Strange Times

Jack Layton and his granddaughter

I asked my Muse this morning to help me write something...anything. I seem to have no...oomph...for writing these days, and it seems the Muse doesn't either, since she hasn't stimulated me for some time.


I believe it is the events the World is experiencing at the moment. One cannot turn on the news without some catastrophe just waiting to pounce, just waiting to destroy any peace I may have gathered through the night.

I could list them. But it would just exacerbate the whole thing, magnifying them in my mind.


The one thing I will mention, however, is how Jack Layton's death from cancer, at the age of 61, affected me.  He was the leader of the Opposition in the House of Parliament, a New Democrat.

Jack Layton, with his granddaughter Beatrice, and his wife, Olivia Chow

How odd that a man I have never met, a politician of and for the people, could have me in a state of mourning, along with, seemingly, the rest of Canada, no matter their political bent.


I was in a state of shock the morning I heard about his death. I had known he was ill, of course. I saw him making his last announcement, when he said he would be back in September. As ill as he looked, I believed him. I thought he would be back in Parliament, holding all the rest accountable, as he had done for his whole life.


To me, he was like a Terrier or a Bulldog, worrying and tearing at the Conservatives without restraint. With a four year term of a majority Conservative government, I felt so much better in knowing Jack Layton was the leader of the Opposition. I felt, if anyone could, he was the one who would hold the Conservatives to account.

Flags fly at half-mast

The strange thing is I am not terribly political. When I vote, I usually vote for the person and not specifically the Party he or she is leading. But Jack was and always will be a man for the people. For him, it was forever about the people and their well-being in Canada. And I understand that...it is how I hope I would be were I in politics.


I felt he had our backs. And when he died, I felt bereft. Who could possibly take his place?


I was astonished when I cried, really cried, for him, for his wife and family and grandchild, and for Canada. And I was truly amazed at the wave of emotion that overcame the Country. I'm not sure I remember this ever happening before.


He wrote a letter to Canadians the day before he died. In his very personal letter, he urged all of us to remember not to let others say we can't do a thing our minds are set upon. He addressed his Party, his caucus, other people suffering with cancer, the youth of Canada, Quebecers who believed in him enough to vote in huge numbers to give him the opposition Leader's seat. And he addressed his fellow Canadians.

At the end of his letter, one that must have been so difficult to write, he wrote..."My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful, and optimistic. And we'll change the World." 

I wonder if I could have had the fortitude to write something so eloquent if I faced death. This man remembered the people of Canada, knowing well his time was at an end. This was the kind of man he was...and the words above were words he truly lived by, in all accounts.


As the World enters strange times, where nothing seems certain, where Earthquakes, Tornadoes, terrible accidents and civil unrest seem almost the norm...I will take Jack Layton's words and enter them deeply within my soul, never to be forgotten or misplaced.


Let us, indeed, be loving, hopeful and optimistic. Let us not give fear the upper hand. Fear is a destroyer...love and hope fill the heart, giving more strength I believe we will all require in the coming months and years ahead.

Jack, I will miss you and your smiling face. I will miss your witty, sometimes even snide, comments. I will miss the love you projected to us all, even though I never knew you personally. It does not seem to matter, to my complete and  utter astonishment.


We are living through strange times. I do not blame myself for not wanting to write about despair and fear. As odd as it seems, Jack Layton's death opened the hearts of people as nothing else might have done.


And perhaps, this is the point. This heart-opening, this outpouring of love, the collective astonishment that this could be so for a politician's untimely death...this taught us all to be more open, more heart-centred.

Imagine the possibilities...


This morning, I had a conversation with my Muse, the wondrous lady who sits on my right shoulder as I write.


And she did not let me down.


Rest in the greatest of peace, Jack, your time on Earth has ended too soon. 


It is time, now, to take up the cudgels, the loving truncheons, on your behalf.


And I will.

Rivers

When the World crashes, when the sound and feel of the crash is more than I can bear, I seek Water.  For a Piscean fish, to be too far from my greatest source of comfort, is to find the very act of breathing becomes impaired and my judgement and balance is nowhere to be found.

But there is one source, here in this Ice-locked Land, here where one cannot see the Water beneath the Ice-covered Lakes. There is one place I can go to throw the garbage which threatens to overwhelm me.

The Fraser River runs strong and true through the Cariboo. Ice covers the shore, trying with desperation to stop the flow of Water which seeks the Ocean.  Ice does not match the strength of the great Fraser.

Today, I packed up my emotions, tying them tightly into a bundle of woe.  As difficult as it might be to let go and let Creator, I know, with strong intuition, to hold on to bothersome thoughts and actions will only create more anguish. 

I am tired of anguish, and so I hold on to the railing of the old bridge which still, after all these years, is navigable. The sense of history surrounds me here, and even with the vicious cold, I feel comfort emanating from the River which rushes on beneath me.

I try and take photos, but it is too cold.  My camera only gives me blurred images...much like what I see with eyes filled with tears.  This is a difficult thing which I have set for myself and yet I accept the challenge given to me. I have endeavoured to do less; it is not working.


I am alone, here on the bridge.  I have walked a ways, with North Wind as my companion. It is fitting to walk into the cold, clear arms of this North Wind...his strength and clarity will give me recovery on this strange road I must take.

I must break ties, I must cut the cord which threatens to wrap itself far too tightly around my emotions, my senses and my being.  It is time to rid myself of the belittling thoughts which occur in the deep night, when the World lies sleeping.

I say the Serenity Prayer, over and over.  Strength comes out of nowhere, even as I ask for it.  Wisdom, as well.  It is only Serenity which will take its time in finding me.


Serenity will be mine, after I have thrown my package into the churning, freezing Waters of the Fraser. But I find I want to nurture my strongly wrapped package just a little longer...and I ask Wind...Is this the right thing to do? The consequences are so great. Please help...
 
Wind shrieks, tugging at my hair and my jacket. The rushing Waters and the sound of North Wind blends...I feel as if I am in a maelstrom of churning, dark, reeking sensations. Wind asks...Do you want these ties to follow you on for the rest of your days? Do you really want that? 


Suddenly, I am past thinking about the frauds that exist, the scams that have followed me, even here to the Cariboo, the farthest North I have ever been.  Suddenly, without further query, my package falls far below to the fast Waters.

I weep...strong, silent tears which, even as they fall, are whipped away by the North Wind. I begin to see clarity. I begin to lose the desperation, loss, anger and fear which has defined my days, hours and minutes.


I have survived much worse than this.  And my belief that there is a reason behind every action will comfort me, in the days ahead. While life may look darkly upon me, at this moment, I feel a strong sense of relief.  The heavy weight on my chest is receding.


My balance returns.  Whereas before, I felt I was in the middle of a tidal wave which smashed me upon the shore with a force for which I have no words...now the dizziness and disorientation which has coloured my days moves off into the far distant horizon.


Tears are beginning to cleanse the inner helplessness and anguish. I am thankful I have the knowledge and strength to deal with loss and grief, as difficult as it is.

Once more, the grieving process results in transformation.  I will go on, a little wiser, a tiny bit tougher...

When the World crashes, when betrayal abounds and the heart hurts with a ferocity that makes breathing difficult, letting go, cutting cords, something I do not do lightly, lets me continue on with this strange journey I have chosen.

It is only another learning process, after all.