Trajectories

By Pam Hadder

Sometimes you clearly see the changing path ahead – a hairpin curve on a rain-slick road, the plump kitten that chooses to flop down between your moving feet, or sudden wind and hail that rustles rosy fruit from the apple trees.  Timing varies, but in these instances there is clear cause and effect laid out for us within milliseconds: slow down, step with care, and harvest what you can while you still can.

At other times our actions and thoughts are circumvented by influences we did not foresee.  Sometimes the shift ingratiates itself so subtly, that we cannot logically trace the point at which we took an unplanned turn.  These changes can be incredibly complex, and they may grow or lay dormant for many years awaiting a certain stimulus to launch to the next step. 

Whether influences simmer or spring into full bloom, we may be shocked one day to realize that our opinions or interests differ vastly from a partner, family member, friend or group.  In reality the shift started a long time ago, and we attuned ourselves to different frequencies, initiating the transformation. Yet how often have you heard that cliché “we just grew apart?"

Even in sleep we are receiving, analyzing and responding to stimuli.  It makes me wonder about people who need complete silence and darkness to rest versus those that prefer a bit of background noise and light. I am also wondering if changing my sleeping environment could have shifted my personal trajectories.  Do we undervalue the influences bombarding our sleeping bodies? How much of us is shaped while we sleep?

Reflecting on these things, I am appreciative of how time continues to improve my editing – I am more selective of how I spend my time, more appreciative of simple things, and much more keenly aware of my vulnerabilities and strengths. Life is a beautiful symphony, layered with interpersonal, environmental and purely sensory experiences, meanings, and harmonies.  Incredible richness lies in the discovery, the surprises, and the unknowns that fuel our dreams and keep us engaged and curious. But all the while, we hit the brakes, dodge kittens and grab as many apples as we can before they hit the ground.

Old Windows

By Pam Hadder

Winter is hanging on - and I’ve been kicking myself for changing all but four windows in my little war-era home. Affectionately called “the sugar cube,” the house is modest but solid, with touches of character and craftsmanship that used to be basic, but are a lost art today.

A few years back, I received a performance bonus, and used it to change out aging windows in the sugar cube, musing happily about the improvements I’d see on my heating bills – all but a small-ish bathroom window, a mid-size kitchen window and two leaded glass piano windows with harlequin-suit-like diamond panes were removed and replace.  The old windows which remain are more predictable than the weather channel - you know it’s getting cold when they fog over, and eventually form icy glaze that can transform into elaborate Jack Frost works of art – unique crystalline patterns, feathering, swirling and spreading across the hyper-chilled surfaces; never two works the same.

My old windows made me recall my young self – perhaps seven or eight years old, coming into the back entrance of the family bungalow to change out sopping wet mitts bedazzled with confounding ice nubs, and warming frozen toes by the electric baseboard heater, before returning to the snow drifts, starry night sky and fort-building.  I was rather famous (in my mind!) for my snow fort construction, including manufacture of my weapons-of-choice: double-iced snow balls!  At all times, my army of one was ready to fight off the enemy.  Of course, my warrior fantasies were only acted out in my imagination, and the ammo was never used. The stockpile would freeze to the ground in a lumpy mass – no surprise that it was the last thing to melt in March, leaving a dead spot on the lawn that my parents attributed to the dog’s “business!”

I recall dreaming about being a princess, a Spanish dancer, a cow girl and other fanciful things while staring at the frost patterns on the back door glass; seeing fanciful shapes in the intriguing abstractions. Sometimes I would drag fingernails through the frost and contribute my interpretations to the surfaces; carving and tracing my visions.  I wonder how many kids still do this?  Have they even seen Jack Frost’s paintings? Could I sell admission tickets to the daycare kids across the lane?  I am doubly blessed – windows that predict the weather and which create artistic interpretations of winter schemes.

Ice in my Coffee

By Pam Hadder

PHOTO CREDIT: Bing Wright, Broken Mirrors series

Winter is closing in – arrow heads of geese soar skyward, directing their efforts south. Although it’s tempting to slip into denial when the midday sun warms my hair, the breeze on my bare face soon delivers a frigid wakeup call.  With each minute of daylight lost, I know I’m drawing on precious reserves from summer’s fiery bounty.  And yet last winter, amid the coldest winter on record in 125 years, I felt my heart surge with love – the colder it got, the hotter my fire burned. I can’t explain it in words and I haven’t reached a point where I can write music or capture those feelings with visual imagery, but it appears that after years of griping about the cold and snow, I have a developed an abiding passion for winter.

Exhaling into this chilly morning, I watch my frozen breath hovering in a free-form cloud around my head. For a brief moment it is like time stands still, and I witness my recent past expressed as a vapourous sculpture, which soon dissipates into the environment.  Like my frozen breath, human life is precious and yet insignificant in universal timelines. We emerge for a minuscule blip, and then are returned to the vast energized anonymity from which we emerged – reunited with a nebulous, ever-evolving, expanding life force.

I consider all that I know and love about winter – it is the blank canvas allowing for reflection and creative newness, it is the crisp jolt of air that challenges but affirms my stubborn resilience, and it is the stark beauty of branches against brilliant white snow drifts and deep blue skies.  Winter is dream time; rebuild and reset time – it is a time where we collect resources and review what to keep, what to give away, what to build, and we need to keep warm.  The cold requires us to move swiftly – to generate and sustain heat. We know from past experience that we do well to warm our core with comfort food and beverages. But most of all we need to keep the mind brightly lit with possibilities, using our ingenuity and stoking our personal fires to counter the sun’s waning favour.

Each year as the winter solstice approaches, I seek my New Year mantra.  Early winter marks the end of the incubation period, the third trimester – as such, I anticipate new life and I wonder, “What shall I name this new being, what will it look like, will I be equipped to attend to its needs?” What lessons and wisdom will come my way in the weeks ahead? In the past the mantras came to me unbidden; a gift from the cosmos landed with an unceremonious thunk on my unsuspecting consciousness! Typically the mantra took the form of a word or short phrase upon which I would reflect and then would seek deeper meaning and engagement. However, once I was attuned to this marvel, early winter became a time of anticipation and seeking – I was aware, so the delivery method was more subtle.  I was being encouraged to wake up and shift from patterns which did not hold meaning or value – the universe was making me work a little because I had the ability to do so.

Last year, however, the mantra process was exceedingly difficult – was the universe being fickle and withholding pearls of wisdom, or I was too distracted and desperate to see through the clutter? Had I lost my ability to discern subtlety? Or perhaps, I was being encouraged to seek, to move, to extend myself outward from this place of “me” of the personal mind?  Maybe I needed to understand my ability to flex muscle, to stretch, to discover and to prosper. I needed to break away from barriers that I feared, and in some cases, was so accustomed to that I could not see how they held me captive.

Nonetheless, the more earnestly I sought to connect, to forge, and to bond, the more disconnected I felt from that embrace.  At this point, I sometimes feel in tune with a joyous surge – I know there is more, and I know there is a reason for my insatiable striving, and everything seems possible, even easy. I have no fear or apprehension, just pensive, well-managed curiosity about the days to come and how I might prepare to receive understanding and to achieve the best results.

Recently, mentally and physically weary after a long working day, I tucked into my covers with Netflix, and I watched a 2011 documentary called “Happy.”  The film examines the roots of human happiness, interviewing researchers and examining cultures from around the world.  Happy asserts that happiness is 50% genetic-based, 10% environment-based and 40% action-based.  Additionally a number of key factors are known to affect our ability to be happy: supportive relationships (most commonly family and friends; community), and altruism (our ability to step outside of ourselves and care for others before our own needs). Additionally, there is a need for us to engage in those things that bring us joy and deep personal satisfaction – things that if we were not interrupted, we would continue to engage in for hours on end.  One researcher, pyschologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, has coined a term for this state: FLOW. I have purchased Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's books (Amazon) "Flow" and "Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and Invention." These books aren't new - Csikszentmihalyi has been researching human happiness for decades and "Flow" was first printed back in 1990. However, I am eager to gain access to his findings and to incorporate that wisdom into my current engagements.

As I breathe in the warm air of this room, with diffused light flooding over my left shoulder, I suddenly know my mantra: it is simply, EXHALE. To exhale is to give over, to simultaneously connect and exchange energy physically and beyond the physical.  It means to empty the lungs of expended air, allowing for newness and ultimately for life. I understand that with newness the old must fall away - there are always choices and decisions that challenge and confound us. At this moment, I am enjoying one small breath: it flutters like a clumsy moth fumbling toward a soft light. I look out the window, and I sip the coffee that has grown cold.

Eyes On

By Pam Hadder

The eyes have it, eyes are the windows to the soul, keep your eyes on the prize, for your eyes only, eye spy, getting an eye full – there are so many eye-centric phrases within North American culture.  They roll off our tongues and into our communications without too much evaluation of true meaning or clarity.  A reality check may come our way when interacting with those to whom English is a second language.  Their refreshing perspectives can reveal that some of these glib phrases are filling space versus creating meaning or providing valid analogies. What are we really trying to say?

This summer, while visiting New Zealand, I was deeply engaged by encounters with Maori culture.  Traditional carvings similar to Canada’s west coast totems are inlaid with paua (pah-OO-ah) shell, and in particular the paua eyes of these majestic figures translate great energy and stimulate powerful responses.  The paua is incredibly beautiful – variegated blues, greens, purples and greys commonly intermingle.  Additionally, because of its smooth, reflective surface, the shell allows eyes to blaze in the sunshine and to emit an impressive glow in low light.  In Hamilton Gardens, Hamilton, New Zealand, I had the unique pleasure and honour to stand in a garden replicating a traditional Maori village. To be among these vibrant, powerful forms with dark storm clouds as a backdrop was breathtaking and deeply moving.

The traditional Maori carvings served to remind me that sometimes, visual media clearly communicates what our words cannot. Experiencing these incredible, significant cultural forms in person opens pathways allowing for additional layers of personal interpretation.  When defining learning within academic contexts, it is often described as "meaning making" – and it is known and understood that there are many access points to learning beyond written and oral communication; including via our encounters and interactions with visual forms.

Personally, the prominence of eyes and eye-centric phraseology in North American culture reminds me of the importance of observation and witness.  Modern use of eye-centred phrases and expressions, the focus on the eyes in creative expression and in marketing imagery mirrors the majestic forms created by ancestor cultures - we have followed the forms, but have we kept close contact with the meanings?  What if a bit more care was taken with our words and expression instead of recycling what we've heard before?  Why choose pat sayings and eschew possibilities for deeper personal connection and meaning?  Have we lost our ability to enjoy in-person human closeness and reverence, or can we shed the faceless mask of verbal oblivion and open our eyes to the possibilities of profound and personal communications?

Focus

Focus, Focus, Focus

By Pam Hadder

Seeking understanding

Meaning;

Meaning making,

I visualize -

My pale hands working paint,

Deep blue,

Like kneading dough;

Then spreading it on white walls.

The paint won’t speak,

It holds its secrets.

I blow into a hollow reed -

A single note

Woody, alto

Centering, calming;

Breathing.

Focus, focus,

I must record this,

Write it down,

Communicate,

Share.

Seeking understanding,

Meaning;

Meaning making -

I visualize.

Impressions

By Pam Hadder

How much do you care about what others think and/or say about you?  I am pleased to say that I am finally reaching a point where I recognize the need to remain steadfast amid the chatter and to follow my personal compass.  Another aspect of this, however, is that of impressions - not just what we call "first impressions" but all of the complex physical, temporal, and metaphysical bits we leave in our wake as we go about our daily lives!  These aspects I care deeply about; they are not petty or superficial and these intricate impressions bind us together with irrevocable subtlety. I fully recognize that I do not exist in isolation and that my actions, choices and words affect others, and as such I am humbled and honoured by the "every day," the simple interactions and experiences.  

Typically my summer allows me a bit of time for dreaming and connecting with the natural environment - just a week or two, brilliant and sweet and then it's gone; a glorious sun setting over a cold grey lake, my warm toes mourning the coolness of the sand. This summer my typical path was dealt an unexpected but truly spectacular twist!  For half of my summer I travelled to the southern hemisphere where it was "winter" - I say "winter" because it was so benign compared with the Canadian prairie winter I have lived with all of my life!   The destination was New Zealand where my business partner and I have been pursuing some investment opportunities; some good matches arose and the time to act was upon us.  And so I left summer for winter.

Our schedule was brisk but not insane - we took time to enjoy the natural, unspoiled beauty of NZ. It was a sensory feast and I am replaying vignettes in my mind as I write this - I hope the impressions I left were worthy because the Kiwis blessed me with a unique kaleidoscope of tastes, sights, insights, words, smells and experiences that is beyond measure. I can smell the briny air of the east coast; I am still in awe of the lush variety of trees, shrubs and flowers gracing the wild and garden landscapes, and I was inspired and humbled by the remarkable warmth and creative complexity of the Maori people. All the while I was conscious of consuming the beauty through all of my senses, and I imagined myself converting food, wine, sunshine, rain, vision, touch and scent into body cells so I could become a part of the wonderment, stealing a smidgen home in my flesh and bones. Looking back it was a profound physical journey of particular spiritual renewal. 

Impressions do matter - welcoming smiles, words of kindness, respect for nature and enjoyment of our time together; everyday, where ever life takes us. I hope my love remains where I leave it; I hope it binds, nourishes and grows.

Blue Tiger, Purple Moon

By Pam Hadder

Do you remember your dreams?  I find that if I consciously commit details to memory when I first awaken, they stay with me.  But most times I jump out of bed and rush into the various tasks necessary to tackle the working day – and the vivid images and experiences of my sleeping mind quickly vaporize like mist burning off in the sun.

I have heard a theory that when we sleep our soul is free to travel – that might explain why some mornings I feel like I have run three back-to-back marathons!  (I call those my “busy” dreams!) But aside from epic action and adventure scenarios, the most compelling dreams are those where I am given a gift – typically a creative idea or alternate viewpoint.  

Lately I have been taking these more seriously – I actually dreamed about a children’s book idea and title, for example – it was so realistic and specific that I could not brush it off.  When I awoke I recalled how Sir Paul McCartney once woke with a melody in his head.  He played it on the piano and eventually set lyrics to it.  But he wasn’t sure if the melody was unique, or if he was just playing some other composer’s work from memory.  He played the song for years, but just for those close to him – not in performance.  Finally he was satisfied that the melody was indeed his own!  This song became the mega hit, “Yesterday.”

Back to my dream book title - I researched it later in the same day.  There was another book similarly titled, but only ever so slightly.  Interestingly, the names of the book's characters also came to me in my dream, and these have been similarly noted for later use - I even saw the cover illustration; a finished book.  On a roll, I also researched a term that had come to me in an earlier dream – it had seemed like nonsense, but I began to wonder if it was from another language, and like Goldilocks I couldn't resist exploring.  I found a similar word that is the name of a Japanese manga character.  I’m not into heavy Japanese pop culture, so it’s unlikely that I would have encountered that name – so my mystery word has also been entered into my notes for future reference; unsolved but an item of interest. 

These are just two small examples of how our dreams can affect and inspire our waking lives.  Of course, most of us will not establish the global fame of Sir Paul, and we may not even aspire to attempt it. But we all have inborn potential and creativity – our dreams stimulate and inspire – in our dreams things can be both/and; we can work outside of the laws of physics, we can have  blue tigers, purple moons, and super-human abilities.  Thus, we expand beyond the common place, we defy the naysayers who have told us from childhood all of the things we cannot do or become. Dreams are a place to play, to discover, to test, to learn – we are truly “beautifully and fearfully made.” (The Holy Bible, Psalm 139:14)

I am also reminded of the 2006 documentary film “10 Questions for the Dalai Lama” where an American journalist travels for two years in India, patiently hoping to meet the Dalai Lama for a brief interview. Good fortune prevails, and the journalist is able to interview His Holiness. The Dalai Lama responds to one of the questions in a particularly unexpected manner – it is when he is asked what is the most important thing people can do to promote peace.  Without hesitation, His Holiness responds “critical thinking.”  This response showed great wisdom. Consider that with critical thinking, as with dreaming, we remove biases and boundaries; we examine, explore and compare with dispassionate objectivity. Critical thinking allows us to sift through filler and fodder to the crux of things – and what we typically find is commonality and also new discoveries; new ways of thinking, seeing and being. Perhaps our dream state is an inborn tool to nudge us toward a sublime state of enrichment and creative harmony?