Friday, 26 August 2016

A Passion Flower Awakes

It reminds me of a kiwi. Cut up. Its particular depth is integrated on the inside with tiny blue threads linking it together. All within an envelope of pedals. The vine that carries it climbs. 

Lunch in the patio garden was a farm fresh salad, literally picked before us with fresh basil and baked salmon.

We ate in contemplated silence.

“I wanted the Passion Flower to open for you,” Mum said staring in the distance.

I glanced to the deck’s divider wall. A friend and neighbour lives on the other side. A sign reads: “Welcome to Alice’s Garden, Nurturing God’s Creation.” It hung faded and weathered. The wood aged with time. The words stuck on in a fancy font were green and blended with the surrounding foliage. Dad had had the sign made custom for mum on her birthday years ago. It was smothered with hanging greens. Underneath it, the trestle of leaves. Parent to the Passion Flower.

Below that, pots of glorious herbs.  Oregano, thyme, sage, rosemary, parsley. All robust and ripe for the picking.

Mum’s garden is elegant. Adult in growth. The roses pinch through, pinks, oranges and yellow. Small concrete cast ornaments nestle in a home amongst the flowering. While I feel so inept to recall all of their names, the many plants that flourish grace in colour. Regal in texture. Everything has found its place together.

Alice's wonderful patio garden. 
We piled the now clear dishes into the basket. Bound for the kitchen. With time to idle, we basked in the glory of this wondrous patio garden. Private, quaint and ever so beautiful.

Like my mum. I’ve never seen her without lipstick. Wherever she goes the lips lead. Pink or red. Following by further dashes of colour in whatever wardrobe she chose for the day.

The sun was hot. While we shaded under the umbrella, the afternoon sun and its heat began to seep through.

All of a sudden mum pointed her finger.

“Look!” She glares over to me with her mouth wide open. Disbelief reads her face. “The Passion Flower!

It’s true. There it was. Opening up to it’s new day.

Look closely to see the one pedal, yet to open.
“Can you believe it?” she said again.

I crept close to get a picture. One of its pedal’s still asleep. I took a picture anyway.

Then mum came over. As if a child in a candy store she stood in front of it and leaned in to get closer. As she did the final pedal awakened to a complete and alive Passion Flower!

Ready for it's new day.
Mum had asked for it! Was it the power of her mind? Was it the sun caressing its new day? Who’s to know for sure. What I believe, and this I know to be true. If you don’t ask for what you want, may never get it.

As is so true today, the universe conspires to help to those who dare to ask.

Welcome to Alice's Garden. Nurturing God's Creation.

Monday, 3 November 2014

Because I See

In life we are reminded of things. People. Places we’ve been. Emotions we’ve felt. Achievements.
Often, pictures tell these stories. 
A search back can reveal a lot about us. Our life. Our lives.
Yet, to replay one’s take on this or that, therein lies the question. Why do we do that if we are to live in the now?
Be now. Be present. Heard by many. Spoken in tongue by today’s thought leaders. 
Along with stopping the irresistible temptations to compare ourselves to others. Constantly. Comparing achievements.
Where does it get us? If we contemplate who we are too much, we come to realise like the sand on a beach, it’s imprints will wash away with each high tide. We are all different. Each with our own uniqueness.
If I were to get up now and walk away, would I feel this way?
Intuition guides me. Does it you?
I set the timer. I am writing.

Today is different to tomorrow. How we feel now, isn’t going to be how we feel in the days to come.
Achievements to each of us may or may not charter a course. A goal, perhaps. Although a magnitude earthquake could change everything. Like the throttle on a train. If it fails to take the turn and keeps on going.
Illustrations in our minds of the characters we play in today’s spirit shell – etch our path to eternity.
There’s a novel in me I know. But how do I start it?
By writing, something, anything. 
So here I go.
Because, I am so grateful - I can see.

Monday, 10 February 2014

Why I Work in Film

Photograph by Tony Lee, Save BC Film PSA Shoot February 2013
“Do you love it?”
I looked away. 
“That’s a lot of time to be spent doing something you don’t love,” she added, reading into the blank look on my face.
I tried to explain. It’s hard to explain. 
There’s something about film that turns my crank. The big cameras. The circus (hair, make-up and wardrobe trailers). Working with over 100 people everyday. 
Each path we choose in life takes us somewhere. Eventually. I know that.
Somewhere in film there’s a creative fit for me. I believe that. It has yet to come to me. But I keep looking.
In this business, it’s who you know. Someone will refer you to someone. 
That’s how it works.
The biz first came to me in 1989. A friend suggested I contact a Director she knew working in TV commercials. Based on her recommendation, he hired me to work as his assistant. 
I was hooked.
Soon after I worked on the set of the feature film Bird on a Wire. Here’s where I met my first stars; Mel Gibson and Goldie Hawn.
We’re all people. Real people. I treated them as such.
Eventually I took an office job on the TV Series MacGyver.
That was before computers and cellular phones. 
I answered the telephone, paged producers, photocopied scripts – different colours for different versions, and fed the office staff. I was Craft Service. These days, in the biz it’s known as “Crafty.”
We had writers, editors, production staff and accounting working in the office. There were a lot of folks to feed.
The day began at 7am and usually ended around 7pm. 
It was never dull. I was always busy. 
This I loved.
I left the biz a year and a bit after to help my brother in a start-up. Later got pregnant and married, moved to the Island. Got a diploma in photojournalism and worked in news in TV as there was no film work there.
Years later I move back to the mainland and crept back in. Only to start at the bottom again. To get back in the Union.
Nowadays I stand around at a lock-up. Preventing noise during a roll or someone walking through the shot during a take. 
The days often last 12-15 hours, sometimes more.
My feet develop calluses in places not seen before. 
When I roll out of bed, depending on the day before, it’s either slow or fast.
I pick up garbage. I use a butt sweep. I hide in dark places. 
Film is dirty. We create a lot of garbage. Some shows recycle, most do not.
There’s always food. Too much food. 

No one goes hungry.
So much gets thrown away. So much waste. No desire to change it seems.
Unions dictate our rates. Mine is the Director’s Guild of Canada. I get paid for 15 hours. I’m given nine hours of turnaround. 
Other unions get more.
This translates into a minimum 75 hour work week with 45 hours of downtime. 
Compared to someone who works say 9am-5pm, their work week is 40 hours with 80 hours of downtime. This includes sleep.
So why do so many of us do it? Is it for the money?
For some, probably.
A Production Assistant’s wage translates to $10 an hour. Add on all the Union deductions, Income Tax, etc., we slip by.
So what is it about film that I love? 
Well, we’re a breed of people not afraid of hard work or sleep deprivation. Dedicated to the craft. With strength and stamina to keep going, no matter what. 
Obviously, we love the movies.
Someone has to.
We keep making them.

Tuesday, 22 October 2013

The Magic in a Forest Run

Once in a while I stay in bed past 8am. Which is luxury. 
Depending on the state of the soul.
This morning it was failure. The word that rung over and over again in my mind. There was so much I wanted to accomplish yesterday, but didn’t. So I lay there. Eyes closed. Trying to forget. 
An hour later I got up. Groping my way through the hallway, my foggy eyes eventually focusing on familiarity. Nothing had changed from the night before. 
Outside my window the pea soup fog bowl shimmered. Here for another day. 
I did the usual. Made a coffee. Sat down to read. Fed the spirit with something other then the self-imposed misery.
Eventually the sun sparked fragments of surprises through the window. I needed to go outside. For a forest run. 
Today was counter-clockwise of the Lynn Canyon Loop. 
This forest is a work of art. Its canvas is green. Elongated trunks shimmer with tonal bark. Light gleams in the shadows. Every trunk is different. Regal in its stature. 
As I run uphill I think how magnificent our lives are to have this. There is no hatred in the forests. Only love, and peace. 
We breathe in. We breathe out. 
No expectations here. 
Roots show up. Rocks unturned. Birds flee our paths. Leaves scatter fallen. 
At one part of the trail I find myself chiming how grateful I am. Then a myriad of stones come underfoot and I make a mantra in my mind: I am grateful for my feet, my ankles, my knees, my thighs, my lungs, my heart, my eyes, my ears, my hands and my thoughts. 
Another runner travelling the opposite way passes me by. 
Soon I am running downhill. Heels first. Focusing on my feet. 
The foghorns beat on in the distance and I come upon the sounds of the river, the rush of the water. 
I continue on in a steady pace alongside. 
Moments of yesterday soon forgotten.

Saturday, 17 August 2013

Soul Callings

I see purple. Then I smile.
Our guided spiritual practice comes from within.
Life is school. Really. 
We grow into ourselves over time. Who we are becomes one. Much like our heartbeat. 
We give and we take. We absorb, digest and process. 
I know I’ve grown up. Or into. 
Waking up in the dark has never been my strong point. Over time, I’ve come to realize my truths. Making 20 minutes in the morning after I put my feet on the ground for a spiritual practice guides my day into opportunities with the best possible outcomes. 
I’m positive. I am free. No judgement. No comparison to anyone else. No ego. Only love and compassion. 
First it is a tall glass of water with freshly squeezed lemon juice and bit of cayenne pepper. I drink it up and thereafter I’m awake. (The Kick Ass coffee comes later).
If it’s a run day I‘m doing it anyway. The Five Tibetan Rites. Once the spine releases and is elongated (I always feel taller after I do these), I move to my pillow for my meditations. First three chimes of my Tibetan bells. Then three minutes of a Kundalini Meditation for Prosperity which was taught to me by Gabrielle Bernstein. Where I visualize and feel prosperity. The debts are gone. Zero. My health is my wealth. 
If I can make the time after, I’ll go for 20. If I can't, I’ll set the timer and go as long as I feel the need. Sometimes it’s two minutes, other times it is six. 
Whatever I have the time to feel in the moment. It doesn't matter how long, it matters that you do it.
I shower myself in white light. Thinking and feeling the love. Spreading it to others. Asking the spirit guides for forgiveness, to myself and to others. 
Developing your own spiritual practice, however long or short it needs to be can culminate into being the absolute highlight of your day.
Trust me on this.