in the sky
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly
Well I’d soar to the sun and go down at the sea
And I’d sing cause I know how it feels to be free

I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
And I wish I could say all the things that I wanna say
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear

Lighthouse Family

Defeat

Defeat

Three days in a row now I have pulled the Defeat card in my Tarot readings. I asked for inspiration, and each time defeat came up. What’s up with that?

When I see the word it resonates.

I am trying to believe in myself, that I can establish a career doing the things I love (writing, yoga instruction, facilitation of heart-centred conversations), but these days it feels like I’m trying to swim in molasses. Nothing seems to be getting anywhere.

Andy and I are working to set up housekeeping. He created a comfortable work station for me, purchased a new computer. And he’s urging me to get an ergonomically designed chair so my shoulder won’t seize up.

I am more comfortable in my life than ever before. It doesn’t hurt to do the work I’m doing. But stuff seems to get in the way. Today it was several conversations and Primo’s sore mouth. The not-quite-six-year-old is teething, those back molars are giving him considerable grief. Tarj Mann, the school principal, phoned me just before Primo was supposed to get on the bus for Kids Klub. I ran over there with Magic and found the boy playing rather happily in the playground. It was a glorious sunny day, warm, absolutely delicious. He was in his shirt sleeves. I walked him home in the mid day sun. He asked me if he could watch a movie when he got home. Hmmm, I thought, where is this going?

When we got home I administered some children’s Advil and had a chat with him. He said he’d been at Kids Klub too long the day before. As I thought. It’s a new child care arrangement for him. He’s with 5- and 6-year-olds in a school down the road. The staff are lively and young, but not exactly nurturing. There’s no couch or even an easy chair to relax in. I asked the staff if he could lie down if he felt tired. They say they have a sick blanket and pillow and they want to get a big red couch from IKEA soon. They put the order in and are waiting.

So, I tell Primo he can let the staff know if he needs some TLC and sign a waiver saying they’re allowed to administer Advil when the pain gets too bad. Then I leave him there, my heart aching, and promise to pick him up at 3 pm in time for soccer. Then I head home to a big discussion with Andy. We’re trying to prise apart the details of my separation agreement, legal requirements, and my financial situation so that we can add Andy in a smart way. I made a couple of calls, to a Family Justice Counsellor and the BC Families in Transition Organization. I got answers. We tried to fit them together into some picture that made sense.

Neither of us has ever paid attention to these kinds of details before, having lived 40-some-odd years of life flying by the seat of our pants. Now we’re trying to fly using instruments and maybe even a licence. I wonder if we’ll ever get off the ground. Andy believes we will.

Maybe my reluctance to believe this, my resistance to changing from winging it with magic, is what the defeat is about. I don’t want to give up my practices of spinning, communing with star people, and praying to an unknown deity. I’ve had a lot of success with these in my past.

However, as Simon says, these old structures might just be keeping me neurotic and getting in the way of actually doing what I want to be doing with my life. Which is writing books, teaching yoga, and generating money doing these things.

So, what’s my option? What’s the secret to good writing? “Eight hours and a comfortable chair,” advises David Quammen. Perfect – Andy’s got the chair covered, and I sat on it for 20 minutes today!

I bet if I do a Tarot reading now, it’ll look entirely different.

See -- Wheel of Fortune: The path of destiny. Karma on a grand scale. An unexpected turn of good fortune. A link in the chain of events. Success, luck, and happiness.
Excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work

Faith on a Rainy Morning

9 am, a rainy morning. Primo’s at school, Secundo’s with Becky, there were smiles today when we said goodbye. I’ve got a few hours until Kindergarten pick up time. My first response to this rainy day was tears. An on-line tarot reading presented me with the Five of Swords -- defeat!!?– what’s up with that?

A Shambala Sun article mentioned that one of the biggest challenges of our time is focus. I struggle to maintain mine. I sit on the edge of the futon that’s spread out behind me in my office (my ex-mother-in-law is visiting, she’s moving from house to house with the boys). She’s struggling to reconcile herself to our new life arrangements. A few tears fall. I let them out, then breathe. Just a few conscious breaths uring which time I ask for more consciousness. My to do list forms itself in my head: I’m ready to go to work.

At my computer I have a look at a link Steph sent me: an article in the Globe and Mail talks about Cate Cochran’s new book, Reconcilable Differences: Marriages End. Families Don't. “It shows that many people who divorce go to extraordinary lengths to recalibrate their relationships. The effort is to create security for their children.” The article says this requires a great effort by all involved and does ensure that we finally grow up.

That’s exactly what we’re doing: last night Andy and Steph went climbing at Crag-X. “I had fun,” Andy said, and it’s not just because he’s a slut for climbing. “We really bonded. I'm getting to like him.”

I’m grateful for all that. Yesterday Andy also suggested to Steph that one of the prerequisites of any new woman in his life be that she’s cool with me and our new relationship. He nodded at that.

There is only success in my life. “Oh my God,” I said this morning when I slipped back into bed to wake up Andy and felt the heat of his body on my skin. “That’s what you were saying last night, babe,” he says, and kisses me. Oh my God.

At the edge of the futon I sit, bow my head, allow myself to focus: my new work, my new life, my new love – this is all I have to do. I breathe out: thank you, thank you, thank you.

The rain falls. I am life. It flows through me. It is me. All I have to do is trust. What do they say about faith? Faith is a bird that feels dawn breaking and sings while it is still dark.

The street is black and shiny with rain, and the brake lights of cars stopping at our corner turn the puddles crimson, just like the flames of that Japanese maple tree across the street. Little kitten Leroy Snuggles sleeps curled up on the futon behind me. I’m sitting here in this gloomy morning, singing as I write.

More Beautiful Than Angelina Jolie

Raven Lodge sits on the boundary of Strathcona Provincial Park, Vancouver Island’s rugged mountain wilderness. Andy and I lace up our boots and head into Paradise Meadows with Magic, our old black Lab. It’s a nice name for a piece of boggy subalpine sparkling in the sunshine, the undergrowth bright with October red and gold.

I skip along the boardwalk that skirts the bog and disappears into the trees. After a few kilometers of sniffing that yummy mountain scent we stop for a snack, make friends with dogs and fellow hikers, and enjoy the sparkle at Helen McKenzie Lake. It’s our first foray into the mountains since Andy left the Rockies this autumn to move to Victoria to live with me and my two young sons. He’s pumped about exploring this new range of mountains. A spire of ice beckons him in the distance. He’s psyched to discover new rock and ice climbing and hiking possibilities.

As the sun starts heading into the west we’re excited about returning to the truck. Fourteen-year-old Magic’s tired, her head’s hanging low and she’s plodding along. I’m satisfied and inspired by the day and looking forward to the parking lot -- it’s always good to head home, right?

But as we reach Andy’s cherry red Tacoma we discover that my car keys (my Subaru is parked in our driveway in Victoria) are in Andy’s pocket and Andy’s keys are locked inside the truck. We can see them through the driver’s window. I look at him: “Oops!” I say. His reply is unprintable.

He feels stupid. I did the same thing a few months ago, so I know it can happen.

Anyway, it’s beautiful at Raven Lodge. Sun still warms our faces, not bad for mid October. Plenty of people coming off the path flash us smiles. BCAA promises to be here in an hour. A friendly couple with two kids sticks around to make sure we’re OK. A couple months ago they stopped to administer first aid to someone and the husband, a doctor, got a broken arm for his trouble. But they’re still willing to help. We exchange stories of how we met our significant others. And laugh a bunch. Another guy leaves the warmth of his car to gift us with apples. Three young men with heavy packs return to their car to find it dead. They get a boost from our new friends too.

A woman from Roycroft and her kids come over to give us water and shoot the breeze. “We forget to bring our snacks along on the hike,” they commiserate. We’re laughing and trading stories in a second. When we meet like this, it’s amazing how quickly we get to the heart of the matter. People share their most important tales with us. This girl’s boyfriend had heart surgery to repair his aorta. He got tired on the walk. That woman’s son had a bad heart when he was born but he’s OK now. This other woman’s friend is the head of cardiology at a major hospital in the east. The heart connects us: we find points of intersection in our lives that we are eager to share.

Angelina Jolie has nothing on this young woman who holds her boyfriend’s hand the whole time. Her smile is as wide as the movie star’s, and as lovely. Up there at Paradise Meadows, as the sky goes slate gray and the day grows cold, I see the beauty in everybody. We wouldn’t have been here to see it, without this silly mistake. Interesting.

The hour turns into two. The sun sets in a blaze of autumn glory behind that inspiring spire, is it Jutland or Regan? The friendly couple’s daughters are sleepy and they have to go home. The other family smiles apologetically and they head to their Toyota. We smile and wave at our new friends as they leave.

Now I notice that my fingertips are numb. I snuggle up with Magic whose body warms my legs. It’s getting dark and Andy is getting impatient. He feels responsible, and begins to think up solutions in case roadside assistance doesn’t show up. We hold hands and start walking down the road, more for something to do than because that will help. 100 metres along we hear a diesel engine labouring up the hill. That’s gotta be our ticket home. It is!

The guy from Alpine Towing has three handy little tools that have the Tacoma unlocked in seconds. Andy’s glad he didn’t kick the back window in. I’m thrilled to climb into the front seat and crank the heat. But I’m also thrilled that we had this chance to sit atop Mount Washington and soak the October sun into our hearts in the company of some really cool people from the Comox Valley.