redemption song.

the alleluias don't sound the same here. but there is something sacred. about the voices that are raised. in a language from deep within. a language my ears fail to decipher. that perhaps speaks of faith. that perhaps sings of hope.

so i sit in between worlds. in perpetual uncertainty. of what this means. wondering if the words that come out. derive from deep within. or are merely a lingering echo.

and she walks in. with heavy feet. right before the bread is put away. the moment freezes. but we follow our script.

hands move in rhythm to the melody that is offered. not eskimo dancing. nor a marley song. even though these leftover curls. seek transformation into rasta locks.

and her tears are real. as she requests a rendition. of the old rugged cross. and the words come out. in an out of tune way. still uncertain of meaning. but singing for her. regardless of the deeper questions. the message of hope. of forgiveness. means something in this moment. and is something to cling to.

as moments pass. the world spins on. the stained glass blocks our view. of the gentle april snow. covering what was. with something new. a layer that will also be covered. or melt away. in its impermanence. in its fleeting nature.

yet the snow keeps falling.

soup.

we share a table. over bowls of delicious homemade soup. in an incomplete basement. a work in progress. that serves a purpose. and has potential. but has far to go. a different space than we usually cross paths. but here we are. sharing moose stew. and chicken noodle soup. and as we sit. in coversation. in silence. we celebrate what has been. what is. while wondering what might be. and how we might fit in this process of evolution. how we might all be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

and voices are real. and voices are heard. voices that speak of the gravity of homelessness. of sleeping out in the cold. of being kicked out in the cold at seven in the morning. of walking. walking. walking. when there is no where to go. when everywhere is closed on sundays. even the churches. of tresspassing just to get a place to sleep in jail. of survival. desperate survival.

yet voices are thankful. even though there is much to improve. even though there is much more to be done. voices seem appreciative. of the safe space that has been provided. of the chance to be heard.

and voices are hopeful. that we will continue to come together. as people. sharing a table. sharing our common humanity. remembering our liberation is caught up in each other. so let us journey together. let us honour one another. let us one day overcome.

snowshoeing.

we wander along the tundra. my traveling companion and i. on perhaps the same earth we once gathered berries. and danced in the sunlight. during that seemingly eternal summer.

we wander along the tundra. now a sea of white. except for the islands of brown willows that rise above the surface. and though we are limited. by the cold. by the darkness. we still find moments of light. moments of warmth. to admire the nearby hills. to marvel at the distant mountains. as we leave the marks of our journey in the snow.

quite often those moments coexist with the sun's celebration at the close of the day. as she slowly departs in vibrant hues to share her light with other lands. and those sunsets remind us of endings. of beginnings. but mostly of beauty. beyond our understanding. beyond ourselves. yet beauty that we are somehow allowed to witness. somehow allowed to be a part of.

and we strive to be mindful. of the present beauty. the present moment. but our hearts are curious. of the views from the hills ahead. and a certain anticipation stirs. as we approach the crests of new perspectives. as we imagine what our eyes may experience on the other side. yet to focus only on that which is beyond. blinds us of the splendor all around.

perhaps the secret. is finding a balance. honouring what is. trusting in what will be. believing in the existence of beauty. wherever this interconnected journey leads.

hills.

every new place inspires humility. a reminder that there is so much yet to discover. so much to yet to learn. so much yet to experience. traveling is broadening. in more ways than one. a kindred spirit still whispers in my ear.

and the mountains are different here. towering over this quaint little town they call a city. with trees for sweaters. and snow for hats. an inexcapable presence. continually reminding us that there are things greater than ourselves. stirring awe. perpetuating mystery.

and amidst the hilly avenues. coffee shops enable paths to cross with dear friends. book stores offer windows and mirrors of understanding. community art spaces showcase collective beauty. examples of native art persist as cultures blend. strangers glady accept a smashed granola bar from the depths of a canvas bag.

and at the zenith of one particular hill. people gather. in fancy suits. shaking hands. and talking about how to make our corner of the world. a little brighter. and perhaps some words are empty. perhaps some words float around aimlessly. but there are words. ideas. passions. that are heard. that may. just may. evolve into action. there's a certain energy. a certain hope. about the conversations on top of this hill.

and down below. are the people that are affected. by the words exchanged on that hill. and i belong down below. amidst everyday people. amidst grassroots. amidst struggle. but my eyes have been opened. my perspective widened. to the everyday people who work on that hill. who somehow have been chosen. to make decisions. that have potential. to help feed children who are hungry. to support people struggling with substance abuse. to expand educational opportunities. if only they will listen. to the voices raised. if only those voices will find courage to speak. with confidence they will be heard.

if only.

one year.

one year ago. everything was mysteriously white. a world hidden. underneath depths of ice. revealing only the surface. to innocent eyes. inspiring awe. stirring wonder. an unfathomable unknowing. all amidst profound darkness.

and in time. ever so gradually. cold transformed to warmth. and darkness evolved into light. and vanishing ice. revealed a world underneath. of tundra and berries. of beaches and sea glass. a rainbow of colour. bursting forth.

and in time. darkness crept in. and cold returned. blanketing the earth once again with white mystery. but somehow in a year. after being amidst a full cycle. there is a bit more understanding. of the beauty beneath the surface. and there will always be unfathomable unknowing. and there will always be more to learn. but there is comfort in being present. long enough to see. hidden depths. long enough to visualize. what hope looks like.

one year ago. i discovered alaska.

rain.

wandering city streets in the rain. eyes open for hidden treasures. whole in the wall coffee shops. used book stores with cats. overwhelming record stores. eccentric art displays. without much of a plan. besides a hope of discovering beauty. in whatever varied forms she decided to reveal herself. and there was a certain beauty in the women at the day shelter. in stories and friendships. in laughter and singing. in confidence and hope. and that beauty remains with me. even more than the dazzling city lights.

and i wouldn't say i fell in love with seattle. perhaps i can blame it on the cold january rain. but i can say i hope to return. for there is always more to discover. more to learn. and i'm thankful for a dear friend. who lives there. honouring people. promoting dignity. with compassion. and humility. who is a part of beautiful things. things too beautiful for words, really.

carolina.

nearly every morning. the sun would wake me up. eight o clock or so. and i'd walk over to my window. to greet her. to thank her for the light. the abundant light. and for the day.

and some days were filled with journeys. alongside one of my favourite traveling companions. as we made our way. in search of family. of friends. of places. that i hadn't seen in a year. or more. and we talked about things that were certain. and things that were uncertain. or we didn't talk at all. and simply listened. to the music that followed us. and we agreed that the journeys were worth the miles.

and some days were quieter. traveling on foot. admiring the trees. the fallen leaves. the patches of snow. the frozen lake. and reading. and being. and taking time. and abandoning hurry. days wondering what will be. days in between worlds. trying to make sense of it all. trying to listen.

and i loved when we could sit around the table. for hours. sharing delicious food. and laughter. and memories. as the birds sang. reminding us of time passing. and i didn't have to answer questions. or have a plan. but could just be with people i love. and feel loved.

and questions remain. without answers. as they always will. but somehow what will be will unravel as the journey continues. as i wander. with hope. with open eyes. my soul stumbling upon whatever it was searching for all along.