foreign. yet familiar.

we flew across the sea. uncertain of what we would experience on the opposite shore. remembering that uncertainty characterizes this journey. and joy evolves from openness amidsdt it. we were greeted by dancers. singing songs of welcome. of friendship. in a language foreign. yet familiar. we marveled at silent structures. abandoned not so long ago. we wandered city streets. of tall brightly coloured concrete. in some strange country. we embarked on a rocky path. through jagged mountains. and narrow valleys. in search of new adventures.

we were warmly greeted and showered with hospitality. by friends old and new. a common language of siberian yupik that both youth and elders embraced. a communication beyond language when no words could be found. incessant games of tag and endless merry go round rides. bottomless cups of tea and tables spread with delicious native foods. hikes up rocky mountain sides and along stony sea shores. rowing expeditions of teamwork and strength. celebrations of culture through drumming and dancing. bonds that transcend borders and recognize unity.

and our perspective has changed. our world is different now. and these new places. these new people. that our paths have crossed with. will always be a part of who we are. and these moments of exploration. of discovery. of insight. of growth. follow us. to the places that are familiar. to the places that are foreign. to wherever else our feet are insipired to go.

waves.

amidst a concrete jungle. inundated with noises of airplanes. and construction. and traffic. there are still wildflowers flourishing by the highway. there are still birds offering their melodies.

amidst closed in walls. filled with airconditioners. and strangers in transit. there are stories of transformation. there is community woven together in love.

amidst music. and silence. amidst questions. and affirmations. there are reminders of passion. of support. of family. of hope.

amidst all of this. a thankfulness beyond words stirs. for reunion. for communion. with this scattered group of individuals. who compose an amazing whole. who teach me so much. about people. about the world. about justice. about faith. about struggle. about solidarity. about peace.

amidst hugs. and tears. amidst laughter and encouragement. our paths that merged briefly. like waves along a pointed shore. continue in opposite directions.

yet amdist goodbyes. there is still celebration. of the places we've been. of the places we are. of the places we're going. and especially of this community. so deep. that it extends beyond borders. beyond distances. profoundly rooted in love.

amidst all of this. there is beauty. if we only open our eyes. and listen.

harmony.

the skies were continuously a vibrant shade of blue. with the exception of a few glittering snowflakes that drifted down. the mountains remained overwhelmingly beautiful. with their combination of trees and snow. and though my feet had briefly passed this way before. these moments were different. a soundtrack to follow us around. of guitars and fiddles. of banjos and mandolins. music drifting in the breeze. created by friends. and strangers. gathering together in circles flooded with sunshine. and there were bottomless cups of coffee. and hospitable folks to offer dinner. there were musicians playing on street corners. and hikes amidst the forest. in communion with fellow sojourners. in communion with trees. and mountains. and earth. so gracious to share their space. some compared it to heaven. most wanted to stay indefinitely. we danced when inspired. and we lied in the grass as well. with an openness to our days. moments flowing into the next. quite naturally. without a particular agenda. and there was that view of the glacier from the shore. that stirred a certain awe as we awaited a simple sunset. and to be a fly on the wall. of crowded antiquated hallways. overflowing with spontaneous harmonies. was more than enough. although this collection of scenes made my fingers crave musical strings of their own.

then we boarded planes. to return to winter. after a delicious taste of summer. with hopes that spring is on her way. although she won't be bringing those mountains and trees with her up here. but hopefully bits of those harmonies will follow.

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.