 A spoken musing recorded as I prepared for the day. I watch my body change, soften, thicken. Change that might happen over time, that you might expect to see happen over time condensed to this short time of pandemic. It's seems like my body changes with every phase of my life. And while that sounds like an obvious statement I’m not talking every age as you get older things happen, not that change, although that happened too. Puberty at youth, menopause within the last few years. This is different. When Paul was in palliative care and in hospice, I became very thin. Almost as if I was trying to be in a solidarity I could not possibly be with my husband who could no longer eat, who had cancer taking every ounce of calories and nutrition out of his body. I could eat but often didn't simply because of the circumstance of being in the hospital. People fed me, for sure, but I ate much less. And I didn't even notice until the day after he died and I was dressing for the tribute show and I put on a skirt which immediately fell down low on my hips and I was afraid it would not even stay on. And then after that, having the time and also needing to keep busy and to keep active, going to yoga five days a week, I stayed slim but built muscle and became strong. And so during that time I was fit and sculpted. And then pandemic. And for a short time, maybe even as much as 2 months? I say with a question mark. I was able to, or I did, keep up with some amount of exercise with yoga with weight training. And then it just fell away. And here we are hitting the 6 month mark and my body is pillowy. Soft. My thighs, I can feel them rubbing together in a different way. And when I bend over I can feel just the folds of softness in my torso. Oddly enough though, this softening, this shifting of muscle to flesh, has not fleshed out my bosom. I think it was the muscle that was keeping my breasts bright and my bosom has become smaller, flatter, less perky. I don't notice this by way of complaint, it is simply noticing. This is simply wondering about how our bodies respond to and reflect the different phases of our lives. When I was in that liminal time after Paul died and going to yoga I had a sense of open-ness even as I had a sense of unknowing-ness. There were summers where I realized that I did not need to be responsible for anyone but myself. And I could go away and not worry about whether I came home. I started carrying a sleeping bag in the back of my car because of the one weekend that I ended up sleeping under beach towels in the mountains near Squamish. It gets cold in the mountains even on a hot day. And now I'm here and I have a responsibility for my father-in-law who has dementia. And like everyone I've been home. The yoga studio closed and now it's far away even though it's open. And I have not started my own yoga practice, somehow finding that just not . . .something I just haven't been able to do in this moment. We didn't know how long this moment would be. And we really don't really know how much longer it will be. But it seems like after 6 months I'm probably here for a while .... Noticing the change in Bill. Noticing this physical change in myself .... My body holding my life ....
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 Today is my birthday. At no time could I have envisioned my life today. Yet here I am stepping into my 56th year feeling as if I am in the exact right place and moment. Not in my own home, work re-visioned on the fly to respond to the global pandemic, yet offering my highest self through energy, word and image, and care for another. There are moments I feel alone. And moments of deep connection. Moments of challenge. And moments of healing. Last night I sat reflecting on gratitudes. There are many. Life is not an easy path. Its lessons have eaten at the edges. And yet, BEAUTY. Blessed be.  The blueberry bushes in the front yard are at their peak. Every day or so I pick the colander full of the plump, sweet berries. Blueberries embody summer. They taste of sunshine, earth and summer rain, held in juicy sweetness.
The other day while picking, I found a small, perfect feather cupped among the leaves. It looked to be from one of the tiny birds that lives in the neighbours hedge. I am not a birder, but perhaps a wren? I left it there, expecting it would blow away. I had forgotten about the feather when I went picking a few days later. For the second time its presence among the berries surprised and delighted me. This time I saw it as an offering. I accepted the gift and added it to my altar. This morning, out in the back garden, I was startled by a rustling in the peas. This was not wind, it was as if something was in the peas, a critter of some sort, but one that did not run away at my curious approach. It took me a moment to see that there was a wren in the vines. I could see that it was somehow tangled in the netting. As I came back out from the house with a pair of scissors, I stopped to smooth out my energy and ensure it was calm and gentle. Through it I let the wren know that I was coming to help. It stilled, but then beat its wings in an effort to fly away as I came right up to where it was snagged. Slowly I snipped that netting around its foot and wings. It flew up, only to become entangled on the other side. As I released it again, it flew into the netting at the end. I kept thinking of the birds who hit windows because they can’t see the glass. These are consequences of our human ways of doing things. This fine black netting was almost invisible. I clipped that netting and watched as it happened again. This time I took the scissors and cut a big hole in the spot where the wren had last been, opening it up wide. When I once more snipped the netting where it was now ensnared, sister (brother?) wren flew for the hole and was gone. I hold the feather from the blueberries with a new reverence. For a moment I thought it was a gift for helping the wren, that somehow the universe knew about this in advance. But I realize it was given to remind me that we live in symbiosis with all life. My call to healing is not only for my human sisters and brothers, but all of creation. All my relations.  I don't know what ate this leaf. I suspect it's not considered ideal to have something nibbling holes in you. And yet the holes have rendered it extraordinarily beautiful.
I wonder if it's the same for us. I wonder if our ragged edges are beautiful. You wouldn't want so many as to cause irreparable damage, not the whole tree. Just enough to see that it's ok, that we're fine despite our wounds. That in fact, wounds and all we are extraordinarily beautiful. Join my Virtual Healing Circles Monday mornings at 9 a.m. and Thursday evenings at 7 p.m. pacific. Learn more at the Good Vibrations: the Energy of Resilience facebook page, check out the Healing link on this site or drop me a note by e-mail. #semiahmoobay #peacearchbeach #beach #beachwalk #beachlife #pacificocean #sunsets #sunsetphotography #spectacularsunset #nightsky #beautifulsunsets #awesomesunset #urbannature #inspiration #beauty  In the past four months I feel that I have become friends with this beach. I walk it often, camera in hand. It is my sacred honour to capture not only the evident beauty of this place, but also often overlooked beauty. I try to find a way to tell a beautiful story even of that which would seem otherwise – death, loss. The beach is different every day – tides, the coming and going of ocean life such as crabs and seaweed, the plants on the shore cycling through the micro seasons, sun rise, sun set, bright sun, rain, clouds, blue sky. I have sunset pictures from many days, shot within a 20 foot span, and each is different. Often I walk with camera in one hand and a bag in the other picking up the debris left behind by other visitors. While this stretch of beach is only modestly visited by people, our presence is obvious in the garbage left behind. I’ve picked bags of cans, alcohol bottles, a deck of playing cards scattered across the seaweed, plastic, broken items and a myriad of other human made stuff. Toys in good condition found in the sand such as children’s shovels and the odd ball I leave on a log for future visitors. This evening I went to sit with the geese. The place where the little stream flows into the ocean is their gathering spot for the night. I’ve been here with them many times and they seem to accept my presence. I know it is a risk tonight, though. The police have been coming to clear people off the beach the last month or so.  As I sit, I take a few pictures of the geese with the colourful sky of the sunset behind them. Oddly, I can sense the trees behind me beckoning me to step into the hollow under their branches, surrounded by tall grasses and Queen Annes’s Lace. I make my way back, find yet a new way to see the sunset and take a few pictures. The hollow draws me back deeper. There’s a single stock of Queen Anne’s Lace back here behind the overhang of branches. The dappled light of yellow and orange sky that peeks through the leaves makes for a stunning silhouette. As I capture this, I notice the geese shift as one and start to move away. I wonder what has disturbed them and make myself very still. Voices. I quietly shut off my camera, reach for my phone, silence and darken it. Two uniformed male RCMP appear on the foot of the trail, I can see them from below the overhanging foliage. I watch as they look around and move onto the beach. They stop not 20 feet away, directly in front of where I squat. I can hear them talking. I draw in my energy and make myself invisible. A beautiful peace holds me, as if the beach community, the plants and the place, have wrapped me in a bubble of calm. Geese flying overhead to land further down the shore, away from the intruders, sound particularly clear and loud as they call. I feel as if I am breathing in rhythm with the tree, with the energy that surrounds me, my breathe blending with the pulse of the land.  The police are so close to me, can they really not know I’m here? I wonder. I am dressed in a red and black plaid shirt over a red dress. My skin is pale. Not exactly camoflage. But they make no indication that they see me. When they look around it’s as if their gaze just slides past this place. I can hear snippets of the stories they are sharing but try not to listen. From those bits, I know I don’t want to hear this. I reset my intention for invisibility. I feel cloaked by the energy around me. After about 20 minutes, still squatting, my legs and feet begin to cramp. Slowly I stand enough to ease my backside onto the log behind me, watching to see if the movement attracts the attention of the two on the beach. The rustling in the bushes behind me from a night creature moving through the brush seems loud to me. They seem to notice neither. I settle on the log. Another 20 minutes goes by. Most often when they come, the police walk the beach. I wonder why these two just stand in this spot and for so long. Perhaps they figure that by now no one will be here on the beach so they’re simply enjoying a pause. Finally they turn, wondering out loud where the trail marker is. It’s 10 feet to my left. I still myself further as they pass right by me, pause at the marker for one last look and head up the path. I wait another five minutes before I move, taking a few more photos from this vantage before making my way through the growth and back to the open beach. The geese calmly return to their favorite spot as I return to mine. We greet each other silently and then return to our own thoughts, mine of gratitude for this place. Now it is getting dark. I head up the unmarked trail behind me, pausing at the top to check if anyone is there, then make my way home, enjoying the summer night.  Join my Virtual Healing Circles Monday mornings at 9 a.m. and Thursday evenings at 7 p.m. pacific. Learn more at the Good Vibrations: the Energy of Resilience facebook page, check out the Healing link on this site or drop me a note by e-mail. #beach #geese #canadagoose #queenanneslace #spiritual #invisible #gratitude #beachlife #beachwalk #sunset
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Kimiko Karpoffmusings of someone spiritual and oddly religious 
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