Showing posts with label Vancouver Art Gallery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vancouver Art Gallery. Show all posts

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Pathways to Freedom


Do you explore what the Universe is telling you?
When all the stars are aligned, trust me you can feel it. Your soul will tell you.
If you listen.
The title of this blog post popped into my head as I was running up a steep hill. I was reflecting on a visit I’d had recently to the Vancouver Art Gallery. Each one of the floors. The following night I had attended the Presentation House Gallery Opening. At some point in the evening this realization jolted me:

“Art is the upholstery of freedom. Of life.” 

I carry a notebook and pen with me. I quickly took it out and wrote it down.

Not long ago I had read a short anecdote by a family friend, Peter Tongue who produces a spiritual podcast called Voice of America.
In it he’d talked about a walk in a field where he witnessed a Vulture swoop down. His initial thought was the obvious. 
“What is it going after?”
Then as perception would have it, he mulled this further and asked himself. 
“What is it showing me?”
I’ve been saying for years, whenever some kind of circumstance arises that may not necessarily be in my favour that “Everything happens for a reason, you won’t realize it now but you will later.”
We are guided in our path of life and I believe it is dictated by one of two things: 
The first being what your head tells you and the second is what your soul or your heart says.
Do we take enough time as human beings to explore this?
To listen to what the Universe is telling us by hearing our soul calling?
I believe this is our pathway to freedom. 
Our pathway to freedom, for life.

Sunday, 26 February 2012

How to De-Funk


Given it’s never happened to me before, I honestly didn’t know what to do.
Time wore on. Complacency set in. Soon I was skipping school. Faced with my dilemma I declared whole-heatedly to a dear pal (via text – shame on me), “I’m in a funk.”
Not long ago I heard a great remedy for loneliness or grief is to hold hands with it. Invite said emotion in for tea (so to speak).
Hang out.
So. I did that. Alone. I funked.
A day passed. No un-funking came about.
So. We hung out some more.
In bed, at my table. Over some coffee. Away from everything and everybody.
Texts came in asking how I was.
“I am in a funk,” again I would declare.
Time trickled on. My mind told my body, “This will pass.”
Yet again, me and the Funk, well we continued to hang out. It wasn’t like a pity-party. More like a wallowing in self, um, self – another word for pity...?
Two days pass and I take Funk and I out for tea. To the real world.
We go shopping for clothes. Always a spirit lifter if you can find something you like.
No luck.
So I invited Funk to the Art Gallery with me and some Hip Hop.
We had fun. I could feel myself starting to get a little better.
Today a friend calls. I again announce, “I’ve been in a funk.”
Something then twigged inside of me.
It’s time to change this story.
Tonight I told Funk to stay home. I invited myself out to a friend’s to cook dinner and watch the Oscars.
When I got home, to my delight - Funk was gone.