Fires Worth Spreading

Fire sparks other fires without losing itself in the event. Fire is not limited. It sparks more of itself, and yet retains its own energy and light.

Some of our spiritual fires are burning so low -- are so cluttered and watered down -- that it can take a profound interruption to re-light. How do we rekindle our own fire, our spirit -- that energy within, that propels us forward in our life?

I imagine we each rekindle in different ways, sparked by what lights us up, what feeds us spiritually. So then our job becomes to discover what those experiences are, and to cultivate them. To create opportunities to feed our own fires, so that we radiate out and light the spark for others.

To clear the spiritual junk, gather our own kindling and dry wood for our life -- and to keep it burning with plenty of oxygen. Sounds like the kind of fire worth spreading.

Upside Down

I made an upside-down fire the other day -- logs on the bottom, paper and kindling on top. It went against every natural instinct to form it this way. Forty years of building a traditional log cabin or teepee style. I'd seen this upside-down method done successfully, so kept going despite it feeling so wrong. I lit the paper and kindling on top, and it went up in a flare, as if the cake icing was infused with alcohol. And then it slowly and beautifully burned down through the middle of the logs. It's a unique and stunning burn, holding the fire within the solid foundation. And it lasts for hours -- it's resilient and independent. I'm converted -- something out of my view, and against the grain of tradition, now my new normal. How often we delete ways of doing things that don't match the way we've always done it.

*And found this great blog post from Tim Ferris on Upside Down Fires: 
https://tim.blog/2009/02/02/how-to-build-an-upside-down-fire/

Ripped Apart

In 2006, I remember walking past this home in India that had a 6 inch slice right up the middle of the front of the building. It looked like a giant had reached down and ripped the house in two. The building itself looked almost new -- shiny exterior, fresh windows. The split in between was rough -- there was material hanging off the sides in the gap as if it had been haphazardly torn apart. There was a man standing in front of the gap holding a saw working his way through the structure of the home. I stopped and was so curious what was happening. He turned to me, and I asked him what was happening. He said that he owned this house with his brother, that they'd had a disagreement that could not be resolved, so they went to court, and the judge ordered them to split their house in two -- for each brother to own half. Literally.

In 2020, divisions seem to be increasing, getting wider, and louder. We're required to wear masks and be 6ft apart in a pandemic for our safety. Yet we also keep a distance from people to be safe from their difference -- people in our lives who see the world differently, who have opposing views, different ways of experiencing things. They can become our enemies -- dangerous, a threat. A threat to our own view, which is the correct one. If only they would come around, and see it our way, then we could get along. We then avoid them, and the story builds stronger and more elaborate. They become more wrong, and more of an enemy, more of a threat, and we need to defend and build our walls higher. Six feet isn't enough. How do we interact with this difference, disagreement, conflict? Find people who think like us, and be with them, and then we are validated -- we are ok, we are right.

What if it wasn't this way? What if our enemies are not that? What if they are the gold? There to teach us, to open up our world to seeing difference, richness, variety? What if we were to go towards the discomfort, to call up that brother we disagree with, knock on the neighbour's door who is different from us, reach out to the co-worker we avoid? To connect, listen, build relationships, to be open. To ask and really hear other perspectives, and maybe even be surprised that we align, that we share some things in common. That we don't need to agree, to be good neighbours, siblings, colleagues. That we just need to reach out, and start. Maybe we can co-exist and collaborate, cultivate a rich diversity of people and points of view, and keep our home in one piece.

Little Boy

8:15am. August 6th, 1945.

Three metres long, weighing four tonnes, the atomic bomb known as "Little Boy" carrying 50kg of Uranium 235, was dropped above the Japanese city of Hiroshima.

Fission caused 1kg of the Uranium to release the effect of 16,000 tonnes of explosive. All buildings within 2km were crushed and burned. 140,000 people were killed. Many of the lives lost were junior school children, volunteering to demolish wooden buildings so they wouldn't catch fire in the bombing raids. One child, who survived the blast, said he only lived because he fell between two desks, and somehow, the desks blocked the heat of the intense radioactive blast. Many were vaporized completely, leaving only a shadow of where their body once was. Others were left with severe burns to their bodies, and many died in the years after, of various effects of radiation.

3:30pm. December 10th, 2014.

The Kanawaga prefectural government announces radiation levels due to the tsunami affected Fukijima Nuclear plant, are not at levels that will harm human health. The ban on water consumption by children & pregnant mothers is also lifted.

Effect of radiation from Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Station

Hiroshima

"How did your mother survive the bomb," I said.

"My Mom is 50. The bomb was 70 years ago," said Maya. 

"My grandmother survived the bomb. She was living in a village outside of Hiroshima when she saw the mushroom cloud, and knew something was wrong."

"Many of that generation did not speak of it for many years. And then they realized the story had to be told. So they started speaking. Some even learned English so they could tell their story to the West, so this will never happen again."

"I met an 80 year old Japanese man on a plane to the States last year," Maya said. "When I asked him where he was going, he said "A three month home-stay. To learn English"."

So his story could be told.

Your Trailhead

To notice. Be aware. Catch out of the corner of our eye. 

Something upstaging ourselves. Body language. Energy. 

What's in the background.

Check the blind spot. 

The blind spot. 

Where we can't see unless we look. 

But how do we see something we're blind to? 

Other people can see it. It's obvious to them. Loud even. 

So we ask them. Outside ourselves. We ask for help. 

We get out of our head and into dialogue.

Our job is just to notice it. 

Not change it. Fix it. Modify it. Move it. Strategize it. 

To get things how they are. How they actually are. 

We can't go on a journey without knowing where we start. 

*** Where is your start? 

Your Trailhead on your journey? 

Where are you now in your life? ***

Default

Default: the option which choosers end up with if they do not make an active choice.

At home, my default is my Phone. Or my Flone, as Sikhona calls it. I'm with my kids. Reading stories. Pushing them on the swing. Jumping on the trampatreen. 

And then I sneak it in. They're jumping on their own. Better check my phone. Do I have a new email? Probably not. As I just checked 4 minutes ago. But I pull the screen down anyway, like a crack addict. Waiting for the spinny timer thing to download the fix. Junk. Damn. Anything real? Anything where I'm Needed. 

I'll check my texts. Any new texts? Those will be important. Urgent even. Someone out there could be in trouble. And I'm ready. Available. To respond. Give that important answer. 

No texts. Ooh, better check Facebook. Which is like dirty crack. Like the stuff people spill on the floor of the party. But I'm going in anyway. Newsfeed, scroll down. Hmm. Ice bucket challenge. And another one. And... oh. More and more. Well, I'll check my FB messages. And so it goes, on and on.

And my Flone is my default. My go to. When I'm not paying attention to my family. My friends. My life. I have my IFlone. And I hate it.

I had no internet at family camp for a week this summer. And my default changed. I found a book. A novel. I actually found it at Zehrs in North Bay on the way to Temagami. Outlander. Adventure, swords, time travel, sex. Perfect. 

Little did I know that I'd bought the historic porn series Mary-Kate has been reading for years. I'd been avoiding it as I thought they were chick flick stories. That's not for me. I'm into real historic fiction. Manly fiction. Without sex. I guess. 

BUT. Since I found this particular book on my own. It was Allowed. 

And God darnit. It's good. I haven't read a book in years. Really read one. Got into the world. Inside it. So the characters become friends. Familiar, as if I know them. I inhabit them.

I want the book default. 

The time travel. The rich characters. The sex and swordplay. I need to cut myself off from the outside world. For a day a week. A time at night. I need to put my Flone away. Activate the Do Not Disturb. 

And get back to 17th Century Scotland where the characters live life to the fullest. As their life is their default. Or they're dead. 

'Wing Poppa 'Wing

There's something about the swing.

Swinging.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Childhood. In a nutshell.

Back and forth.

" 'wing Poppa. 'wing," River says.

"Push Poppa. PUSH." Khona says.

"Push Poppa. PUSH." River says.

"From behind. From behind."

"Me. PUUUSSH." "No me. PUSH."

And they go. Back and forth.

"HIGHER. Poppa. HIGHER."

And it is so simple. The whoosh of the air blows past.

Nothing to think about. Back and forth.

"POPPA! HIGHER!"

And then Khona pumps. Legs bent. And straight.

And she's swinging herself.

Without a push. Without her Dad. On her own.

Legs bent. And Straight. Pump. Higher. And higher. On her own.

And I let her go in that moment.

She can do it. She is doing it.

And they would swing forever. Keep it going.

An endless childhood. Back and forth.

Back and forth.

"STOP!"

"Let's jump on the trampatreen Poppa." River says.

"Jumpy. Jumpy."

Time Machine

I use my bank account as a gauge for self-worth. A measurement of my success. And my stress. My anxiety and fulfillment in life. 

If it's abundant, I can relax. Like a full tank of gas on a long road trip. I can set off on my day knowing I have some room to pay bills, for those automatic withdrawals, life, house, car insurance. Some resilience when the mortgage comes out. If it's close to zero, I scramble to pull from lines of credit, to gather funds, to invoice clients, to top up. 

It struck me the other day, what if I kept track of my time? Like my bank account. What if time spent reading books to my kids put Time in the account. Date nights with my wife. Having a beer with a friend. Hiking a trail. Time being active. Present time. Time being present are deposits in my life bank, my wellness account. 

Time Distracted is a withdrawal. Time on my phone obsessively checking emails. Scrolling the newsfeed on Facebook. Time not paying attention to my kids, like they're an accessory on an errand run. Time commuting in rush hour. Time Reacting. Fighting. Yelling. 

What if we measured the success of our day, of our life, by the quality of time we spend with the people who matter to us? What if we actually kept track of our deposits and withdrawals. And received an overdraft charge when our Time account slips into the red. 

And what if contentment and fulfillment are the currency of a withdrawal from the Time Bank Machine. And wealth is defined as time enriched by family and friends.

The Special Way

Me: Want to go the Special Way to school today?

Rowan: Yes.

Rowan: It's not really the Special Way anymore.

Me: Why not?

Rowan: Well, it's just a big open space. There's nothing growing there now.

Me: That's what's special to me. The big field of snow. Someday, they may build houses there.

Rowan: It's special to me because no one has stepped there.

Me: I like the farm house and that we can see all the way past the hills.

Rowan: Why does the farmer need to grow food?

Me: Why do you think?

Rowan: I don't know!!! Just tell me.

Me: What might the farmer need?

Rowan: To eat. He grows food to eat.

Me: Why else would he grow food?

Rowan: To survive.

Me: Why do you need him to grow food?

Rowan: For me to eat. (pause) And survive.

Me: Yes.

Rowan: Why do they want to build houses there?

Me: Good question. People need places to live.

Rowan: But then, what will they eat?

Me: Yes, exactly.

Rowan: I think that's mean to nature.