THE BEST HOLIDAYS are HOLY DAYS -- Memoir

Text and Image

© Copyright 2017 by Neall Calvert

"House of Jewels" (c) 2017 by N. C.

I

 USED TO OVERWORK AND NOT TAKE VACATIONS. One spring a few years ago I’d been busy for months editing books, selling my photographs, and performing music for the first time . . . okay, I was actually addicted to work—I couldn’t unhook.

Hard work (along with thriftiness, family togetherness and the church) is a cornerstone of the Mennonite faith in which I grew up. The Protestant work ethic was so important that, in some homes, emotional and physical violence were not considered too-strong measures to instill this ‘value’ in children. My prayers to Jesus at age 14 to get me far away from my victimizing, unhappy family had been answered when, at age 20, I got a job 5,000 kilometres away. I returned only occasionally. 

After my father—the most obvious offender—died (when I was 46, and had become tired of city life), I lived on my mother's 10-acre farm for two years and got to know her again. I became aware of her contentment, her love of nature, and her consideration for others in her extensive social network. I introduced her to the benefits of animal companionship by bringing a kitten I found beside the road into the house (it spent many hours on her lap during her bereavement). One day she said to me, "You have the Christ light in your eyes," so at last I felt seen as a spiritual being rather than a so-called 'religious person'.

Sadly, many Mennonites in my growing-up experience seemed to be out of touch with their bodies. They continued working until something, either physically or mentally, broke. Mistrustful of the medical and psychological worlds, they avoided seeking help till the last possible moment. Even in the late stages of the 20th century, one Mennonite man, a carpenter, recounted to me as if it were an everyday experience how his wife awoke one night to find him, standing up while still asleep, pounding unseen nails into the bedroom wall with an invisible hammer. . . . Overwork? Stress? No, not here.

Though I couldn’t afford a distant excursion this year, I realized that the main reason I hadn’t been taking journeys out of town was the lack of a partner. “So why don’t I have companionship for adventurous holidays?” I asked myself.

Awakening the next morning with the words “Granville Island” on my mind, I set as my destination this artistic community surrounded by water in the middle of the city of Vancouver. First, though, I decided to have an hour-long hot bath. After all, I was building a holiday state of mind—a state free from fear or worry. The long soak (with Epsom salts that pull tension out of the muscles) is useful for generating creative ideas too. In my search for wellness I had discovered that when my body deeply relaxes, so does my mental apparatus, and in that state I become receptive to fresh thoughts and ideas.

In the tub I continued to contemplate why I had no female companion, and afterwards, putting on my jacket, I recalled a stimulating two-year relationship with a sun-filled woman, a time that had included a seven-week vacation in Europe; we had separated five years earlier. I suddenly realized I had never forgiven her for leaving me. (My mind had now relaxed and moved out of the repetitive track called “But you’ve got to earn a living!”) Then, quickly, one after another, pictures of other women I had had relationships with assembled in my mind like a stack of playing cards—all waiting to be forgiven.

I faced a nearly impossible task, it seemed. My mind, however, had a solution: spend a whole day (or more) repeating “I forgive you” nonstop while holding each ex-partner in my thoughts; that would lay the necessary groundwork for future female companionship.

During the thirty-minute bus ride to Granville Island I started silently chanting my “I forgive you” mantra. I continued while beginning my walk in sunny, breezy weather and while stopping to watch children at the water park laughing and screaming with delight as they romped through the various fountain configurations or sprayed each other with hoses and water cannons . . . “I forgive you . . . I forgive you . . .”

I strolled to the eastern tip of Granville Island, past the old foundries that had become artisans’ shops and art galleries, along the boardwalk beside the marina crammed with deluxe motor yachts . . . “I forgive you . . . I forgive you . . . ,” past the hotel and its outdoor restaurant, empty at this hour, past the neat row of rectangular floating homes, their decks decorated with emerald-green shrubs and hanging petunia baskets . . . “I forgive you . . . I forgive you . . .”

I moved on to the art school named after Emily Carr where I stopped in to visit the gallery, then strolled by boutiques and restaurants bearing names like Dragonspace and Kharma Kitchen . . . “I forgive you . . . I forgive you. . . .” I finally got to the huge, high-ceilinged public market with its cornucopia of vegetables and fruits and its art and craft displays and began catching whiffs of baked goods, seafood and fresh-ground coffee. My repetitive chant was in its third hour as, at a Greek food stand, I bought a falafel sandwich for its tasty filling of deep-fried, spiced chickpea patties, tomatoes, lettuce and tzatziki sauce comprised of yogurt, garlic and cucumbers.

Stepping outside to eat in the sunshine, from my perch on a picnic bench I watched sail and power boats lazily motoring back and forth beneath the steel truss work of Art Deco–styled Burrard Bridge. A siren sounded from beyond the bridge and then a powerful red-and-white crash boat from Kitsilano Coast Guard Station sped out to sea.

Closer to me, seagulls and starlings successfully begged for handouts and a young man in a striped T-shirt shouted, in that raucous song unique to dog owners, “Cisco—here boy! Cisco—here boy! Cisco—here boy! . . .” I looked around and located his dog three metres beneath the dock we stood on, violating all notions of animal intelligence by eagerly struggling to drag out of False Creek’s salty-smelling brine a five-metre waterlogged plank.

The youth’s hollering continued as I scanned the enormous outside deck of sunflower-bright Bridges Restaurant, full of sunning customers. Relative quiet suddenly manifested, so I looked over and then gave thanks that Cisco, who moments ago had seemed to be nowhere, was now here.

My chanting now began to take on a different quality, I noticed. My voice had strangely become more feminine—and it seemed to be taking on a life of its own. What is happening here? I puzzled. I realized slowly, hard as it was to believe, that I was no longer the speaker, rather a listener—some voice besides my own was now uttering the phrase that I had been repeating for several hours!

“I forgive you . . .” it was saying, and then: “I forgive you for anything you need to say to me, or about me, for the way I raised you. I forgive you. Any hatred, anger or resentment you need to express, I forgive you for right now. The slate is clean from my end, Neall. I forgive you.”

My committed Christian mother, who had unexpectedly died of a stroke three months before (at age 82 and in the midst of a widow’s romance with a fellow churchgoer, age 81) was leaving me her last words. In response, tears fell—cleansing, redeeming tears—and more than a few. . . . And then, since today I was claiming time as my friend, I sat for another half hour, embracing my new clarity, sense of connectedness and inner peace. 

“Holy day” is what the word “holiday” once meant. My day had proved itself true to that original definition.

NEW YEAR'S EVE with a STRANGER -- Memoir

 

 

[ * There are 18 pieces of writing on the mystical path in this blog:
essays, articles and poems. The "blog archive" or Table
of Contents is located below the tall, narrow image at left.
Click on a white triangle to open it. * ]

 

 

'Fresh Snow, Fresher Air'     © 2017 by N. C.

 

© Copyright 2017 by Neall Calvert

ON NEW YEAR'S EVE AT DINNERTIME I realized I no longer wanted to attend a party fifteen kilometres across the city. This year, the spirit of the holiday season and I hadn't connected. Right until the last minute I had debated, then chosen solitude and an hour-long walk through uncommon snow and crisp temperatures.

I got underway around ten-thirty, and halfway along my scheduled route through southwest Vancouver (Canada) my eyes were drawn to an ornamented second-storey balcony. Beneath a colourful, warm halo cast by Christmas lights stood a tall row of glowing figures. It was the Pantheon of Christmas: At either end a big lit-up Santa; then, towards the middle, white, golden-haired angels blowing trumpets; next, two radiant Frosty the Snowmans; then gigantic red plastic candles with imitation yellow flames; and in the centre, a bearded Joseph and a Mary with the Christ child on her lap. 

Taking in the figures, I began to relax. It seemed that everyone important was here: Santa, the twinkle-eyed supervisor of a massive annual festival dedicated to gift-giving; the angels, trumpeting a promise of joy; Frosty, the plump, smiling sojourner demonstrating the possibility of happiness despite life’s impermanence; lit candles, symbols of the eternal light within us; and the holy family, reminders of innocence, caring and sacredness. The Christmas season wouldn’t be the same if any one of them were missing . . . I seemed unable to look away.

At last I moved on, but fifty yards down the street another walker caught up with me. I thought he would overtake me and continue on, but he kept pace, and then began speaking. Given the personal quality of the things he was recounting without any prompting, the situation seemed strange, so I kept moving steadily. My duffel coat’s hood, warding off the cold, kept me from seeing his face. The stranger walked by my side speaking nonstop as I traversed my usual route through the neighbourhood. At each successive intersection I expected he would break off to make his way home, but I was mistaken.

There was no continuity to his stories. As soon as he finished one he would begin another. They were linked only by a voice that—at age thirty, I guessed—held considerable resonance and charm.

The man spoke of being seated with his father, who had since died, in the elegant Orpheum Theatre in Vancouver years ago, listening to a huge Ukrainian bandura orchestra playing Cossack music, and witnessing for the first time his father weeping; of hearing an interview with Yul Brynner in which the famous actor declared that making the movie Taras Bulba about the Cossack leader had changed his life; of how healthy it would be to live out under the great blue sky, as the Cossacks had done, rather than in a busy city.

Several times the man asked why we don’t appreciate what we have, when we have it. Why do we always need to move on, and try to get more? He spoke of blissful childhood memories from Winnipeg, and wondered why one had to let go of one’s innocence in adulthood. He mentioned he would be visiting his mother in the hospital again tomorrow. He spoke of giving to people through volunteering, and wondered if he was giving too much to others, and not enough to himself.

By now, due to the warmth in his voice, I had begun to occasionally respond. The fellow speculated whether one needed to accept the world as it was in order to be at peace with oneself, or whether one needed to try to change it, even though that might be difficult and exhausting.

We left the quiet residential area and approached the busy intersection of 70th Avenue and Granville Street, where I intended to get a snack at the Marpole 7-Eleven. I tried to disengage—with no luck. The man kept right on talking. And something about the resounding, clear tone in his voice was keeping me entranced.

At one point there was a disturbance behind me—shouting and the footsteps of someone running. Just part of the evening’s festivities, I thought—even when a car door slammed and a maroon Corolla, tires howling as they spun wildly, flew right by us, then screamed out of the parking lot into the street, fishtailed and disappeared.

I finally insisted it was time to eat something. When I entered the store, I saw that it was in complete disarray: Shelves of foodstuffs had been trashed; postcards and boxes of soft drinks lay scattered across the floor. The woman clerk, her eyes wide with fear, stood transfixed two metres back from the counter. The male clerk took care of the few customers, several of whom were speaking animatedly on cell phones.

A broken wooden baseball bat lay on the counter. It was the weapon with which a man had just destroyed sections of the store. He had then threatened a customer with it and demanded his car keys. The miscreant had then taken off with the car—the one that had sped by less than a metre away from Orest and myself.

That was the stranger’s name: Orest. He lived six kilometres away, he had said, and tonight he was “riding the buses” and would continue doing so for a while yet. (Public transportation is free here on New Year’s Eve from five o'clock till the end of service.)

When I returned outside bearing nachos with steaming hot cheese sauce, Orest was still there. I said I had just two more blocks to go. He walked me right to my door, and since it was now eleven forty-five and I wanted to spend the transition to the New Year at midnight quietly, I was firm in stating that I would be going. We shook hands.

Only on New Year’s Day did the events of the previous evening sink in. . . . Had I not—fascinated by the unusual qualities in Orest’s voice and his heartful, stream-of-consciousness wordplay—been standing outside the 7-Eleven, I would have been inside, and in danger, just when the frenzied malefactor had been ransacking it.

Bless you, Orest, guardian angel, wherever you will ride this New Year’s Eve.

*     *     *

QUICK WISDOM: WORDS and IDEAS that MAY HELP at MIDLIFE

QUICK WISDOM

Words and Ideas 
That May Help at Midlife

  Images and all unattributed lines  
© Copyright 2024 by Neall Calvert

Goldfish Glow  (c) 2018 by Neall Calvert
(No goldfish were harmed in the taking of this picture.)

      

      "The wisdom 
            with which we live

                  the first half of our lives   

                        is insufficient 

                              to get us through 
                                    the second half."

                                    [ thank you, Naomi Moseley—

                   www.intimacytraining.com ]

     The ones who most successfully navigate midlife

              are those who reinvent themselves.

 

               [ thank you, Gail Sheehy—

                www.gailsheehy.com/bio.php ]

   "The primary task of the second half of life
        is the recovery of personal authority, 

        namely, to discover what is true for oneself,
        and finding the courage to live it."

        [ thank you, James Hollis—
           www.jameshollis.net/ ]
 











           "The pain pushes you

                 until the vision pulls you."

                   [ thank you, Rev. Michael Beckwith—

                    www.agapelive.com ]

     Nature wants us to be here, 

               to revel in its magnificence.

               A is for ATTITUDE

      Miserable again?

            Mad, sad, bad or glad

                  —choices.

                        Try some gladitude!

                         [ Thank you, 
                                  Rev. Angelica Jayne Taggart ]

"When you're feeling

         lower than a toad on mowing day

                  don’t hunker down—reach out."

                      [ thank you, [Texan] Landon Saunders—

                        www.landonsaunders.org ]

       Call no one hero who has not 

               opened their heart.

      Embraos the chaos—

            full catastrophe living.

               [ thank you, Jon Kabat-Zinn—

                http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jon_Kabat-Zinn ]

The purpose of illness and accidents

is to teach a greater perspective on life.










Feeling conflicted or fearful?
No dilemma—Dalai Lama.

      To get the love you want, you have to give it.

           [ thank you, Chuck Spezzano—

            www.psychologyofvision.com ]

                You can’t 'take Heaven by storm’ . . .

                         Heaven is a hierarchy of love.   

          

          Feeling insecure? Too small? Too big?—
                Become spiritual. As a spiritual 
                      person / soul being, we are the equal
                            of anyone on the planet.












Nowadays, millions live like kings;

       fewer act like kings—

              for the good of the realm.

               I forgive the part of me
                     that judges the addicted part of me.

      There is only one fear:

            of the unknown—the darkness—

                             within me.













          It is time the world took its inner eye
          away from an angry God and set it toward
          'Him who healeth all diseases, 
          who redeemeth the life 
          from destruction . . .'

                       [ Thank you, Emma Curtis Hopkins,
                           in High Mysticism, ca. 1910 ]

      










Stress-relief choice:

holiday or hospital.

                     ENDING ANGER

       Give people your peace of mind

       Rather than a piece of your mind.

            INSIGHT UPON LEAVING

            THE BUDDHIST TEMPLE

              FOR THE FIRST TIME

I had thought that because I was suffering

         I needed to be alone, but actually it was being alone

                 that was most of the suffering.

      Misery has a purpose:

             It teaches me

                    to find my joy.

      Loneliness is

             a spiritual disconnect

                    whose solution lies
                           in more solitude
                                  rather than

                                         more socializing.

      When you’re doing what you love,

              no matter where you are,

                      you’re in sacred territory.

                          H.A.L.T.!

       Never buy or sell anything Big

             when you’re feeling

                   Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired.

                         [ thank you, D.A.—
                          http://debtorsanonymous.org/ ]

STILLNESS

is 

BIGGER

than

ILLNESS.

"Membership in a society, tribe, nation, church
or other group is of the utmost importance,
since it represents support and protection
without which the single individual 
can only manage with difficulty, 
if at all."

 

[ thank you, Emma Jung 
& Marie-Louise von Franz
—in The Grail Legend (p. 76) ]

"Trauma, if it doesn’t destroy us, wakes us up 

both to our own relational capacities and to 

the suffering of others. Not only does it make 

us hurt, it makes us more human, caring, 

and wise."

[ Thank you, Mark Epstein, M.D., 

psychiatrist, author and Buddhist,

The Trauma of Everyday Life, p. 203

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Epstein-MD/201450013207216 ]

       











"We don’t see the world as it is,

             we see the world as we are."

                    [ thank you, Anaïs Nin—
                     http://www.anaisnin.com/home.html ]

       "Sometimes what appears as love is merely passion

             and what appears as friendship is really love."
  
                  [ thank you, Ed Varney—            
                  British Columbia graphic artist and poet ]

      "Our greatest glory lies not in never falling

              but in rising each time we fall."

                [ thank you, Confucius—
                 http://www.confucius.org/ ]

         

          A headache is not 
          an aspirin-deficiency 
          condition.

                BUMPER STICKER:

                No Jesus, No Peace
                Know Jesus, Know Peace

          They don’t care 
                how much you know
                      until they know 
                           how much you care.

                                  [ Thank you, John C. Maxwell ]

        Love dissolves problems
               or doesn’t create them 
                       in the first place.          

“The older you are, the more humbled
you’ve probably been. Our mistakes can help
prepare us further. . . . Sometimes it’s when we feel
that we have failed or made mistakes that
can’t be corrected and we think it is all over for us
that God looks at us and says:
‘Can we start now?’"

[ Thank you, Marianne Williamson 

(speaking at the launch of her book
The Gift of Change)—http://marianne.com/ ]

          The only revolution

                 I want to start

                        brings down the walls

                               around the human heart.

To live in Heaven 
while still on Earth,
see everything in the world 
through the eyes of love.

OMG!

The longing for belonging,

the longing to be celebrated

and the longing for inner peace

can all be satisfied when we

discipline ourselves to discover

a relationship with a ready-and-steady, 

 

reaching-and-teaching, demonstratively 

 

compassionate Higher Power—

a connection for which is hardwired 

 

into every human brain.

∞






To read Neall’s book
in progress:

"THROUGH TO THE NEW:
A Dialogue with Higher Self:

Transforming Hopelessness and Despair
through Unconditional Love," go to

neallcalvert2.blogspot.ca/2010/12/through-to-new-dialogue-with-higher.html

Fifth Avenue Diamond (c) by Neall Calvert






To see the full set of Neall Calvert’s 
mandala photographs, go to:

www.flickr.com/photos/neallcalvert/sets/72157625165883511/