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.