Kings Of Leon - Use Somebody

Another song that I've been playing over and over again lately.

Have a listen.

Anthem -- Leonard Cohen

A song that means a lot to me lately...


"Anthem"

The birds they sang
at the break of day
Start again
I heard them say
Don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
Ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
She will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

We asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
Yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.

I can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
But they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

Ring the bells that still can ring ...

You can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
You can strike up the march,
there is no drum
Every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.
That's how the light gets in.

Whitehorse is cool...not just cold!

(picture of Whitehorse in Winter. I didn't take this photograph, some other person did)


Visiting Whitehorse has been great. It's not very big and does stay in an almost perpetual state of winter, but the people here seem genuinely kind and open and there is so much happening! Live music all the time, coffee shops everywhere, awesome little art shops and collectives (even a quilting store!!!!), book sellers, a library, a HUGE recreation centre, yoga studios, dance studios, recording studios, music stores, sushi (!), doulas, midwives, movie theatres...the "cool" list goes on! I didn't really expect that when I first arrived here. I figured it would be...boring. I was wrong. The prospect of moving up here and working hard to make money, pay off debt, and save is seeming more and more viable and perhaps even wise? I dunno.

What I do know is that the lady in HR at the hospital spoke with a Scottish accent, gave me her home email address on a post-it note and told me I could contact her any time...and the couple we met at dinner today got excited when i mentioned moving up here, saying it was the best place to live in Canada, and without even knowing me, that they would love to have me up here...

Nice people. Very nice people, that much I can say for this place. And the hospital needs experienced transcriptionists. Hmm...we shall see what comes next. :)

Trees at the Edge of the Tundra

Trees at the Edge of the Tundra

by: Amber

I have been silent for hours and hours, contentedly,

staring out the mud-speckled window of a fast, but cautiously moving car

at an immeasurable expanse of Yukon wilderness,

a peaceful monotony interrupted only by the violent bumps in the

weathered road that jolt me temporarily out of the peace I am enjoying.

There is so much space for me to project myself here.

I feel I could unzip my body and release my soul with a whisper

“go now, fly away, be happy”,

as if it was a wounded bird I have nursed back to health

ready to fend for itself and return to the place it belongs in the wild with just a little coaxing

and a willingness, on my part, to let go.

I am learning to breathe a deep kind of breath that reaches to parts

of my lungs never expanded before, going further still into that

freshly hollowed out place where all of the things I said goodbye to used to exist.

It fills up with the breath I choose to breathe, in and out, in and out,

the pain starts to diminish as I allow myself to heal.

Underneath this I hear my heart beating steadily and I follow the beats down

into the realm of my deepest self, realizing there is a wildness there,

a naturally ordered and perfect chaos,

like a thousand fallen trees decaying on the forest floor

encircling those that remain standing. A part of me is still standing,

still upright and deeply rooted, but also inextricably fallen down.

I am beginning to acknowledge desires much more terrible and beautiful

than those I allowed myself to manifest before.

It all began with the choice to walk away from a life that did not resemble me,

a young woman choosing to trust the sometimes unfamiliar company of myself,

willing to endure the loneliness, the ambiguity of change.

Like the last few defiant trees at the edge of the tundra,

I push as far as I can beyond the lines I have drawn for myself

and move courageously into formidable but significant territory,

hoping beyond all hope not only to survive, but to be extraordinarily transformed,

arriving finally at an undivided life, one that resembles me more authentically than ever before.

So I stand, defiant, just like those trees at the edge of the tundra,

in the place where change is certain.

Grief -- a narrative

I was a road alone, lost, walking in endless circles, when an old woman came to me and took my hand. She did not speak a word, but her eyes asked me to follow, and hesitantly, wearily, I did. She started leading me away from the light, away from the brokendown path that held me, towards a shadowland in the distance I had never dared approach. As we drew nearer and nearer to it, I pulled away from her grasp, afraid of the darkness, but her gentle grip stayed me, and her soft eyes persuaded me that I must trust her and continue to walk with her -- she knew the way, she could see through the darkness.

~

So we journeyed together, me following like a child as the path became darker and darker still. I started to stumble over boulders and snares hidden from view, all control taken away from me as my eyes finally failed to find any light at all. An unbearable blackness consumed me, but the old lady led me determinedly forward, not allowing me to give in to my fear or be overcome by the ache of my memories, memories that felt so much easier and safer.

~

When I stumbled and wept, she dried my tears, cleaned my wounds, and led me forward still. When I was angry, she let me rest for a while, and I would scream and cry sometimes. But she stroked my hair with her swollen, aged fingers, holding me close like a baby in her cold but comforting arms until I was calm again. She invited a deep and indescribable kind of peace when I was unable to.

~

Day after day she did not speak, she did not explain where she was leading me, but there was reassurance in her gentleness, a safety in her leading I could believe in. Soon I started to feel hope like an infant being birthed in my heart and I asked her if the place she was taking me was going to be beautiful, feeling deep within me as if I already had the answer. She paused for a moment then sweetly took both of my hands in her own, placed them over her soft, age-worn cheeks and let me feel her brilliant smile. My soul leaped and her unspoken answer resonated as loud as a thunderbolt in my ears. I felt a light, a heat, a warmth shining on me, something that could not be seen, only felt, melting the ice in my heart. A river was forming in my very being.

~

I knew then that the darkness would persists for a season, but a new kind of light was illuminating my path; that the pain and the fear would only lend themselves to significance and beauty if I refused to give up, if I trusted this journey. I determined then that I would continue to walk, continue to trust the old woman, my compass, leading me to a promised land of light and new life.

~

But before I journeyed further I had one more question to ask, one I had not thought of all this time, "what is your name?". She moved her lips to my ear and intimately steadied my face with her hand, "Grief", she said, "my name is Grief". I kissed her on the cheek and held on tight to her hand, this time deliberately, for she was no longer a stranger but a friend and I was no longer a frightened child but a woman at the ready, and we walked on in peaceful silence together.