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MEDITATIONS
Reflections
Meditations

Meditations

W ONDER

There are not seven wonders of the world in the eyes of a child. There are seven million.
(Walt Streightiff)

When Lana, my granddaughter, was 3 years old she came to visit me one Sunday just before Christmas. I had bought a small Christmas tree for the occasion, not much taller than Lana was when she stood on tiptoe to be able to reach to put the angel on top.

I got out the box of tree decorations that our family had accumulated over the years and set it down beside her, showing her how to hang the decorations on the tree. She knelt in front of it and I watched with joy as she carefully used up all the decorations on the six to eight inch square of tree directly in front of her face.

Each bough in that little area was bowing under the weight of so many ornaments, but Lana was determined. I tried to encourage her to move around the tree or stand up but to no avail.

So what? I thought. Here we have a perfect example of a child’s eye view of a Christmas tree of which she was so proud. It didn’t matter that all the decorations were together and the rest of the tree was bare. It was our tree.

And now, we have a wonderful memory to look back on every year at Christmas with joy and hugs to share as a family. (SC)

I celebrate with joy the wonder,
the individuality and sense of achievement
emanating from the children in my life.
Sallie Cooper
At 61, Sallie is a proud mother and grandmother and firm believer in lifelong learning. A keen writer and reader, she is also a cellist and trained facilitator of Life Writing for Transformation™ which occupies regular slots of time in the area around her home in North Yorkshire, UK. A lot of Sallie's work is done in the field of Mental Health, an area which she is passionate about and experienced in.
I MAGINE

Imagine all the people living life in peace.
(John Lennon)

What is peace? I ask myself this question in the midst of the hustle and bustle of the pre-Christmas week.

Imagine, if I did not have to hurry through life at a crazy pace that does not allow me to breathe and experience its every exquisite moment.

Imagine, if guns had never been invented and I lived in a world with no war.

Imagine, if love was my only motivating force—not winning, being top dog, or having all the power.

It is easy to imagine such a utopia. I then ask myself, how could it ever be real? Then I realize that such peace must first come from deep within myself, before I could ever expect it to be an outward worldwide concept.

Imagine, if I find something kind to say the next time I feel angry with someone.

Imagine, if I am peacefully silent the next time the office is jumping with gossip.

Imagine, if I purposefully try to live peace every day.

Imagine, if I only allow my thoughts to be loving and peaceful.

Imagine! I wonder if it would catch on. Would other people want to try it? I imagine they would. (LLG)

I enter this day with peace, determined to remain peaceful.
I breathe peace in, I breathe peace out.
I imagine I am at peace and the whole world is at peace with me.
Lori Gagnon
Lori Gagnon is a mother, daughter, sister, wife, and grandmother. She has a passion for reading, writing and art. Lori became an avid journal writer and explored writing poetry during the 26 years she lived in Churchill, Manitoba. Lori took a Transformative Life Writing™ course at CMU and continues to write, journal, make art and explore any creative venture that piques her interest. Her dreams include publishing her own book about growing up in Silver Heights, Manitoba.

F ORGIVE

Who understands much, forgives much.
(Madame de Stael)

Forgiveness has been a challenge to me for many years. Recently I have been exploring the practice of Life Writing for Transformation™ at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Centre.

During one such retreat, I wrote about finding a book about day-to-day life during the Second World War, which appealed to me as a “war baby.” The pages held familiar pictures of air-raid shelters, gas masks, and bomb-damaged houses—and a timeline giving specific dates relating to Britain’s darkest hours—the Blitz and the bombing of London and Coventry. The dates were within days of my birth that summer in 1940, and I was overwhelmed by the dawning realization of just how traumatic this time must have been for my mother.

My perspective on my mother shifted palpably, coming to terms with the significance of those dates when she was expecting her first child. She could probably see the distant glow of fires over London at night where Dad was working. She had told me the babies had been taken down to the air-raid shelter the night after I was born at the local Nursing Home, but the Mums were left on the ward as a bomb fell nearby!

Sharing my writing afterwards with other “war babies,” I came to realize I was not alone in having had a bewilderingly cool relationship with my mother which I never understood. A long-held burden lifted from me as I received the blessing of forgiveness for the person my mother had become as a result of her war-time experiences. (MF)

I am healed by the transformative
power of life writing.
Moira Fitt
Moira is a Quaker and feels that her Life Writing for TransformationTM skills, poetry and healing are all inspired by the inner creative spirit to help her and others to discover their potential. In 1986, she began designing and facilitating personal development courses for “women returners”, alongside her education guidance role in Cornwall. She retired to enjoy her grandchildren, swimming, and relaxing in the New Zealand sunshine.
E-mail: mandt@phonecoop.coop

ZING

True happiness comes from the joy of deeds well done, the zest of creating things new. (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)

Seed after seed, the perky chickadees, sparrows, brilliant American finches, and Common Redpolls peck sunflower seeds I’ve left for them in the bird feeder. They are a generous lot, spraying seed onto the ground, to ensure the chipmunks and bunnies below have plenty to eat.

Their chirps and songs sing of their zest for life, savouring every moment, worry-free, knowing nature and the neighbours will provide food and fresh water in the bird bath. They only need to be. For a song, supper is served.

At the end of my garden, Tibetan prayer flags breathe zest, reminding me that beauty is in the moment, giving joy that sinks into my soul.

I glimpse the apple tree blazing with mature fruit. Its boughs have room to spare, holding a red and a green hula hoop, tempting the child in me to “have a go.”

My purple benches, rescued from auction sales by my father and painted a bright purple to zing the white winter landscape with colour, sizzle with happiness throughout the year. In winter, they beckon shy deer to rest beside them, finishing the silent landscape—breathing deeply and fully, in and out—beauty and a zest for life abound. (EC)

I take my happiness from nature’s creation.
Beauty + calm + breathing =
Zest for the moment, for life.
Eleanor Chornoboy
Author of Faspa and Faspa with Jast, Eleanor writes to capture moments in history. Through co-facilitating Life Writing for Transformation™ classes, she has had the joy of joining writers on their journey as they put their stories on the page. To delight the child in her, she has authored Snow Angels and Pajama Tears. Eleanor and her husband Larry live in Winnipeg, Canada.
SHINE

At times our own light goes out and is rekindled
by a spark from another person.
(Albert Schweitzer)

My lighthouse is Mom, who has stood by me throughout my life. She was proud of my accomplishments in becoming a successful lawyer, a father, and a husband. Yet, she was also there to support me in my darkest times, when all of my achievements were almost lost.

Mom saw the best in me, even when I behaved badly and let her down. In my darkest hours, I isolated myself, holed away from the world at the shock of my losses. She remained by me and supported me, but also showed me the light, led me back to stand on my own and rejoin society, to be responsible and become caring for others.

Today, to witness Mom’s memory now sometimes failing her, sometimes struggling to know where she is and what is going on, it is my turn to be there for her. I would like to be Mom’s lighthouse now, her beacon of light, solid on the shore. Mom knows she’s in the right place as long as she can see my light. (BHH)

I remain rock-solid in my healthy life,
to shine the light for my loved ones to
be able to see the shore.
Brian Hay
Brian Hay is a retired lawyer and a writer. He completed Transformative Writing™ studies at Canadian Mennonite University and received facilitator certification at Woodbrooke Quaker Study Center, European Centre for Life Writing for TransformationTM, in Birmingham, England. Brian took motorcycle lessons after he turned 60, consistent with Michelangelo’s motto: “I’m always learning …” He loves reading books about writing and daily personal/spiritual reflection. Since 2012, he has envisioned and helped guide CREATIVE JOURNEY to completion.

BEGIN
I have to come back to a beginner’s mind, the first way I thought and felt about writing. In a sense, the beginner’s mind is what we must come back to every time we sit down and write… Each time is a new journey with no maps. (Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones)

How to begin?

A new notebook. I open the first page. The smell of the fresh-cut paper and the clean-lined page taunt me, saying, “well, go on, what are you waiting for?”
But somehow I cannot put my pen to the paper.  For one thing, I know my handwriting is untidy and only vaguely constitutes anything that can be considered legible.

In fact, if I ever want to read aloud what I have written in my writing circle, I will need to look for my most up-to-date spectacles with the highest magnification just to see the words.

And then there's the problem of the page being the very first in the notebook and the feeling that I should begin with something profound—some wise words, a flash of clarity that will light up the world.

But actually I am writing, not on the first page—I turned over a page before I could set down these words, these less than impressive words, on this insignificant second page.


I cherish every beginning, allowing new opportunities into my life, wherever they come from, whenever they arrive. I will begin again. No excuses.


Alison Lock
Alison Lock is a poet and author from Holmfirth (UK). She finds inspiration in the moorlands and the natural environment of the South Pennines, which is often reflected in her writing. She is currently working towards a Ph.D. in Creative Writing. She believes that Transformative Life Writing™ is a unique and powerful tool that can transform our personal journaling, giving us new insights, and encouraging the development of our writing journeys. http://www.alisonlock.com/

PLAY

You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation. (Plato)

I am aware that I am a child, ready to play in the sandbox with a new pail, shovel, sifter, and set of sand molds in the shape of a starfish, a seashell, and a fish. The sand is just waiting for me to start a new creation. I am often asked by folks I know who don't write, why I do it, what is in it for me? They watch as I ever jot down everyday details of my life, record my observations of people on the street and the bus, play with a few words randomly selected on a piece of paper, make up silly two-paragraph stories. They know I have spent an hour and a half travelling by bus to meet with a couple of writer friends for two hours and then taken the bus back again, having spent more time on the bus than writing. They do not get it.

I ask myself the same question, what is in it for me? Can I explain the compulsion to get it all down in words even to myself? I find the answer in another question: Can I imagine my life if I did not write? I cannot.

Paper is my sandbox; pencils, pens, and highlighters are my pails, shovels, sifters, and sand molds. Writing is how I play. I play with words, ideas, thoughts. I let my imagination out for a stroll across a blank page. I create other worlds and realities to adventure in. That is what’s in it for me—playtime. Whether I play alone or get together with others for a play date, writing is a perfect form of play for me.


I take time to play every day.


Lori Gagnon
Lori Gagnon is a mother, daughter, sister, wife, and grandmother. She has a passion for reading, writing and art. Lori became an avid journal writer and explored writing poetry during the 26 years she lived in Churchill, Manitoba. Lori took a Transformative Life Writing™ course at CMU and continues to write, journal, make art and explore any creative venture that piques her interest. Her dreams include publishing her own book about growing up in Silver Heights, Manitoba.


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