Ring a Bell … Take a Pause … Find Some Patience

July 11 was the last time I posted. Then, a poem from Rosemerry Wahtola Trummer with the perfect photo of a perfect red zinnia to complement her words. “Beyond Patience,” which was how I’d been feeling. Now today, up at 4:00 am – intentionally as I’m on a Timeshifter jetlag program – I wanted to touch in with you.

Summers are short here on ᐊᒥᐢᑿᒌᐚᐢᑲᐦᐃᑲᐣ (Amiskwacîwâskahikan), Treaty 6 territory, and my rhythm is to be out in it as much as I can before the cold comes and I cocoon. This year has been marked by early rain, big winds, and again smoke, though not as much as last year. September brought wasp-free warmth inviting meals al fresco and early morning coffee sipped on the deck before dawn, wrapped in a down quilt, watching Venus shimmer, the sun rise, and the crows fly from the east, readying for their migration south. It’s become my meditation.

As I’d been having trouble finding words to write, I metaphorically rang a bell and took a pause. Played some pickleball, though it’s lost some allure. Returned, after several years away, to the Canmore Folk Festival, though soaking showers and the ongoing threat of storms added a tiring element of vigilance. Planted herbs and greens and made good summer salads. Read a few good books. Sat for a weekend in silence. Polished a couple of poems from April’s half-marathon, one of which was accepted in the upcoming “Kairos” issue of Yellow Arrow Journal. Read some of my poetry at the weekly summer Sounds From the Valley concert. Bought an e-bike in June, and during the past five Fridays riding with a friend have finally relived the promise of its joy and exhilaration. Walked the river valley, though not as many kilometers as in past two summers, but climbed hundreds of its stairs, all in preparation for tomorrow’s departure for Bhutan and this year’s long-distance walk.

And I revised, and revised, and revised my poetry collection for its upcoming publication. From the introduction:

“Composed of sixty-two poems complemented by my photos, Skyborne Insight, Homemade Love is the metaphor for my realizations, often brought into focus—quite literally—while sitting by the window on a plane, staring out into the sky. Something about that view’s unobstructed vastness where, paradoxically, I feel closer . . . to my vulnerabilities . . . to my shortcomings and misgivings . . . to my questions seeking answers . . . to God, which might be the best word for all of it. Those “aha” moments, distilled from noticing and naming the grief and the beauty in life’s imperfections, the sacred in the mundane moments at home, and those extraordinary ones when travelling abroad.”

This summer I’ve come to know in my bones both the boon and necessity of living life slower, and paradoxically feeling its fullness. Time feels thick. Not that it’s moving fast, but that I can hardly track what I did last week, let alone that it was only yesterday when we saw that play, or ate dinner at that restaurant, when it feels much longer ago.

“The artist actively works to experience life slowly, and then to re-experience the same things anew …

… If we removed time from the equation of a work’s development, what we’re left with is patience. Not just for the development of the work, but for the development of the artist as a whole.”

Rick Rubin, The Creative Act: A Way of Being

I’m about to ring the bell again, and take another pause, this time walking in a land that prizes happiness and is deeply steeped in a slow and mindful patience. As is my way, I go curious and feel anxious with the unknown of it all, this being my first time flying solo to Asia. I hope for the words and photos to note experiences which I trust will be profound. In the interim, may you be well and happy. And thank you, as ever, for reading.

Much love and kindest regards, dear friends.