Not Soup

We may eat soup for lunch but we are not soup. 

We may have a moment of anger but we are not anger. 

We use the soup in our physical makeup and we use the anger in our emotional and mental landscapes but we are not them. If we hold anger, we are stuffing our energy with something that is more free-moving than that. 

The soup moves through us. And if we let it, the anger can move through us too - blowing over like a summer squall.

Butter Tarts

Mom's recipe. Bring a napkin. 

3-4 tbsp. butter 
1 c. packed brown sugar (brown not yellow) 

1 egg 

1/4 tsp. salt 

A handful of raisins 1/4 to 1/3 c. 

A handful of chopped walnuts 1/4 to 1/3 c. Don't chop too fine, you want a bit of crunch. 

1 tsp. vanilla 

12 tart shells 

Cream together the butter a sugar. They just need to be combined, not beaten. Add egg, salt and vanilla and mix well. Fold in walnuts and raisins. Spoon into the prepared tart shells. 

Bake 450° F on a low rack for 8 minutes. The pastry should be cooked, the tarts browned on top and the filling a bit runny.

Shapes

While outside early one morning, lingering under a tree, I shifted my posture deliberately to see how it affected my state of mind. 

Years ago, our psychic development group explored examples from a book about how posture can change what's going on in our energy. We placed our arms and legs in specific positions at specific angles and quieted ourselves to see what might be changing. 

One position in particular called to me. It was the position I naturally took when I was standing under a tree, listening to spirit. Seeing it in the book made me aware of how I tended to hold my arms. They said "37° angle with the elbow at the axis." I tested their angles and sure enough my arms were just about 37°. Oddly comfortable. But when I adjusted the angle 5° the energy changed. 

The vaulted ceiling in a building of worship isn't just about architecture. The shape itself lends itself to 'upward' thought, the idea of raising our humanity to meet the divine. 

Shapes can make a difference.

Reality Shift

Want a little woo? 

1 
I was driving to town and saw a new house just over a hill. Yet it wasn't there the last time I went by just a few days ago. I do remember the new house, it's just that I remember it being one road over. Same new house, different location. 

2 

Each day for years I walked through a nearby forest, the trail as familiar to me as my face. Along the path was a spot where I loved to pause, the place marked by two old stones. I loved the energy there and paused there often. One day, there were three stones there, not two. The place looked almost the same. The two old stones still sat where they always did, but within a few feet of them was another that had not been there before. I checked the new stone over carefully and saw that it wasn't new at all. Mossy, deeply embedded in the earth, it had clearly been there for ages. 

That meant that I must have been mistaken. Yet I wasn't mistaken. I'd walked that path hundreds of times and the third stone wasn't there until that day. I spent the next few hours trying to convince myself that I must have been mistaken and that there had always been the three stones. There could be countless reasons why I'd made a mistake. Yet, I knew I was right. 

3 

A friend's daughter had been dating a local boy who lived in a red brick farmhouse up the road. They stopped dating, but each time I passed I recognized it as Bill's farmhouse. One day, the house was wood, not brick, white, not red. I pointed it out to my husband, "Look. Bill's house was red brick. They must have sided and painted it white." As you can guess, my husband looked at me like I'd lost my mind and told me that the house had always been white. He's good with details, which made me wonder for a second if I had just remembered it wrong. But I'd passed that spot often over the years. I'd have known. Yet that day the house was white frame. 

It stayed white for years - until about a year ago when I drove by and saw it had changed back to red brick. It wasn't new brick, it had clearly been there for decades, weathered and stained in spots. 

The nature of reality is change. Episodes like this remind me that reality itself is fluid.

One Little Assumption

So I’m noticing a set of tracks in the snow on the trails. “Oh, they have the same springs on their boots as me.” Dog prints nearby. Then after a while, “Oh look their feet are about the same size as mine.” Then after another while, “Their feet walk in the same pattern as me.” 

You can see where this is going. 

It was the dog prints along with them that threw me off. I have no idea how long it took for me to realize they were my footprints from yesterday afternoon, and we’ve had no snow since. Someone’s dog must have followed my tracks. 

One little assumption, the dog, blinded me to the rest.

Love the Problem

If we work from the idea that we are all made out of love, that love is the driving force behind all creation, then it follows that even our difficulties are made out of love. 

So what do we do with that? 

We stop hating it. Of course we want the problem to go away. But if we're hating it, we're giving it energy, we're feeding it. Even the quiet inner hate that keeps us motivated to change things isn't a fire that burns through problems, it's a fire that feeds the hate. 

We may not want to Love the problem with a capital L, but we can approach it with a bit of grace. Or kindness. Or acceptance. Or friendliness.

“This being human is a guest house. Every morning is a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor...Welcome and entertain them all. Treat each guest honorably. The dark thought, the shame, the malice, meet them at the door laughing, and invite them in. Be grateful for whoever comes.”

― Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi

And all that energy we were spending on hating the problem is now available for us to enjoy the 100 little pleasures in each day.

A Little Silence

At this time of year in my corner of the planet, parents and children are readying themselves for a new school year. New routines. New schedules. Busy busy busy. As life begins to speed up again after vacations and summer pleasures, it can be hard to find a minute of peace and quiet.

Yet this is when we need it.

It's not hard. All that's required is a desire to relax deeply and turn off the world for a little while. No music. No conversation. All that's needed is a willingness to meet awareness itself – that bright, deep, quiet place where we really live.

Yet for some reason, there's always an excuse to avoid it. No time. And then there's the fact that for many of us, doing nothing feels like a guilty pleasure. We have been so deeply programmed to believe that idle time is unproductive, or that idle hands lead to mischief, we forget that those idle moments are the ones that bring new insight, deep rest, and fresh energy. We forget that silence brings us into the presence of something greater.

In that bright, deep, quiet place, joy rises. Not the superficial joy that might come with an expensive car, or an understanding spouse, or a dog that doesn't pee on the carpet. It goes deeper. It carries us farther. It nourishes and inspires us. As Jane Goodall says, in "Reason for Hope": "And now, if I am sad, or filled with sudden rage, I find some quiet place with grass and leaves and earth, and sit there silently, and hope that they will come and call me with their silvery voices, and make me clean again, those little angels of the trees and flowers."

And, if that's not enough, when we leave that quiet corner, it spills over into everyday life. Appreciation rises effortlessly for the things that are in our life – a new feeling of generosity towards that old beater that carries us to work each day – a new tenderness towards the old dog, even as you mop up the wet spot. New qualities of respect and acceptance unfold naturally.

All that, just from a few minutes of silence a day.

Control

In my readings for myself, I see the ‘Control’ card often when life is stressful or things are changing fast and I feel like I have nothing to hold onto.

 The best thing to do at these times, is of course, to surrender and let a greater force direct traffic for a while. Yet when I am stressed, that’s the last thing I want to do. My impulse is to tighten my grip. I mean, things could go wrong if I'm not right there to manage them, couldn't they? Others may not understand as thoroughly as I do just what is at stake if things go wrong. 

Well they probably don't understand, but letting go of control is the right thing to do anyway. Even if it means things get messy or go wrong.

It's a blessing to see the 'control' card come up. It gives me pause. What am I hanging onto that needs to be seen? Sometimes it's something as small as the arrangements for a visit or the formatting of this blog post. Sometimes it's big, like trying to manage a loved one's pain. I care about them. Of course I'm going to lean and do what I can. And if the results come up well, I can feel good about it all.

But if it's not coming together, I need perspective. Joanna Macy said, “Learn to trust. You are only a small part of a much larger process, like a nerve cell in a neural net.”

A single nerve cell in a neural net. 

When I feel the tension seeping in, this image helps me find perspective. My little bit is important, but there are powers greater than me who have a say too. When I can pause, the energy loosens right up. It lets in fresh air. 

I don't have to do it all, even if I secretly hope that I, of my own effort, can change the course of the universe. 

Itching for Resolution

There's not much I like better than resolution.

I want friendships to end on a positive note. I like happy endings or at least complete endings in movies and stories. I like puzzles solved, projects completed and the dishes tidied up after a meal.

I'm not alone. Some songs deliberately bring you to the point where you are on edge, waiting for the final notes to play and when they do, you get the payoff. Movies, novels, all are the same.

Years ago, a rock station on the radio played Handel's Messiah on Christmas morning. I love rock and I love classical, so I enjoyed it enormously. Until the clueless DJ moved into commercial during the long pause before the final Amen was sung. It would be going too far to say I was outraged. But it really set my teeth on edge.

Leaving us hanging can make us edgy. Unless we're aware that this sense that something is unfinished is why we're uncomfortable, we can carry that edge around with us like an itchy sweater.

And some people will exploit that. Advertisers will pique our interest in a product they are promoting by leaving us hanging very gently. Posters will go up for a movie they're promoting that raise more questions than they answer. They have to be careful, though. They don't want us to be too uncomfortable, just arouse our curiosity.

Some artists and poets will deliberately leave us hanging - their work designed to evoke emotional unease.

The energy of dissonance all by itself is uncomfortable enough and often can't be avoided. But we can intensify the unease when we add

• expectation (that the puzzle has a solution) or
• anticipation (of the promised payoff) or
• entitlement (that we deserve the payoff)

The sweater gets much itchier.

So it helps to be aware when we are itching for resolution. Then we can see it for what it is and decide where to go from there.

Sometimes it's easy. For Messiah, I pulled out my own recording and listened to the last track again, including the final Amen.  (Hey, it really bugged me.) If I hadn't had a copy of the music, I could have hummed it in my head. The same goes for that desire to go back and finish high school, or that bit of unfinished trim in the bathroom. Sometimes we can just get to it and see that it gets done.

Sometimes it's not so easy. Dirty dishes in the sink may have to stay there for days if we are too busy to do them. The trick there is to see that choosing to resolve it later is kind of a resolution in itself. It's not just hanging there - it's been decided. This can take the edge off because we have decided to defer the payoff.

But sometimes there is no possible resolution. Life is full of unanswered questions, incomplete stories, unresolved relationships and sad endings.

The poets and artists and musicians who deliberately leave us hanging could be doing us a favour. They give us a chance to explore that edgy feeling, to see what dissonance feels like in our body and emotions. And when we explore it openly and really become aware of it, we often find out that the dissonance is quite oddly pleasant, in a weird way - it feels bad in a good way. It's the expectation, anticipation and entitlement that we add to that awkward sensation that transforms it into a deeply itchy sweater.

So the next time some clueless DJ leaves me hanging before the song is really over, rather than reaching for my own copy of the music, maybe I will linger a little while in dissonance. Maybe I'll see how much of the itch is the feeling itself and how much is my desire for resolution.

One Bad Apple

One bad apple will spoil the whole barrel. Walking along, letting a worried thought, or an unresolved problem linger as I walk through the forest is just the same thing. The fresh breeze is a bit less fresh. The scent of food smells a bit less delicious. The memory of a friend dims.

So toss out the bad apple, and settle in the whole experience, the fresher, more delicious, sweeter experience. It's literally more wholesome.

Our Thoughts Create Our Reality

If we are lucky, we come across this truth at a time when we can take it in.

It's the very first verse in the Dhammapada. "With our thoughts, we make the world. Speak or act with an impure mind and trouble will follow you as the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart. ... Speak or act with a pure mind and happiness will follow you as your shadow, unshakeable."

In this picture of a willow tree blowing in the wind, I can't see the wind, but I can see its effects. If my thoughts are full of one complaint after another, I may not see the thoughts, but I can see the anger and confusion in my daily life. If my thoughts are sweeter, I may not see the thoughts, but I see the positive effects.

Our approach to life shifts when we understand this truth. How we live is never the same again.

Life gets better.

The Inner Pulse of Nature

The hotel where I stayed for a few days is right in the heart of Toronto, surrounded by glass towers, every surface nearby covered with concrete. Yet they have 30 foot high trees growing from the 3rd floor poolside, and they have an open air waterfall garden that is home to sparrows.

As I looked out from my window to the trees down below, I marvelled that they can hold the same wonderful energy as trees 'in the wild.' Surely this strong man-made environment must somehow deplete or taint the natural energy of the trees. I watched them and felt them, to see what differences I felt. What I discovered was that they still carry the deep vital energy and joy of the living tree. Nothing was missing.

On reflection, I realized that trees in the wild are never 100% perfection. They have to deal with forces beyond their control and conditions that may not suit their optimal growth. Even in untouched-by-man wilderness.

I took my observations farther and got a sense of the concrete and metal and glass. I discovered that even the 'non-living' environment of concrete carries some of its previous natural energy – the lime and the stone and the water that made it bring together a man-made energy signature that is very similar to the old, deep unfathomable and wonderful energy of ancient rock. I get the same strong sense of depth in the heart of the city as I do when I drive north of Toronto and stand on the ancient rock of the Canadian Shield.

Maybe it's what we pay attention to that matters. If I'm wishing there was a better concrete-to-tree ratio then I might miss the life of the concrete, I might miss the joy in the trees planted so far from the ground. Perhaps sensing the inner pulse of nature in the heart of the city helps me remember we're not as far from nature as we might think.


(first posted July 2011 for the Starry Night Ezine)

Recipe: Spanish Bar

Spanish Bar 

A recipe that comes as close as I can remember to the cake we got at the A&P when we were kids. Of course memory can not be trusted. This may actually be better.

Ingredients

3/4 c raisins

water

1/4 c oil or melted butter

1/2 c applesauce

1 egg

1/2 c sugar

1/4 c brown sugar

pinch salt

1 c flour

1/2 tsp cinnamon 

3/4 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp nutmeg

1/8 tsp cloves

Frosting:

Combine and beat until creamy

¼ c (57g) butter

1½ c icing sugar

1½ TBSP cream or milk

I tsp vanilla

Pour boiling water over raisins to plump them a bit - 5 min or so, drain and pat dry

Preheat oven to 350° spray or line a loaf pan ( 7.5"x3.5" bottom measure )

Combine flour, baking soda, spices and salt

Combine butter, applesauce & sugars, add egg & mix well

Combine dry and wet ingredients just until combined

Mix in raisins

Pour in pan 

Bake 40-45 minutes


When cool, split horizontally to make 2 layers

Frost between the layers, and stack. Then frost the top. Use fork tines to make a striped mark lengthwise.

Trails

The forest has changed a lot over the years. Trails the kids opened up decades ago grew over once the kids became interested in other things. New trails were made. They too got blocked or overgrown when nobody was using them.

I made some new trails myself. I find it deeply satisfying. I enjoy the air and the scents and the crows and the physical effort of cutting a dead branch and seeing a new way open up.

When we had a bad ice storm at the end of March 2025, a lot of local trees came down. All my usual trails were blocked, some partially, some permanently. I grieved a bit. But I also remembered how the trails have come and gone over the years.

"It's just like life," I thought, as I strugged to shift a fallen branch. Old ways sometimes need to be abandoned or bypassed. Old habits, old beliefs, old relationships. Sometimes we need to find new ways through.

I take it gently when opening new trails. I don't force through anywhere. I'm not making a Roman road. I look for animal trails and use their intelligence to guide me. They always choose the safest and easiest route. It feels like it's aligning with the forest.

There will be other storms in the future. The trails I open today will again be blocked, and new ways will have to be found. But for today, I can delight in turning a corner and seeing something new.

Coconut Cookies

Coconut Chocolate Chip Cookies

This started off as a snickerdoodle recipe and has been a favourite in the house often. They're dangerous.

Makes 24

Ingredients:

1/2 c. (114 g.) butter

1/4 c. white sugar

1/2 c. brown sugar (I use dark brown sugar, not the yellow stuff.)

1 egg

1 tsp. vanilla extract (I use vanilla bean paste)

pinch salt

1 1/4 c. (170 g.) flour

1 tsp. cream of tartar

1/2 tsp. baking soda

1 1/2 c. (155 g.) flaked coconut (I don't care if it's sweetened or not but flaked works nicest.)

3/4 c (150 g.) chocolate chips (I like dark better than semi-sweet or milk for this)

Optional Ingredients:

The chocolate chips were optional at first but not any more.

You could use white chocolate chips instead,

or nuts

or a bit of coconut extract for more flavour.

or roll in coconut

Yes I know. Grams and Cups, but I am Canadian. We use Celsius instead of Fahrenheit and Pounds instead of Kilograms. We're all over the place.

Directions:

- cream butter and both sugars together

- add egg and vanilla and salt and mix well

- in another bowl combine dry ingredients: flour, tartar, soda

- add dry mixture to the butter mixture and mix well

- mix in the chocolate chips and coconut

- I divide the dough into 24 pieces at this point, roll the pieces gently and place them in the fridge to cool for at least 30 minutes.

- heat the oven to 400° F

- set out 2 baking sheets, and divide the chilled batter 12 to each sheet

- bake 7 1/2 to 8 minutes, one cookie sheet at a time, and rotating half-way through so they bake evenly.

Heart of Gold

Today's mantra: "She has a heart of gold"

I'm using this because we have a decades old unresolved thing that may never be resolved. Usually, when my attention turns to her, my mind clicks in, attempting to develop better understanding or approaches or generally to fix this thing that is not ready to be fixed or may never be fixed. But by using this mantra, I can cut through all that think-y malarkey to what really counts. And let my energy steep in the truth of it. She really does. And my heart can be satisfied with that. 

From the Archives (Part 2)

From the Starry Night archives: some old stories or blog posts I found that, even if a bit outdated, seemed fitting for today's times. Here they are in no special order:

We Need Dancing Shapes

"In the past, people would stare into the fire for hours when they wanted to think. Or stare at the sea. The endless dancing shapes and patterns would reach far deeper into our minds than we could manage by reason and logic.

— Douglas Adams"

More than ever, it seems, we do need dancing shapes and quiet moments to lift us and carry us.

Vardøger

"For years my daughter and I experienced vardøger when my husband, Tom, was about to come home from work. We would hear his car in the lane about 10 minutes before it actually arrived. Since we never knew when he'd be finished work or arrive, this signal made it easy to shift from one activity to another during that 10 minute interval."

Remembering these times opens me up a bit more to the joy of mysteries.

Should-less Days

"'Should' is a word we use too much. It always signals an inner conflict between the expectations around us (even our own) and what life wants us to do. Maybe by giving ourselves more should-less days, we can learn to trust that flow of life."

When I hear myself saying I should or I should not do something, I ask myself if this is really true any more. It's usually not.

Janet's 5 Rules of "NO"

"No, without apology.

No, without explanation.

No, without leaving room for negotiation.

No, without fear of consequences.

No, without hard feelings."

It's still hard for me to say 'no' when it'd be wiser to. But I am getting better at it.

Simple Human Pleasure

"The iridescent colours of a bird in the sunlight, a sweet cinnamon scent from the kitchen, the shocking delicious taste of a cold beer on a scorching hot day, the melody of church bells carried across the fields. These are all pleasures of the senses, pleasures of our very humanity. And they all give our spirit a lift. Our body is not a shell that encases our spirit, it is the living breathing presence of our spirit. And our spirit delights in delight."

We are in and of this world. Let's take joy in it.

Support

What do we do when the usual supports are missing?

The daily dog videos that warmed my heart are now spotty.
Family moved away just when his health started to fail.
Forest trails got obliterated by storms.
Many valued news sources are no longer trustworthy.
When these are gone what's left?

Gratitude.

We see our blessings and take time to acknowledge them.
We find peace in the everyday.
We find beauty in the simple.
Other supports will open up.
Friends we didn't know we had will step in with kindness.
Things change.

Respect

Ok before you all get snippy about regional differences, I realize that endearments like "Sweetie" or "Dear" are often used as a throw-away salutation. The cashier at the grocery store may toss it my way to connect in a mildly affectionate way. 

I'm not talking about that here. I'm talking about disrespect.

When I was a kid, one of my mother's friends called me "Dearie." I hated it. It felt demeaning. And dishonest; I wasn't dear to her, I was just her friend's kid. One of my Dad's friends called me "Girlie." Oh I hated that even more. He viewed me not as a person but as an object. I got the same kind of thing when I was unwell. Most of the staff were the best, but then there were the ones who raised their voices, spoke in simple words, and called me "Sweetheart" or "Dear." I was already unwell, and that made me feel worse. 

Ok so it may be a pet peeve of mine.

But that kind of language elevates one person and diminishes the other. As a kid I felt it acutely. As an adult I cut them more slack, but it all still made me feel somehow lower.

In this article "Nuns model skillful ways to speak to ill seniors" the caregivers avoid Elderspeak - a loud, slow, simple, patronizing and common form of baby talk for seniors. "They value a person in a sort of inherent way," so they don't talk down to them. Humour, patience, and kindness are better ways to communicate as equals. And the patients respond accordingly.

Respect and dignity need a level playing field. 

Blame

I did a quick reading for myself when someone I love blamed me for not doing what she thought I should.

ISSUE
Chaotic energy: a conflict or turf war, a family battle. It's is a her problem and not a me problem. She may want me to wade in, but I can choose not to.

BLOCK
I can not influence what she thinks or believes or feels. That belongs to her. I can have compassion, but I can not change her mind. That hurts.

ACTION
I will never have her approval. Let the truth of that sink in. It is time to accept the loss, release myself from the entanglement and spend my emotional energy on something more satisfying.