Eye Broccoli

It’s the season of birthdays. So many people I know seem to be turning 50. They do it with varying degrees of willingness and celebration. Tonight’s festivities were delicious.  From lobster risotto to wine braised short ribs, the food at Adesso Bistro was fantastic.
This particular spot in the west end of Vancouver was the former home of a raucous and martini mad, memory making restaurant called Delilah’s.  It’s inevitable that any restaurant that takes this space will invite gregarious fun. I think it soaked into the walls years ago and no redecorating or modern twist of velvet on the half moon banquette can quite erase those marvelous days of decadence and loose libations. Naturally we had to order martinis, and my expectations were high.

Adesso did not disappoint. The Vespa, a Gin/Vodka lemon twist mix with Lillet (a French aperitif that I had never heard of), wowed us. Gorgeous, we proclaim raising glasses and adjusting our volume to rise above the clamor.  This is not your romantic whispery night spot.  The place is bouncing with conversation and yelling is essential if you want to be heard, especially during table cross talk. There are times I would find this annoying but this is a birthday, a 50th and this particular table of souls are no wall flowers.

So the games begin.  You would think Sandra Bernhard herself was in our midst with the flavor leaning toward witty fencing and adventures in human frailty. I admire Sandra’s realness and last night felt everyone was willing to wear their true colors. I shared stories of past faux pas I made and liked and we rolled with waves of laughter not to mention numerous desserts.

 Our birthday friend opened her presents and read her cards, touched by the love surrounding her, a heart combination of history and understanding. Tribes form in the oddest of configurations.

I am thinking about 50 and all that involves.

There is a kind of directive, it seems to me, particularly relevant to this decade, to step out of seeking to get from the world and directly into the path of giving. The question is no longer what do I need to do to fulfill myself but rather what am I being called to give to feel my full radiance and purpose…to feel my passion.

The idea of being or getting eye candy is losing its glow. It is time to let go of this youthful way of defining ourselves.  We are all heading in the same direction, willingly or not and an over attachment to looks is just not on the menu of awakening and consciousness.

 Its time for language that reflects this essential transition.  So if we are to give up eye candy what do we replace it with. I was fond of that term I admit, fun, flirty...no wait, I am giving it up!

So here is my attempt to live up to a label I can actually aspire to being.
The term eye broccoli comes to mind.
Yes, eye broccoli!

Eye candy is concerned with how things look.
Eye broccoli is concerned with substance and nourishment.
Eye candy tastes great in the moment, fades quickly and can leave residual damage not to mention cavities that ache for ages after the thrill is gone.
Eye broccoli can smell funny at first and many protest an initial dislike but toast some walnuts or toss it with sesame oil and there is a depth of nourishment that no buff six pack can hold a candle to. Well at least not in the long run.

 Marked by time with a well earned core strength that stems from adversity and a refusal to cave to appearances, a man or women described as eye broccoli has learned to accept all parts of self, shadow and light.

Eye broccoli chooses to know its goodness even as it invites a bold acceptance of its primal vegetable or in this case human nature.
 
Rather than looking good, the focus is on being good, giving good, radiating good.
And not by following the rules of the mask with shoulds and shouldn’ts devised by a fear based world to find safety in the defense of pretending , but rather in an authentic way that is in touch with the truth of your Essence.

And quite simply…that is good.

I am officially introducing Eye Broccoli as a spiritual term for enlightenment.  I never liked that word enlightenment.
But eye broccoli, I can work with…nourishing… filling and good for self, those around us and the planet.  Let’s all get old glowing with this expanded sense of self acceptance.

Broccoli would.
And self-acceptance is it's own unique sense of pretty.


Branded by birthdays… and broccoli…


Authentically Yours,
Marty

Love in the dark

It was late, about 11 p.m.  A handful of us had walked down to the beach to end our evening of tribute to my son by floating white roses on the ocean. It was foggy and raining pretty hard. It didn’t matter. We were all feeling the warmth of the earlier gathering with close friends.  We had had a potluck dinner, watched a movie that the boys had made in their early teens, and raised a glass to Dunc.  We laughed and cried and thanked Duncan for being such an inspiration to us all.

We stood at the water’s edge.  It was low tide and I was thinking the roses would likely float right back to us on shore after we had set them adrift.  Everyone had their own space and time to say goodnight to him, and one by one, we cast our roses into the sea.  We watched in awe as they all began to glow.  It was the only thing we could see as everything around us was so dark.  Someone began to sing Amazing Grace softly.  Another had tears – and perhaps they were his first tears, I don’t know, but there was a lot of healing happening in that moment for all of us.

The roses continued to glow – a surreal sight and also a very real message that no matter how dark one’s hours can get, love won’t be extinguished. 

The roses did not come into shore.  Against the pull of the tide, those little beacons headed straight for Christie Islet, a place where we had scattered his ashes four years earlier.

We all realized we had witnessed a moment of truth.  Love is visible, love lights our way, and love leads us home.

Thank you Duncan.

Truly in awe,

Buns (a.k.a. Mom)

Shadow and Light Source Both

How does a part of the world leave the world?
How does wetness leave water?
Don’t try to

put out fire by throwing on more fire! Don’t
wash a wound with blood.

No matter how fast
you run, your shadow keeps up. Sometimes It’s
in front! Only full overhead sun diminishes
your shadow.

But that shadow has been serving
you. What hurts you blesses you.

Darkness is your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.

I could explain this, but it will break the
glass cover on our heart, and there’s no
fixing that.

You must have shadow and light
Source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.

When from that tree feathers and wings sprout on you, be quieter than a dove.

Don’t even open your mouth for even a coo.


From the Soul of Rumi,for you Buns.

Authenticaly Yours,
Marty

There is a cure for the January blues.

As a lot of you know, January has not been my favourite month for over three years now.  That’s when my son, Duncan, passed away and my life changed forever.  Before this year, I would anticipate January with trepidation and just want it to go away.  I hated saying the word, and I dreaded the approach of the 20^th with a sick feeling in my stomach.  This year feels a little better and I know that my recent trip to Maui with Marty certainly helped.

You might think it was the glorious sunsets, the beaches, the respect-inspiring surf, the fabulous fresh food, exciting new friends, the fragrance of the local flora, and all the seductive attractions that Hawaii has to offer – and yes, all this was part of it – but it was something a lot more subtle.

Last Tuesday, we had the luxury of spending some time with a beautiful young Hawaiian mother and healer (Jeana Iwalani Naluai) who led us to sacred sites on the island, all the while “talking story”.  She shared with us her people’s history, beliefs, rituals, and spiritual practices.  Being in her company was very healing and it would have been so even if she didn’t utter a word.  We spent some time at one of the temples in silence, and it allowed a self realization to surface that I have been getting much more comfortable with as I begin to embrace it more fully. I was able to take a look at my “being nice” and understand the difference between being that way so people would like me vs. being that way because I believe that kindness matters.  I understood that everything I do in every moment has a consequence.  Has impact.  Creates a ripple effect.

Then there was Marty’s and my New Year’s ritual that we started last year.  We write on pieces of paper what we want to release.  Then we dip them in honey and burn them – a symbolic bittersweet “letting go” of that which doesn’t serve us any longer. One of my pieces was to let go of any unconscious limits I have placed on my ability to manifest abundance in my life – be it a loving relationship, a healthy business, or the wherewithal to get back to Maui as quickly as possible!

So… this January I’m not so blue.  I have much to do.  And I am already seeing a difference.  I am actually going to sing my heart out on the 20^th.  It is something I love to do and I know that Duncan will be there listening.

The cure?  Just get so busy manifesting all that you can for the coming year, and the blues don’t stand a chance!

Branded by Maui,

Buns

P.S.  I am very lucky to have made many new friends in Maui… Aloha Jane, Chris, Amber, Skyler, Julia, Rhonda, Harvey, Jodi, David, Eric, Deborah, Jesse, Lisa, Ram, Suzanne, Ari, Lindsay, Mel, Bonnie, Larry, Julia, Lila, David, Marc, Jay and Paul.

For more information about Jeana, go to her website:  http://www.lomimassage.com/

Aloha

When the sun begins to drop, the anticipation on the island is palpable. There are only 12 letters in the Hawaiian alphabet and when a letter is followed by an apostrophe called an, okina it means stop…pause…take a breath and pronounce clearly and with punch, the spot you are focused on.  One very simple mark reminds us to pause… I LOVE that.

 Sunsets are a bit like that here. Everyone and everything stops, pauses to join in saying goodbye to the day. It invites appreciation, glorious awe and reverence for the possibilities that occur simply by being alive.


Buns and I are in Hawaii and pausing for sunsets is an activity I hope to continue when we return home next week. Of course having a winter sunset in rainy Vancouver may be an anomaly but perhaps I will learn to blow the conch shell, which is what Hawaiians do to bid adieu to the day’s glorious end glow and I will just blow that baby, rain or shine. I like the thought of disturbing people in the downtown core by giving thanks, which in Hawaiian is said mahalo, with conch music.


Last night was New Year’s Eve. Buns was a dreamy vision in white, singing sweet notes of harmony to the inspired guitars on the beach, fireworks cracking in the background. I embraced molten gold and felt such soft tenderness as we celebrated my friends’ 25th wedding anniversary. Her words of appreciation for him, “thank you for loving me so I could live fearlessly” filled me with a deep visceral recognition of what is truly important in life.


We shared tequila shots, danced to old school tunes, (this was a couple who got married to Van Halen after all) and quite simply honored the longevity of a love that reached out and invited us to begin 2012, together.


Today the new year started with the ocean and a meditation to envision the coming months. I keep seeing the same picture. I am standing with my arms outstretched high over my head in a V. I wear red as I face the surf and feel the waves ripple through me and out into the world. I am at peace and on purpose….whatever that is.
Words are not necessary; this feeling of giving stands alone and needs no explanation. It’s a full body pulse of energy that literally expands as I inhale and generates more of itself as I exhale.

Limitless, vast and rooted to my core I feel his presence behind me. “I have got your back, he says.” I know him, I recognize his essence and have no need to turn around. I inhale even more deeply, honestly I can smell him and that scent of crisp windblown  blue linen softens me until my eyes close with pleasure.  The stability of such unwavering acceptance increases the freedom I feel in giving myself away, as my friend so succinctly put it …fearlessly.


And so to you Buns,  to all the friends who are here and back home as well…”Thank you for loving me so I can live fearless.”

This week it's Hawaiian style.

Hau’oli Makahiki Hou
Happy New Year and may you live your heart’s desire fully in 2012.

I know I will.


Authentically Yours,
Marty

Believing is seeing.

For the past ten years or so, I have enjoyed heralding in the season with a lovely Christmas tradition within my spiritual community.  Part of it includes a worship service, filled with music, stories, candlelight, and silence.  This year we were fortunate to hear this wonderful story by Robert Fulghum as part of the service...

Once a juggler came to our church on Christmas Eve for the midnight service. I wanted to read an old story from long ago about a wandering juggler who happened into a monastery in deep winter and asked for refuge.

            The story says that the monks were busy making gifts to lay before the high altar of the monastery chapel in honor of the Virgin Mary – because if she was pleased, her statue would shed a tear of compassion for humanity. But when the gifts were presented at the Feast of the Nativity, the statue did not respond. In the middle of the night, the juggler, who thought he had no gift to give, went in alone and juggled before the statue – and juggled to the very limit of his capacity. To make a long story short, the statue of the Virgin Mary shed a tear – and the baby Jesus in her arms smiled – because the juggler had given everything he had, holding back nothing in his generosity. So goes the story.

            To bring the story to life, I wanted to have a real juggler perform for the congregation first, and then I’d tell the story and turn it into my Christmas sermon. A little show-business pizzazz for the midnight service.

            When time for the service came, the juggler had not arrived. Not until the middle of the second carol did I see him working his way up the crowded side aisle. But no costume. I had specifically asked him to wear his jester outfit. And no juggling equipment, either. What a disappointment. So much for magic at midnight.

            While the congregation headed into the last verse of “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” the juggler and I held a whispered conference. His car had been stolen, with all his possessions and equipment. But not to worry – he had an idea. All I had to do was to tell the fairy story, and he, the juggler, would take it from there.

            No time to argue. The carol was done, and the service had to go on. I assumed that when it came time for his performance, the juggler would explain his circumstances and use some things he had found in the church kitchen for a short act. Reasonable enough. However Christmas Eve is not a time for reasonableness. I ought to know that by now. So I read the story.

            And the juggler stepped into the light from out of the congregation. Slim young man, the wiry, athletic kind. black tennis shoes, jeans, green turtleneck shirt. Solemn expression and freckles on his face in place of the expected makeup. Nothing special to look at. And no tools of his trade. He smiled. And began his routine. In fact, he went through his entire routine just as if he had brought balls and clubs and knives and scarves with him. We had all seen enough juggling to know what was going on. And in each part of the routine, he went one step further than he had ever juggled and we had ever seen. Seven balls is supposed to be the limit for the very best professional juggler. Our guy did eight, and we knew it when he did it and applauded the moment of triumph. On through twelve silk scarves in the air at once and seven knives, and we even knew when he set his torches on fire and got eight torches in the air all at once and caught them without burning himself. We laughed and shouted encouragement and applauded this remarkable performance. We couldn’t see it, but we believed it. We gave him a standing ovation. On Christmas Eve in church – a standing ovation! He held up his hand for silence, and the congregation sat down. The juggler wasn’t through. He was going to do an encore.

            He started juggling things we couldn’t quite recognize. What’s this? Chickens? Birds? Some kind of tree. Rings. One off of each finger. Five? Five gold rings. Got it. “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” He was going to juggle one of everything in the Twelve Days. The partidge, the pear tree, and all the rest. Impossible. But he was doing it. A swan. A goose and an egg. I was thinking, he’ll never get the maid and the cow off the ground, but with a great heaving effort, he did it. After that, the leaping lady and the dancing lord and the drum with drummer were a piece of cake. Every gift was in the air – way, way up in the air, because this was a lot of stuff. And as each piece came around, we knew what it was and shouted out its name as he caught it and threw it back into the air again. Fantastic! Nobody had ever done this before. The juggler was laughing. The congregation cheered like a crowd at a championship game when a last-minute score won it for the home team. The juggler suddenly clapped his hands loudly and stood still. One finger in front of his lips called for silence. And silence came.

            We stood looking at him and he at us – in the most powerful and meaningful moment of quiet I’ve witnessed at Christmas Eve. The sermon was supposed to follow the juggler. And it did. But it was not I who spoke. We were all addressed by a sermon of eloquent instructive silence. The silence in which we absorbed the power of the vision we had of the impossible event we had wished into being. The silence in which we thought about our capacity to realize things we can sometimes only imagine. Some of the most wonderful things have to be believed to be seen. Like flying reindeer and angels. Like peace on earth, goodwill, hope and joy. Real because they can be imagined into being. Christmas is not a date on a calendar but a state of mind.

Someone began to sing “Silent Night.” The small candles of those in the front were lit and they passed the flame on to the candles of those in rows behind them. The church filled with light. And we filed out of the church singing into the night and went home, taking our light with us.

Authentically yours, and with much love,

Buns

Attitude of Gratitude

The word gratitude comes from the Latin ‘gratia’ meaning favor, charm and thanks. It is similar to the Sanskrit word ‘gmati’ meaning, he praises. Today I feel grateful. This warmth in my body is calling me to get creative and express it…give it away.

My son just got back from school and writing some grueling exams. I plan on grinding up some dark roast, making his favorite omlettee, maybe even frothing his cappuccino as he claims the sofa for a well deserved day of relaxation. In truth I am not into sports on TV but with gratitude as my eau de cologne I only see how his happiness fills me with joy. So I cater and think of simple ways to let him know he is cared for. In truth it is these little acts of kindness that grow my appreciation and nourish me at the same time. There are not separate doorways one called giving and the other receiving. They are one. In the very moment I give thanks, I receive it.

I am grateful for my morning brew, gorgeous dark beans with a hint of chocolate. I am grateful that my holiday dog is coming to stay today. I am grateful for this home and the huge canvas vision board I will finish today endowing it with artistic representations of my hearts desire. And the people...all of the beautiful lights that surround me. Just thinking about it cultivates more of this delicious feeling.


Melanie Beattie, a writer who first opened my eyes to the ache of co-dependency in relationship, writes, “Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”


And if you are not feeling well, if you are lost in the veil of suffering, gratitude is the quickest way I know to shift out of it. Make a list, make a call, send an email. Each action generates more of those delightful bubbles that can accompany the state of gratitude, the state of grace.


Yes, I do love that feeling of grace. It touches my vision of tomorrow with the gentle sweetness of a mother’s hand on her child’s brow. It includes hope and possibility and openness to surprises. I have no idea what will happen tomorrow but I trust that if I keep resonating with gratitude today whatever it is will support me to expand and grow. Maybe it will even make me laugh out loud!  Living in gratitude makes me feel unconditionally loved and that’s a feeling I cannot live without. I once read that when we practice gratitude it’s as if we are practicing feeling loved. That concept intrigues me and inspires me.

So I am going to go practice some more now and maybe even reach out to someone who has been on my ‘I am not so happy with you list’ in order to ripple out and radiate my true essence. Even the struggles have inherent wisdom and opportunity to stretch and grow beyond our littleness.


I will never forget the day many years ago when I called my ex husband after years of living in the war zone of legal issues. I survived those times with as much grace as I could muster and when I failed at that task I stick handled my fear like a psychotic hockey puck. 
The learning was tremendous and I woke up from the dream one day, dropped with a thud into a new knowing of my essential self and realized that EVERYTHING that had happened during those times of strife were necessary pieces for me to grow through.

I called and thanked him. He was floored and didn’t believe me but that is not the point. What I felt was real. I thanked him and felt my heart stretch. This is the person I truly am, bigger than all the judgments I had held around his bad behavior and instead able to see the pain and fear that was driving it. And the gratitude was the knowing that if he hadn’t made his choices, painful as they were at the time , I would never have reached this willingness to now be so vulnerable…all in order to live in grace.


Charles Dickens said it so very simply, “Reflect on your present blessing-of which ever man has many-not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.”


What are you grateful for?

The good, the bad …the silly?

 Who can you say thanks to today? Where are you being called to stretch?

Sleigh bells ring…are you listening?  Yes, go ahead sing it out loud.

Authentically Yours,
Marty