remembering.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst overflowing calendars. and incomplete to do lists. and moving in too many directions. and thinking in too many directions. and continual feelings of inadequacy. and uncertainty.

my heart had been forgetting. amidst abstract words. and talking in circles. about issues. and causes. and ideas. and growing overwhelmed by the scope of it all.

my heart had been forgetting. how to be present. how to be still. how to listen.

my heart had been forgetting. until the first folks walked in the shelter this evening. one who brought his large print harry potter book that he found at the thrift shop. one who always seems overjoyed to see me but can never remember my name. one who looked so relieved to be in from the cold. one who wandered in at three in the morning. with no where else to go. postponing sleep for a little conversation. for a chance to be heard.

and amidst the cold frigid temperatures outside. my heart was strangely warmed. and began to remember.

and something like thankfulness. and something like hope. and something like passion. began to stir again.

names.

my hasty footsteps cross paths with his. he smiles. and joyfully shouts out. abigail or abby? do you go by abigail or abby?

i slow down my hurried feet. and pause in the middle of the vacant street. either one. i'll answer to either one. you've got a good memory, you know.

i always remember names. went into the hospital the other day. said hello to doctor so and so. and he was surprised i remembered his name. from when i went to see him four years ago. yep. i remember names.

well i'm not always as good with names as you are. and i'm sorry but i've forgotten yours.

well its written on one of your cards up there at the food bank.

hmm. yes. but i've still forgotten. and i'm sorry.

its robert. most people call me robert. except this one lady who calls me stanley. that's my middle name. she says i look like a stanley.

robert. i'll try to remember that now.

a few more words exchanged. laughter. smiles. and our paths part ways.

and i found the folder of papers from the shelter this past winter. forms and signatures and lists of names. of people that needed a safe place to stay. of people that told their stories over cup-o-noodles and hot cocoa and went back out into the cold the next morning. of people that we can add into numbers. to say how many guests came. to put in our brochure.

and i have to start making case files with notes. about children. and families. about successes and struggles. about progress. and setbacks. and keep them in a special file drawer. except i don't even get to use names. just initials.

and i sit in a class. where we talk about people far away. people whose daily lives know tension. and fear. and violence. and war. and there's a picture of children. growing up amidst it all. and those children have names. and there's a picture of soliders on the other side. living amidst it all. and those soldiers have names. and they remind us of the humanity of it all. of these issues that we comfortably sit around talking about. drinking our decaf coffee. munching our organic fig bars.

names. records of names. food bank cards. shelter rosters. case files. newspapers. and so many unnamed. each a person. a life. a story. oh that we may come to love each other. to honour each other. to truly see each other. for who we are. for the depth that we are. beyond these flat records of names.

snowflakes fall in the september breeze.

28th september. this is what our eyes saw. as we awoke to greet the day.

villages.

sometimes i wonder. if the order of this journey had been rearranged. how i might see this place. this moment. differently. if i might feel more immersed. more connected. if i had first headed north.

but instead. my feet traveled south. my heart followed. and my eyes were changed. for good.

and it took time of course. everything takes time. but people took me in. showed me how to live. allowed me to be a part of their village. a part of their family. a part of their lives. so something in me still yearns for that. a sense of belonging. amidst vibrant culture. amidst authentic community.

and i have been welcomed where i am. and i do live in a close community. and i have had opportunities to be amidst beautiful culture. but its just different. and somedays i feel more of an observer than a participant.

and while i adore this little town. something in me has longed to experience village life. anticipating a deeper cultural immersion. a retreat to simplicity. to subsistence. to roots.

only one of the surrounding villages is accessible by the road system. and the "work" i'm involved in is solely based in town. so. i haven't had opportunity to visit a village until just recently. when a bus full of elders and i ventured to teller for the annual cultural festival.

and we saw hours and hours of eskimo dancing. four different villages represented. beautifully intergenerational. with songs and drumming and movement flowing from somewhere deep within. connecting with sometime not so long ago. invitational dances. welcoming all. celebratory images of unity. of togetherness. across villages.

and we ate ekimo food of dried fish. and greens. and muktuk. and beluga. and we discovered cranberries ripe for picking. and we walked along the musical beach to see brevig mission across the water. and we saw cousins and aunties and uncles reunite. and we watched a community come together to support one another amidst struggles and questions. and we felt welcomed. and taken care of. and joyful.

and it was a fleeting glimpse. of a village. that is less isolated than most. during a special gathering. and i offer thanks for the visit. for a new place for my eyes to take in. knowing my perspective. my understanding. is terribly limited. and there are depths and dimensions of that place. of everyday life. that i cannot grasp at the moment. for i've only briefly observed. i haven't fully participated.

and i hope in a place. where i might be wholly immersed. amidst the reality of a place. amidst the struggles. the joys. of people. to celebrate. to honour. to live. to share. to love. and perhaps that place. is the very place i am in. in this moment if only my eyes might open up.

awareness.

as a part of hunger action month, this past week, i participated in food bank of alaska's food stamp challenge. it entailed living off a food stamp allowance for the week. which averages out to $34.47 per person. in addition to the food stamp equivalent, i was also allowed $15 for fresh produce or perishables and a few specified items to represent food bank commodities (green beans, fruit cocktail, tuna, apple juice). in addition, a friend could take me out to eat for $4.50. (with all these amounts, keep in mind, nome prices are significantly higher than in the continental us). i wasn't supposed to accept food from outside sources, which was a challenge in itself, as food seems to be continually offered.

the experience certainly raised my own awareness. it involved prioritizing. giving up things. and it would have been much more profound had i had a family to also feed. i wrote a couple of blogs on the food stamp challenge site. you can also read about others' experiences as well. there were fifty or so folks from alaska that participated. today was my final day. so i'm still figuring out what it means. and what it inspires. check out the blogs if you're so inclined. and i'm always available for questions...

returning.

a labyrinth journey. guiding us to a sacred center. a healing space. inspiring us to continue. into a wider world. to be amidst. then leading us back. to that place of restoration. on this continual cyclical sojourn.

we returned to the waterfalls. to the river. to the trees. to the places that spoke to our souls. the places where our souls found peace. in hopes of listening again. to lessons the earth might offer. in hopes of renewal.

yet in our rediscovery. these sacred spaces. had somehow changed. the images upon our eyes were inconsistent with the memories of our hearts. the tundra had been a landscape of pure green. generously offering ripe blueberries. the sunshine had warmed our skin. faithfully offering its presence. now the tundra was a spectrum of vibrant gold. compassionately giving ripe cranberries. and the sunshine hid behind clouds. as it gradually disappeared more and more each day.

yet this familiar place we nearly failed to recognize still held a certain beauty. still beckoned us to listen.

and the colours encouraged us to embrace the present moment. to risk of falling in love with that which is vanishing. yet irresistibly beautiful. and the berries inspired our continued thanks. to the grace of the earth. as she provided enough for her children. and the retreating sun opened our eyes. to the vast array of stars. continually present. yet often hidden. by a closer light.

stars leading our souls back to other moments of healing. stars reminding us of a vastness beyond the overwhelming landscape. beyond the fathomless sea. beyond all that is conceivable.

and though time arrived. for our journey to evolve. into new places. beyond this safe space. the beauty seen. experienced. felt. in its varied dimensions. is inherently a part of us. a part of our very breath. and it guides the rhythm of our footsteps. until we are lead back again.

autumn's beginnings.

i remember the days when my soul welcomed autumn. when my heart rejoiced in the arrival of crimson and saffron on the trees. in hues so poetically harmonious with the season's blue skies.

i remember the days when my soul yearned for autumn. when my eyes craved changing colours. even amidst a land of vibrant, eternal summertime.

yet i've observed a certain hesitancy towards the season this year. wishing summertime would again be eternal. knowing autumn. as beautiful as it will be. will be a mere flicker. a fleeting transition to a long winter. of coldness. of darkness. something in my soul has seemed quite resistent towards winter. to the point of overshadowing my adoration of autumn.

yet recent wanderings amidst the transforming tundra have inspired a rekindling of that love. observing a spectrum of shades. from deep burgundy. to glowing goldenrod. and everything in between. intermingled with present, but fading summer greens. the same colours i remember falling in love with. but instead of on the trees. the colours appear right where our feet pass. further reminders that this is indeed sacred ground.

and my soul seemed to remember the beauty of autumn. all over again. as quickly as the season may pass. it is meant to be embraced. to be celebrated. and as suddenly as winter may arrive, we must remember. winter has a mysterious beauty of its own. but we mustn't let worry of what will be cloud our appreication of what is. especially with regard to things beyond our control. like changing seasons.

and as we hiked amidst the early autumn tundra. there were things beyond our control. namely an ever increasing fog. reminding me of foggy autumn hikes of days gone by. where we continued blindly. following the path set before our feet. yet here, there is no path. and there is grave danger of getting lost in enveloping fog. and though i desperately wished to continue our journey toward the intended endpoint. in my innocent idealism. or foolishness. i eventually had to succumb to the wisdom and practicality of my fellow sojourners. so we turned around. much to my disappointment.

yet the journey soon began to speak. of the value of knowing when to let go. of the wisdom of being open to unexpected expereinces. of the beauty of the journey regardless of its outcome. i just hope my soul was listening.

and so i give thanks. for the chance to be amidst the colours of autumn. for wise traveling companions. for the present moment. the present season. the present journey. and whatever joys it brings.