Stranded on the Mainland: Inner Pilgrimage and Living Alone as a Spiritual Path:

Tomorrow is the feast of St. Ignatius of Loyola. On this very special feast day, I am filled with gratitude to remember some dear Jesuit priests who formed me in the beginning years of my conversion to the Catholic faith journey. I remember them with love in my heart and I pray a special prayer for them on their founder's feast day. For my blog today, I am choosing a prayer from the book, "Hearts on Fire:  Praying with Jesuits" (Michael Harter SJ, 1993). To quote a dear fellow blogger friend, "I thought it worth sharing". Seedlings: If any of the short sentences that follow appeals to you, place it in your heart and ponder on its inner meaning. This will cause its inner truth to germinate and grow. Do not force it open with your mind. That would only kill the seed. Sow it where the soil is rich.  Sow it in your heart. And give it time. You do not  have to change for God  to love you.                     ...

Can broken psychological chains become material for building psychological bridges between generations? I will always have my poems-- The children of my soul, To break the chains, That hold my generation... (Georgetown 1995).  

My blog today flows from yesterday's where I alluded to running for nomination with the Green Party in Ontario (June 2022). So why the Green Party: Because I grew up in a "crazy" dysfunctional family. But we all loved the cottage (the natural environment). It was our shared love of beauty and nature that at least allowed us to be a family together. Because I love the natural environment. Because I love Life.  Because the Greens have the best platform for protecting the lives and the quality of life for women and what is of tremendous importance to them. Life. Safety. Non-violence and living wages. Continuing. This morning while looking for a song to include with this post, I found Jackson Browne's, "Running on Empty." Using it as lectio Divina the following phrases stood out to me: "Running on Empty...":  running for the Greens? "Give me a reason to believe...":  in politics again after #MeToo. "Running behind...":  way behind ...

My post today is inspired by Richard Rohr's July 27, 2021 Daily Meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation (CAC). A line from today's meditation stands out to me--  Healing Intergenerational Wounds . It is this, " Whether we currently identify as a victim or a victor, we are all wounded."  I think of a line in a fairytale I wrote called, "Stranded on the Mainland" --  "in the end Abby wins!"    I always wondered what does Abby win? What does she want to win? Maybe she wants to win love? Peace? An inter-generational war? Or a seat in the Ontario legislature? Next. I'm reminded of my old Jesuit spiritual director in Downtown Toronto, Fr. Doug McCarthy, S.J.  He once said to me, " If people aren't going to vote they should chuck it in the Green Bin!"  A great line I thought. He was very supportive of me running for office. More so, than me becoming a nun. That said, maybe we can chuck our generational trauma in the green...

It's crazy, the things we can lose at the beach!  That said, r ecently I was reminded of having lost my rosary while swimming at the Town Beach in Parry Sound . Which reminds me of the difficult relationship with my mother. Which reminds me of the last time I saw her. Which reminds me of how long it has been since I've seen her. Which makes me feel on an onslaught of negative emotions. Breathe. Continuing. Some time ago, I travelled to Parry Sound to visit my mother (she is not one to want to visit me).  It was summer, so I suggested we go to the Town Beach to minimize the triggers that come with going "home" (I didn't tell her that). She was luke-warm about the idea but agreed. Next. Fast forward to this I gnatian-style reflection (5 years after the Town Beach visit). Here is the reflection : I am swimming in my black cut off jeans and a T-shirt (rosary in my pocket). The water is shallow, clear and so blue.  It feels cool, refreshing on my skin. The smell is i...

I am dedicating this post today to my neighbours Sharon and Bernice. This week, outside on my apartment building's "front porch," one of my favourite bible study neighbours introduced me to a new friend. Our paths had crossed (this new friend and I) on the street and in the elevator, but we had never struck up a conversation. Now I'm learning this person is deaf. Honestly,  I had wondered if maybe she didn't like me? I told her this! I learned I was wrong!  We've been wearing masks during Covid so she couldn't read my lips.   Next. I am excited to know some ASL signs I can share. But in my excitement, I forget every one of the few signs I'd taught myself during the depths of Covid-lockdown. The only sign I remember is the one for God-- a good sign to remember if you're only going to remember one. Continuing. This unexpected introduction and connection touched me deeply. It filled me with joy. I had been losing my joy this week. Thanks be to Go...

My spiritual director inspired this blog post and new poem below. We spoke yesterday after a difficult press conference held by BC First Nations: It was on the remains of Indigenous children found at a former residential school in British Columbia. The report was tough. So were the presentations afterwards: I was grateful for a chance to "debrief" with Fr. Morgan CSB. In Canada, we are struggling with the remains of Indigenous children being recovered from mass grave sites at former residential schools. That said, I am not Indigenous, but I was deeply moved by stories told by Residential School Survivors at yesterday's powerful press conference.  For me, the hardest and most hopeful story was told by the last survivor who spoke-- residential school survivor, Mona Jules.   Continuing. Mona Jules spoke of taking the "Red Road" to reclaim her identity after residential school abuses. She too is in my poem. I do not understand elder Mona Jules' traumatic expe...

I'm cleaning out all my email files. Wow. You may know, it can take a long time. I'm tackling the following: Inbox: Junk Email: Drafts: Sent Items: Deleted Items: Archive: Quick Access: Desk Top: Downloads: Documents: Pictures: Camera Roll: Email Attachment: and One Drive. I don't think I left anything out? Continuing. There are hundreds upon hundreds of emails and items going back years. Some are nasty. Some are endearing. Some confusing. Some ahard to face. Some make me angry. Some still hurt. Some are encouraging. Some embarrassing. Amazingly, none scare me anymore. It strikes me that going through years of accumulated emails is something akin to "hearing" a whole-life-confession: Secular confession? Sacred email clean up? Cb Amen

"Do we have the confidence to change ourselves and the world around us a little?"  ( To Kiss the Joy, Robert A. Raines, 1973, p. 69). There is growing speculation about Canadian Prime Minster Justin Trudeau triggering a general election soon.  Many who work on campaigns will be hoping for jobs and future job leads on jobs as a result. This is fertile ground for predators. Continuing. I see too many vulnerable women in these jobs. I have seen them deny, or put up with "a little" sexual harassment for the sake of getting and keeping a government job (myself included). We pretend (our friends and loved ones pretend) this is just how it is. That's a lie. And it's part of the confusing political mix when power, winning, and job security are venerated. Next. I want to make an unusual connection between politics, sex and religion. Stay with me. Here goes:  Many Roman Catholic churches practice a devotion known as the Veneration of the Cross on Good Friday. Th...

A few posts ago I wrote about a grocery store cart. Here is more on what the grocery cart inspired. Since moving to the suburbs I take the bus to get my groceries now. It's been quite the undertaking over the past 15 months with a body that's getting older and during a pandemic. Today, I'm thinking of the small space in the front of the grocery cart where a child would sit.  What would that space say to me today if it could speak?  Continuing: How many beautiful, cranky, happy, children have sat in those small spaces? I pray for them all right this minute. For all the mothers and fathers who have pushed those grocery carts. For those who push them now. For those who will. God bless you!  Next. The Irish poet David Whyte must still be having a effect on me. He confirms my deep knowing that for the Irish, we know the inanimate is real and can speak to us (like the grocery cart "spoke" to me). That said, I also like what Orison Swett Marden says about non-humans ...

"Blessed be God who comforts us in all our trials (2 Corinthians 1:3, 4, Night Prayer, p1041, Liturgy of the Hours).  Canada Day 2021 has come and gone.  Thanks to the families in my Scarborough neighbourhood there were fireworks last night. From my balcony I saw several backyard twilight fireworks displays. It was not the spectacular, professional Harbourfront displays of the past, it was a different kind of better.  Next. Last night I also discovered the Irish poet and philosopher David Whyte. How did I not know of him? The gift of God's timing.  I was relieved and delighted to know that David Whyte struggled with an Irish statue too (like I struggled with a statue of a starving pregnant Irish woman at Harbourfront). Whyte kept returning to his statue until she revealed what she had to say to him in a poem. We'll see what happens for me by the end of this post. I will put a link for the David Whyte talk at the end of this post. Continuing. According to Whyte, an...

Last night I gratefully listened to Season 5 Episode 11 of the Sisters of Life "Let Love Lead" podcast.  The conversation between the sisters "fills me up with good things" (Mary's Magnificat). It nudges me out of judgy, negative thoughts. Continuing: Thoughts like-- should I have edited my Canada Day post better? Was it too long?  Should I have focused only on Indigenous peoples?  Should I not have sent it to my nephews?  I could go on.  And trust me I did. Pause. As I listen to the sisters talking something begins to change.  The change starts with the sister's opening question at the beginning of the podcast: "What do you like?" While preparing to make tea in my kitchen this morning, I have an answer: I like opening a new box of tea from my cupboard! I like refilling my grandmother's tea tins.   I like the smell of new tea bags; the  soft feel of them in my hand. I like the first sip of strong hot tea in the morning.   Let love lead on...