Folded and Unfolding.

"There’s too much riding on that, too much, too much, too much LOVE!"

This week has been an incredibly surprising one. It’s currently my fall reading break and where I was expected to be catching up on loads of excess thought, listening logs and ‘thinking about thinking,’ I was instead hanging out with family for thanksgiving, teaching my little cousins how to play v-ball and guitar, walking in the woods, road tripping it to Montreal and then Old Quebec, getting lost on the wrong side of the St. Lawrence, attending a Sufjan Stevens concert, late night bed chatting with friends, eating good food, drinking fine wine, smoking cigars, sleeping in past my alarm when I should have been at work, writing music and then actually making it into a shift for work and falling asleep to the Truman Show with my wonderful roommates. I guess you could say I’ve been LIVING this week. I’ve been becoming rather than just doing what was expected.

This is not a blog to suggest that we all just throw up our hands, drop our responsibilities and just give into our every desire in a whim – an unusual and unexplained sudden desire or change of mind – in case you didn’t know what the underlying meaning of whim meant. I love the word. WHIM. Whim. Whimsical! I love the way it sounds when it rolls off my tongue, how the ‘H’ in whim is so pronounced, the way it makes me feel like life is simple….Whim!

Okay, now that that’s out of my system I can hopefully get to my point. I know that we all have things in our lives that keep us where we are; our fears, inadequacies, responsibilities, comforts, familiarities and our assumed control. However, sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves is to just let go. GIVE UP THE REIGNS!

While I was on the road with my lovely friend Vanessa this week heading east toward Montreal we spent hours just sitting in silence, listening to great tunes, pointing out the beauty that each of us saw along the way and of coarse going a bit off track. But we always found our way. This trip was slowly getting inside me. I was suddenly unfolding…

We were on the open road listening to a mixed CD when ‘Colorblind’ by Counting Crows came on and in one line both of us stopped breathing and teared up slightly. Sung was the line:

“I’m covered in skin, no one gets to come in. Pull me out from inside. I am folded and unfolded and unfolding”…

How did I get so folded I thought? Why did I need to be pulled out? When did I decide to get stuck on my insides? Who have I let in? Why is letting people in, really, to that place of honesty with ourselves and others so difficult?

It wasn’t like this in the garden. Eden that is, I mean Adam walked and talked comfortably with God. No skepticism, no mistrust, naked before God and Eve. We weren’t guided by our sense of morality according to circumstances, the knowledge of good and evil. Rather there was just LIFE. Full life! We ate of the tree of life; an eternal nutrients.

Whether you take this story as literal, or metaphorical or a bit of both it still holds great symbolism. At some point our hearts felt betrayed, like we were missing out and we decided that we wanted knowledge outside relationship. Alone. Independent of a helper. So we listened to a deceiver, a liar and agreed with its fear over our community of love. When we did this we hid. We covered up. We became folded!

Since we were driving for something like nine hours on our way back to Toronto. Franticly trying to make it home in time for the Sufjan concert at Massy Hall. My heart seemed to be searching for its hidden places and desperately wanting to open up. It’s not that I’m overly closed off or extremely guarded. At least not anymore, yet I still knew the places that I kept shut off. “Shocked softly” I became aware of some of my very obvious covered pieces and I’m not just talking about the bra and underwear I had on. I’m talking about the urge to run from a community that loves me so much when times get hard. I’m talking about withdrawing from reality of daily life, checking out, forgetting to be present because the past and future are haunting me like ghosts.

Sound familiar? If not that’s cool. I guess it could just be me. But that’s not probable, so I write.

While in Montreal I ended up playing some of my original music at Crowbar during an open mic session. If it wasn’t for Vanessa’s prying and some strangers encouragement I may not have risen to the occasion. I was caught off guard by how easy it was to play in front of a bunch of people I didn’t know and in turn who didn’t know me. I felt safer for some reason. I thought, man I could do this forever. Just drive around and sing for people I didn’t know who flattered me and made me feel important. It’s not that people I do know don’t do this it’s just that they also know my messy parts, the journey that it’s taken me to get on a stage, they may even be entangled in the lyrics I present. They call me on my crap and love me through it. Perhaps this is why being seen in a place that I’m known freaks me out. A bit exposing I suppose.

Because of this, I write.

I don’t want to run. I don’t want to hide. I don’t want to ignore my folded places. I want to live uncovered. I desire true intimacy (into-me-see:).

As part of this: Toronto open Mic’s here I come, EEEK!

When Sufjan sang away on Wed. night I got lost in the music. It was as if I were the only one in Massy Hall for a while processing the past few days of my trip. When the song 'too much' came on all I could think of was that there's just too much love waiting for me in this life for me to get stuck fearing it as well as for me to get confused by the illusions that try replace the true stuff. I want to be myself. I want to be known and understood for who I really am but this starts where you are. In the community your in now. It wont suddenly spring up by running to a new place. Sure traveling, mini-adventures and new experiences stretch us and grow us but we still have to come back to the now, the present at some time and face ourselves in the mundane.

There’s just too much riding on our beautiful lives to stay tucked away. There’s too much love waiting for us to just cope and sell ourselves short for counterfeit intimacy. There’s too much riding on our lives to be inauthentic and fake. There’s too much riding on us to give ourselves up to just anything in order to get by. It's time we start living instead of just surviving!

So where are you folded? Hidden? From what? From who?

Just let go, surrender, give up the reigns. Forgive so you can be free!

Bob Dylan ~ The Times They Are A-Changing

Although Bob Dylan wasn't the greatest musician of his time he definitely poised thoughtful ideas and captured people with his honesty.

He still isn't too old for me:)

A Work in Progress

Progress: forward or onward movement towards a destination.

The thought of doing the catwalk at a fashion show and falling in front of everyone leaves me with this sunken feeling in my chest.

When I was in England walking through Kew gardens I stumbled across a scene that has stuck with me. A little boy was running around a field with this girl around his age following him around. The boy quickly changed directions and jolted out onto the main walkway but fell flat over on his face, scraping his knees. As he did this the little girl ran over and plopped herself on the ground next to the boy, giggled down at his level and then helped him up.

Before the little girl went over to the boy the look on his face was utter failure. His eyes welled up with tears and he was clearly a bit ashamed to have fallen in front of a bunch of people. However, as soon as the girl went over and got on the ground with him laughing it off perspective set in and he giggled with her and they stood together. Soon they were back at the game they had been playing in the field.

As some already know I’m in my final year of undergrad. This year is a breeze in comparison to the preceding three. I’m taking ‘Professional Writing, Guitar, Marketing and Leadership,” yet I’m an International Development student. I guess you could say I take after my mother in that I aim to get the tough(er) stuff out of the way first!

In last weeks professional writing lecture my professor spoke about the three keys to be a successful writer. All you keeners reading now would be a good time to get out your notebooks. She said this:

1) Develop the ability to give criticism and to take criticism.

2) Self-awareness: be able to assess and to know what you do when you write. What are your rituals? What are your strengths/ weaknesses? How do you get started? (brainstorming, verbal processing..) What inspires you?

3) DICIPLINE! A good writer will practice and be faithful with their time. It’s important to schedule in time to work on whatever your genre is.

I was laughing to myself as she went over these three things because these were all practical things God had been speaking to me about for over a year now. Specifically in terms of my writing from prose, poetry, songwriting and short essays. A blog seemed to be the most viable solution at the time. As space to remain accountable to the imaginary readership. I set a goal last year to blog once a month. I think I missed June but well made up for it in July. Does that count?

The thing is that I was realizing that I wasn’t just going to wake up one day and be Margret Attwood, Hopkins, Manning or Martel. It was going to take courage, understanding and diligence.

Now these three things would have been really freaky for me if I hadn’t started to implement this thought process into my life because I don’t like to share my work in progress. I only like sharing it when I’m finished, when it’s been perfected to what I see is the best. I mean who wants to fall smack dab on the pavement in front of a bunch of people? The problem with that logic is there is only one set of eyes. Only one frame of reference and maybe there was something to be taken out of the minor or in some cases major imperfections. What is it about us humans that are so afraid of failure? I mean we’re going to muck up, not every time but we will and we need each other to help work out the kinks.

It’s interesting that criticism is such a scary word today. We don’t like it. We don’t want people to disagree with us and we certainly don’t want people to dislike what we create. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed but there is only a “like” button on facebook. I guess we don’t want to step on anyone’s social narcissism, myself included.

I can see how this word has negative connotations. Criticism often feels like an attack on identity. But it’s not. We are not a product of our doings. WE ARE ABSOLUTELY MARVELOUS BEINGS with UNLIMITED POTENTIAL. I mean how silly would it have been for me to have assumed the boy who fell on the pavement was his fall? That's ridiculous. The boy was still a boy learning to play and had a fall along the way. So what if we thought of criticism as something positive instead of negative? Instead of looking at it as an attack against our identity look at it as a key to accessing more of the creativity that’s inside us.

This comes in waves for me. Blogging was tough because I simply didn’t want to offend anyone. I didn’t want to mess up or be wrong. However, I suddenly realized that I had a voice and even if no one was reading; I could imagine a reader. Who knows when it may be useful to someone else? It's really not all about "I;" it's about "us."

Songwriting on the other hand is a whole other story. I haven’t really being playing that long but I’ve been writing since I was a girl, mostly ideas really. The thing is, I’m a woman now and my ideas are growing, my experiences are greater but somehow sharing it with the world seems harder.

Just recently I posted a couple new tracks to my ‘bands profile’ on my facebook page. They are just some really rough garage band recordings with my acoustic and I. Even though they aren’t finished and they definitely don’t sound the way they do in my head; they are still valid. They are pieces of my creativity in process. I think it’s just as important to share our shadow side as it is to share ourselves face on. I mean we get to see the process of the seasons changing, a sunset forming or a night sky dissolving. Sometimes my favorite parts are the beginning moments as opposed to the peek finally.

We shouldn’t be so worried that by trying something we may be going off track. It’s not hard to get on coarse as long as we’re in motion.

James 3:4

"take ships as an example. Although they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are steered by a very small rudder wherever the pilot wants to go."

I'm learning to know where I'd like to go and in that let go. I mean it's not all up to me. I can't do it all on my own but I can do my part by practicing, by letting others be a part of the process. I guess I'm learning that as I move forward I can trust that God will steer my ship to where my heart and his heart meet; a place where our deepest desires are not far off from each other.

Being a woman who has pretty strong opinions and not to mention a will, I’ve had to learn to hold an open mind and moldable heart. This doesn’t mean not having a backbone; it just means not being so set in my ways that only I always know what’s best. It's a place where I'm trusting that when I fall there will be people who will come along side me, giggle and help me up.

Where do you want to be going? Is there movement?

“Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything” –George Bernard Shaw

"If you wait to do everything until you’re sure it’s right, you’ll probably never do much of anything." – Win Borden

"Being challenged in life is inevitable, being defeated is optional" - Roger Crawford

"Defeat is not the worst of failures. Not to have tried is the true failure." - George E. Woodberry

"The man who makes no mistakes does not usually make anything." - William Connor Magee

Death envies life

"The reason death sticks so closely to life isn't biological necessity - it's envy. Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can. But life leaps over oblivion lightly, losing only a thing or two of no importance, and gloom is but the passing shadow of a cloud." -Yann Martel

I'm sick right now. Forced to rest as it stands, which is a fate that I am not thrilled with at the moment, especially in my second week of school.

I've heard it said that sickness is just a slower form of death, which I suppose it is. Our bodies aren't able to perform to it's fullest. I definitely feel sluggish when I'm under the weather or 'looking up at rock bottom" as quoted by Andrew Gaz recently. Everything just has to slow down. For instance this afternoon I sat in the park on a blanket and read the first few chapters of "Life of Pie" for my professional writing class. The above quote stuck out to me, thinking that life really is beautiful. It's meant to be savored and cherished in every passing moment. We are meant to enjoy living and being with each other. Yet, when I'm sick all I want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep my days away until I'm better.

This is precisely what I didn't do. After reading this quote I thought I would remind this sickness what it wanted to begin with, the lovely life I was living. Hoping then it may leave me alone once it knew it couldn't have my wonderful life but rather just try and imitate it with it's best shadow impression.

I strolled over to the farmers market, picked up some fresh vegetable, oven-baked bread, sheep cheese and raw cacao for energy. When I got home I was welcomed by incredible roommates all of whom sympathized with my pathetic state. Sarah looked over at me and said "you're so pale you look like a ghost." Great, I didn't think I could get any lighter. Fading fast, I put together a really fresh and hearty meal, sat down in the living room surrounded by company and watched tv because I could. Sure I had work to do, laundry to start and probably a few other errands I could have come up with. But all I felt I could do was sit on the couch surrounded by love, eat some nutritious food and watch a mind numbing screen for a couple hours. Somehow, this combined with the fresh air from the lay in the park was just what I needed. I'm learning that it's okay to leave things be and just rest until I have the gusto to get up and go again....sigh...

I'm learning...

Life is simpler than we make it out to be. Lately I seem to be finding beauty in the most mundane things. Like chopping vegetables I suppose. Gloom really is just a passing shadow and for shadows to exist there must be light somewhere.

No wonder my heart is happy from the inside out,

And from the outside in, I'm firmly formed -

My body rests in safety.

For you will not leave my soul among the dead

Or allow me to rot in the grave.

You will show me the way of life,

Granting me the joy of your presence

And the pleasures of living with you

Forever.

Psalm 16: 10-11

Eternity is now! Why wait to live when the journey of life is meant to be so splendid?

"YELLOW FLOWERS"

Empty Skeleton – Lost Dreams – Hollow Heart – Dead body – Filthy Bones –Wandering Soul – Crushed Spirit - Ragamuffin was I.

One afternoon yellow flowers came in the mail to remind me of the truth that I’m:

LOVED – PURSUED WITH INTENTION – SEALED WITH A KISS – BEAUTIFUL.

After this the flowers came up everywhere, doorsteps, gardens, jewelry, paintings, billboards, gift cards, t-shirts, window sills, candles, songs. They followed me around and couldn’t go unnoticed by my eyes. I was fixated on them.

WHY?

Because there is a love greater than anything I’ve ever experienced with human affection that is absolutely crazy about me, CRAZY about YOU! This love, his name is Jesus, my beloved. He had to get me a message, the message had to be told, the message had to be read, listened to; heard.

The message was “I love you.” It wasn’t said by the noise that can sometimes come from lips but rather was shown in the simple expression of yellow flowers.

I saw.

I heard.

I listened.

Whole Creature – Refreshed Hope – Abounding Heart – Restored Body – Marvelous Bones – Found Soul - Living Water. Ragamuffin I was…

BELOVED I am!

Hope is coming around.

Remembering last Autumn and pondering this one.

I used to have terrible falls and because I kept expecting it, I kept looking for the yearly bomb to go off, and sure enough there it would be, SMACK! However, this year is different, I can feel it, the air even smells sweeter. The circles are ending as my dear friend Sarah-Aubrey would say and the triangles are beginning. We may be the only ones that get that but it's alright. It's going to be a GREAT year and so naturally I wrote a poem about it:-)

It's time to stop spinning in circles,

Round and round and round I go.

It'll leave you lying on the ground with a dizzy head,

Not sure of what direction you're in.

Perception off.

Disorientation sets in.

Worry will become a friend.

I notice the leaves begin to fall again,

I know, because I've often gone with them,

Straight to the ground by gravities pull.

Not this time!

This new harvest I'll learn to keep the leaves under my feet,

Taking a stand on sturdy ground,

Splashing my boots in the watered terrain.

Stepping forward into new,

Walk straight.

No more spinning round and round and round,

Dizzy heads, toppled knees from all the ups and downs.

These familiar grounds,

No longer keep my place.

I walk straight,

Direction and I will meet.

Hope will be the only thing coming around and around and around,

This Fall.

To Build a Home!

The other day I was thinking about a desire that I’ve had for a while now. Probably because the current place I’m living in is so old that it’s slowly falling apart. Since as long as I can remember I wanted me and my right now nameless and faceless husband to build a home together. Absolutely I want to metaphorically build something beautiful, I’m assuming in a way that is most of marriage, but I also want to have a physical space built around the name of two that will become one. I think it started with the idea that I want the place that we choose to settle in for a while to look like us on the inside and out. The way something is built is important. Now I wont be super upset if this doesn’t happen and I suppose I could just buy a place that’s suitable, that said for the purposes of what’s going on with me right now sharing this little bit of my heart is important.

I know that what’s written below risks me crossing boundaries over the world of web but I guess I think it’s worth the risk for others who have or are thinking like me. I suppose I lean more on the side of openness than guards often disguised in the term ‘boundaries.’

Unlike the English soil I was just traipsing around on, Canada isn’t exactly the greatest place to take notes for building houses. We use fake brick and crappy drywall to make up our ugly exteriors. The UK just does it so much better and knows what it means to take time on space. I think that after all the moving around I’ve done in my late teens to early twenties I owe it to myself to take time on the place I’ll call ‘home’ one day; a place where we’ll build “our home.” At least I hope this will be. I guess this has come up again since I’ve been pondering the point of ‘home’ as of late and what it means to have one.

I just realized that the idea of building a home is scary though. What happens if it’s not what you envisioned? What happens if you’re disappointed? What happens if the place your building burns down? What if it all falls apart? These are all questions I’ve asked myself since deciding to place roots in Toronto 3 years ago. I realize I’m not just typing about the physical stuff now. I’m writing about what I know to be a big scary step for me. INVESTMENT! To build anything there is the need for the investment of time and energy, a lot of which is not appealing if building in the past has ended in failure. Loss. Collapse.

I guess if your reading between the lines of all that I’m writing today you can conclude that the building of a home can also be replaced with the building of a forever love, you know that romancy stuff that happens between a guy and gal and they decide they want to journey into eternity together, or even just the building of friendships. Essentially letting people in. Basically, one too many happily ever afters going bad can leave a girl with a heart that wants to give up on fairy tales. However, a princess without a palace and someone to share it with is a sad tale, what lonely walls she would live behind and empty purpose would be felt.

This all became very evident to me after traveling for this past month and moving around lots. I began to dream about my own pretty plates, my own table and chairs, my own stone walls, my own window sills; a home to call my own. I know I’m not quite there yet but I’m thinking about it and that’s further than I’ve ever been. The castle has been a place of discovery, play, inspiration and at times refuge but it’s not my forever place.

As I squished onto a couch made for four seating five roommates the other night to watch the September Issue for my third time, I came across this incredible tune by Cinematic Orchestra. I didn’t recognize the band but I recognized the tune. A sound that I heard once before in a sweet moment that brought me right back to that old familiar ground. I love and hate that music can do that to a person. Once I looked up what was playing to the gorgeous piano piece that played in the film I found these lyrics by Patrick Watson:

There is a house built out of stone

Wooden floors, walls and window sills...

Tables and chairs worn by all of the dust..

This is a place where I don't feel alone

This is a place where I feel at home.......

Cause, I built a home

for you

for me

Until it disappeared

from me

from you

And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust........

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds

There is a tree as old as me

Branches were sewn by the color of green

Ground had arose and passed it's knees

By the cracks of the skin I climbed to the top

I climbed the tree to see the world

When the gusts came around to blow me down

I held on as tightly as you held onto me

I held on as tightly as you held onto me......

Cause, I built a home

for you

for me

Until it disappeared

from me

from you

And now, it's time to leave and turn to dust........

It’s such a sad melody, the kind that finds your soul exactly where it’s been wandering. However, it did help me understand my fear of beginning to build even if under that fear was nothing but the desire to have a home built. Once I uncovered what gem had been playing in the background I suddenly realized most of what’s mentioned above: It’s just easier to give in to the want of an already made-for-you package than to work on something you really truly desire.

This quote by Balzac that I noticed on the piano of a café the other day sums it quite nicely:

“It is easier to be a lover than a husband (or wife) for the simple reason that it is more difficult to be witty everyday than to say pretty things from time to time.” –De Balzac –

It takes all of us, not just part of us to build something that lasts.

What I hadn’t noticed until that night because I hadn’t ever paid attention to the entire album was that at the end of “Ma Fleur” there is a track that sings back to the fear of “To Build a Home” called “That Home” and written is:

Where the doors are moaning all day long,

Where the stairs are leaning dusk 'till dawn,

Where the windows are breathing in the light,

Where the rooms are a collection of our lives,

This is a place where I don't feel alone,

This is a place that I call my home...

I guess what I’m getting at is I want to believe in a place “Where the windows are breathing in the light and the rooms are a collection of two peoples lives.” I’m tired of being misled by fear, I want love to lead, to build ‘That home’ someday and know in the deep that I was never made to be alone, that I was made to have and to hold.

In the meantime, I’ll put myself where I am, fully being in this place without worry of where I may go next.

I’ll start with fixing up the room that I rent :-)

The front Porch

‎"If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world." - C.S. Lewis.

Since being back I’ve been wondering what it even means to call a place home. So I looked it up in dictionary.com of coarse. As if that and the wikipedia sites of this generation will answer the deep questions of my heart. Haha, I’m just laughing at myself because this is often the way my brain works until I have more time to process. These were a few definitions that stood out:

- A house, apartment, or other shelter that is the usual residence of a person, family, or household.

- the place in which one's domestic affections are centered. (whatever that really means? “Domestic affections centered?” I’m sure I’ll get this later.)

- the place or region where something is native or most common.

- reaching the mark aimed at:

- deep; to the heart:

After reading this over I thought. Well, by definition Toronto should be home. Yet I still couldn’t bring myself to say it. I found myself typing things like “I’m back in TO” to pals on facebook and phoning people to say “We’re in the same country,” lets hang out. I mean, really, what’s my problem. It’s not a big deal? Is it?

I’ve officially been back in Toronto now for a week. Sad to say but it took me five days just to unpack my suitcase. Not sure if it was the nostalgia of what it meant to still live out of it or just procrastination. Either way it stayed on my floor staring at me every morning that I awoke until a few days ago.

When I arrived off the plane there was a sense of heartache leaving a place where I had met so many wonderful people and encountered so much beauty. England just looked like all the doll houses I would decorate as a little girl, just much BIGGER. Yet, there was also a coziness knowing I was coming back to a place I understood. The morning I got back to High Park my dad took me by Café Balluchon for an Americano and Croissant. I was immediately greeted by Raymond – the friendly café owner, asking why I was still here? He was certain I was going to stay over in England or that I should still be there. It was strange because for some reason it wasn’t being reunited with family or friends when I got back but the welcomed inquiry of an acquaintance that made me feel like I was home. Joy really is found in the simple, unexpected things of life.

I was overcome by the same feeling while writing on my front porch this morning before any of the girls were up. Curled up in a blanket on the wicker chair with my English tea, guitar and laptop just waiting for the sun to find the top of the sky. Although I can often be unsatisfied with the world as we know it, I, for a moment, felt content to be where I am in life, sitting on my front porch. Grateful for all the fun adventures I had this past month and for all the incredible people that were waiting for me when I returned. However, it's a new season now and I'm ready to dive in and swim around in the leaves that'll be falling soon.

I think there’s something really wonderful about a place that is familiar. To know your way around the ins and outs of a space. Toronto is like that favorite sweater that has holes in the neck/ sleeve and obvious pit stains from being over worn but for some reason you just want to keep it. Alright, maybe not the best analogy, but it’s the one I could think of on the spot. Perhaps it’s because I need to get rid of a very dear yellow sweater soon, yikes! I think you get my point though. It’s comfy and it may not be as glamorous as a new place but there’s an intimacy to knowing a place that can only come with time.

As the Autumn air brushed over my cheeks this morning and then the summer sun kissed them this afternoon I was reminded of how much I do enjoy it here, right where I am. I was showing a friend around this beautiful mundane city today and I was able to see it again for the first time with new eyes to help. He noticed murals on shop walls and clocks on tall buildings that I had never seen before. I pointed out the obvious as he noted the sweet details and it made me excited to think there so many layers to one spot, more to uncover.

I guess what I’m saying is although I can’t know for sure if this is the place I’ll end up for the ‘longer’ hull of my life I can still call it home. Not in the sense of reaching the mark I’m aimed at. That’s probably more like God’s heart or heaven even but rather: the place where something is most common, deep; to the heart. For now anyways…

…I’m home!

To float with the clouds!

I finally made it out for a bike ride along the Canal in Bath this evening. I've been meaning to do this all week but it's been pouring rain for most of it. Today, however, was stunning!

Originally I went out early afternoon on a friends cycle but ended up completely off track and checking out the dodgy river instead. Then I went the wrong direction completely while looking for the right path. I now know to ask for help when lost:)

I gave up quite quickly, I guess I was a bit frustrated with myself. I was able to go to this great guitar shop in town though instead. Mim, one of the beauties that I'm staying with here, was looking for one to buy for her upcoming birthday so I tagged along. I also had the joy of trying a ferrero rocher milkshake - so yummy!

All these detours eventually led me back to the canal. I just couldn't give up on it all together and now that I think of it getting lost earlier was the best thing because it helped me to find what I was looking for at just the right time. Sunset! Hmm, probably good to note for searching out more than just canals!

Anyways, not only was the sun going down to sleep while the moon was rising to wake, but there were hot air balloons just floating with the clouds. For some strange reason this made my heart leap. As I was overlooking this glorious city at dusk with the huge red balloon carrying passengers in the sky I felt so safe. There was something about people in a balloon that wouldn't pop that made the world seem so small and yet large, it was suddenly a place that wasn't unattainable to see anymore. I knew in my heart that I was home, in God; I belong somewhere, even better to someone, and it didn't matter that I was miles away from where I spent the previous 24 years of my life. I knew in that moment that home is being where He is. My heart was at ease, resting, under the shadow of God's gigantic wings in the sky while strangers were soaring through them. I got lost to be found.

I realize that locals from Bath see this sight quite often and that the hot air balloons are probably normal. I looked like such a foreigner as I was just standing there on a bench, amused by the sight as people passed me by looking wary. I didn't care though because to me it was perfect.

I know that when I get back to Toronto there's a lot of stuff waiting for me. Some of which can be weighty at times but all of which I find joy in as well. I guess I just don't want to be so much of a local that I miss out on floating with the clouds.

“When a weed becomes a wish”

Falling into the deep of this place,

Laying bare the want to stay in somewhere I can’t.

This impression not known before now,

Picture perfect moments passing by the second.

My breath is stolen by shades of green,

Caught up in the rolling hills.

Rosy cheeks from climbing great heights,

Back on the ground has me day dreaming of standing level with the tops of trees again.

There’s a transient silence that comes and goes in the here and now.

I keep reaching to grab it as if it were a dandelion fluff floating in open space;

Ready to make a weed become a wish!

But then my fingers hit the air,

Clasping back into my palms.

“Ah, I’ve missed it again”…

This transient silence that I want to keep hold of, like my time here,

Is passing me by – lasting only a short time.

Sometimes the choice to ‘stay’ or ‘go’ just isn’t an option;

Sometimes there is just go.

For now, while I can, I’ll stay.

Let the fog wrap around me like a warm duvet;

Waiting for the water to sink in,

Lifting me to the next place.

My tears like weeds getting lost in the rain clouds;

Up there, in the far away,

Can you turn them into wish?

Mixing mediums in life.

Boots.
I forget the name of this flower but they are everywhere in Merthyr Tydfil. This pink is cool!

The clouds are pretty.
Okay so this is photoshopped, but it's gorgeous:)

My boots were quite muddy by this part.

There was something very spooky about this wood when I walked by. I was by myself for 4 hours by this point and this helped me to pick up the pace - Eeeek!

This week has felt like a bit of a blur. It’s been back and forth between nature and concrete. I think in the art world that’s called mixed media? Not sure.

Anyways when I arrived in Bath on Monday I was zonked and yet still managed to make it out to the pub with some friends for a pint. Then Tuesday was full of just getting to know Bath, since I’m going to be there until almost the end of my trip I figured a gentle introduction was necessary. I quickly understood why everyone raves about it; it’s truly lovely! Wed. I was off again, hopped on a train to Cardiff, Wales but was heading more into the country to visit the wonderful Lois and Jr. I have been so incredibly blessed to stay with such amazing families and people while visiting this place. It makes it tough to just leave and go on to the next place really.

Anyways, when I arrived I was shown to my room full of super comfy cushions where I became well acquainted within the first few minutes as I drifted into a deep REM sleep for a couple hours. The nights in Wales were filled with good food, very tastey wine (well except for the one from Salt – to gamy) and great conversation. The full day that I was there however I manage to borrow some rain gear and boots to go gallivanting in the mountainous hills of Merthyr Tydfil. It was gorgeous. I spent the afternoon walking with God in silence, in complete awe of creation, well aware that at any point nature could close in on me or the storm that was rolling in could sweep me away in the waves of the reservoir but that I was wrapped up in the centre of love so no matter what I was safe. It was far away from the comforts of city life that I’ve grown so accustomed to these past few years but a beautiful reminder.

Then this morning before I trekked back to Cardiff to catch my afternoon train I spent the morning in a salon getting a pedicure, getting a massage after yesterdays long hike and having my toes painted a sleek dark purple of which I had to cover up with my stockings after. In a way it was sad to hide such fresh feet but there was a joy in walking down the road knowing that under my muddy black shoes were some very pretty toes. Wow, that was a moment that I think only a girl could enjoy. I felt very close to my femininity this morning walking to the train station. Perhaps it was the sensation after adventuring through the woods, having a long bath with bubbles, a facial and then being pampered in the salon that did it; the perfect combination of messy meets pristine.

It reminded me in a bit of the days when mom would put me in a dress to go out somewhere special but then I would go out to play in the back yard for just a few minutes and somehow manage to spoil my outfit and yet I was so pleased by the sense of accomplishment I felt with my daringness in the yard.

I’ve decided that this is how I want to live. I don’t want to have to choose between city and woods. I want them both and I wont settle for less. I’m not too sure how this will work out yet but I’ve managed to have a glimpse of it with living in High Park. And since it’s from glory to glory, I’ll wait for the best…

In everything!