I’m not usually comfortable exploring the darker places on the emotional scale. I can easily be frightened of the possible downward spiral, conjured up by my vivid imagination. (Probably why I never enjoy horror movies.) I’m slowly learning that if you ignore these shadows, they tend to grow.
My harsh words to a loved one – my clumsy tumble in front of others – my mistakes on the job that affect my co workers. Shame and guilt can build up, overlap, blurring lines and meshing them into big, ominous clouds.
Various credible authors suggests I need to spend time with these negative feelings. (Not dwell on them, but rather spend time deciphering them.)

With careful thought, I may conclude that although my words and actions have been regrettable, hurtful even, they don’t make up my entirety. My perspective, my esteem, while in these negative spaces, may be skewed. It’s possible that my wrongful words were not connected to my tumble, or that my tumble was not connected to my mistakes with colleagues. Each fall/error may not be connected, may be unrelated. Therefore, they are not so overwhelming, so all-defining. Taking the time to break down each fault may lessen their impact on me and on others. Shedding light on them breaks apart the shadow.

So maybe the sum of the parts is greater than the whole; unless your light discovers the cracks and breaks them apart into manageable mistake.

Smaller Shadows

Shame weighs down
Heavily
Robbing the dignity needed to support the spine
Twisting into the shape of self-doubt

A mess of shadows blends into a silhouette
Merging too many fractures, 
Camouflaged even from the mirror

Gasps become too desperate to hear
Blood rushing, but not to the tongue
No momentum for words to escape

Not a rescue, but a light is required
Light from anywhere on the spectrum

Exposing the seems, the cracks, 
Makes honest reflection possible 
Shrinks the sum into parts

Shining from the outside
Bleeds into the interior
Reduces the mass into minors, into manageables

Glowing warmth expands the lungs 
Makes restoration possible
Eases the shoulders into full breaths

I am not helpless in your pain
I shimmer for you stranger
Breathe with me
Break the whole dark into slivers
Slivers dulled by strong postures
Until we face the sun on our own

B.Toner Oct. 2022

If you’re anything like me, when I wake up, it’s a struggle to remember most dreams; even nightmares seem to fade with time. They fill our heads in our subconscious state, scrambling and unscrambling all the data we absorbed in recent times and dissipate as we rise and face the day.

Sometimes, I wonder if our pillow is the filter for these oh-so-real imaginings. I like to think they slip through the cotton and collect on the underside. Then perhaps are carried off to some dreamland junk yard, where they are piled up like old cars. Or maybe they’re recycled for the next generation’s sleep cycle. Maybe they’re what holds the clouds together until their accumulated weight makes it rain. Those theories must have come to me in a dream.
On the other hand, our worries and doubts stay with us as we lay down and are there to greet us with the morning sun. They don’t drift away in the land of the forgotten. Instead, they keep us awake, sit heavily in our head. It’s like our pillow hoards these regrets and wishes so they remain like guests that overstay, not permitting them to soak through and dissolve.
I wonder what my days would look like if the patterns were reversed. If wild thoughts kept us company while worries were carelessly thrown away. I wonder if recalling that I was a hero or solver of all problems while I slept would place me in a better mood, rather then spending energy questioning future outcomes or letting guilt take up space.
Until I master the ability to alter brainwaves, I will need to find other ways to cope with the challenging aspects of life that mire my focus. Mindfulness, meditation and surrounding myself with positive people are a few possible strategies.
I’ll sleep on it and let you know.

Dreams and nightmares, they slip through my pillow with ease
Foggy images that disappear with the slightest breeze
All but forgotten, no trace where once my head rested
Just empty, wrinkled sheets where imagination nested
O that I might collect these confusing visions and dualities
Dripped from my sleep, diluting into realities 

Worries and hopes though, remain trapped in my head
Cuddling too close, stealing covers from my bed
Not lost in pillows, not whisked into night while asleep
Clinging to my wake, long after I pray my soul to keep
Rising at dawn, they greet me with gravity of the sun
I didn’t forget one mistake, one hope, one regret, not one

Soft pillow stand guard, discard my guilts and fears
Cradle my ideals, stroke my ego, dry my tears
Let me rise in company of dreamy interpretations
Surround me in paradise, my imaginary nation

B. Toner August 2022

I don’t have a reflection for this piece, except to say that inspiration came at me in a rush and it gave me a hopeful feeling. I hope you enjoy it.

Growing More Certain

Someday, the silence will share its strength, 
A last sigh, swallowing the noise.
Days will dawn when the dark will drain into the delicate,
Only faint shadows lingering.
Gratefully, you’ll see greener grass through the gravel,
A soft-coloured carpet to absorb our intrusion.
Wait! And the wind will wade through worries,
Breaking the anchor to sail apart.

Time won’t say when.
And I don’t know when,
But I grow more certain,
Despite grey matter limits,
Despite fractured prayers,
I grow more certain…

Someday, silence will share its strength.

B.Toner July, 2022

I close my eyes to settle into sleep or to take a break from the world that surrounds me. On the few occasions that I practice mindfulness, they are closed then too. When I need to pause from an intense encounter, I shut my lids.

That instinct crushes out most of the stimuli that is beyond my body. Sometimes, it can clear my mind to concentrate or better yet, it permits my imagination to distract me, away from my present circumstances. But where am I when I close my eyes?
It isn’t always completely dark. Often, imprints from my last vision dance across the black or memories circle in flashes. However, when I’m able to experience just the darkness, where am I?

Am I visiting my own foundation; keeping company with my basic self that seems undetectable in the light? When my eyes are shut, I let go of time; jump around from the present, to the future, from the future to the past. I follow no rules, yet I’m grounded to something- something that is authentic, unexplainable.

When I drop that thin layer of skin to block my site, I block input from the outside. I can breathe – occupy my personal sanctuary. I create my own landscape, unlike the one built by the unrelenting, pulsing society. Yet this place is undefined and unclaimed. It hides me and at the same time reveals me to what I am, without outside influence.
With my eyes closed, I return to me, but I wonder where that is.

WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES
Scheduling too much time in the synthetic,
False demands deplete my reserves and withhold depth,
Like spinning at a different pace than the natural world,
Not against it, no, just a separate rhythm causing friction,
Friction that burns, but gratefully, not beyond recognition,
I can still see traces of the organic inviting me back - when I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes, I return to where we first met, 
Where the river was so deep it overwhelmed and calmed us,
Where we laughed away the dew that coated our path,
When I close my eyes, I can see falling leaves measuring time,
Where the trees seemed lonely but gave perfect company,
Where I didn’t need to shut my eyes to shut out the world,
Where I was grounded, not ground down to crumbs,
When I close my eyes, I can return, temporarily, a lifeline 
until my body moves among the green and the undisturbed snow,
I’m re-introduced to the power of the clouds and the tickle of the forest breeze,
I’m almost there, until then,
I close my eyes.

B.Toner February 2022 

If you stood on the wharf at my childhood summer camp and gazed about a mile and a half or more towards one end of the lake, you would see the large hills that encompassed Lake Temiscouata. On a clear day, you could make out the Trans-Canada Highway cutting a grey line diagonally down one of the hills towards the corner of the water. At the bottom of that landscape was a gathering of small buildings: a few houses, a gas station, maybe even a small hotel. As your eyes moved closer to the water line, you could make out the train tracks, or portions of its razor straight line, through the openings between the trees. The high point of interest for me and my siblings was the little black bridge giving passage to the train over a small creek.

The bridge was not simply a meaningful landmark, but a milestone. We would race to call it out from the car during our summer commutes. We would watch trains coming and going, noting when it crossed the bridge.

A couple of times each summer, we would pack a lunch, maybe grab a hand-me-down fishing pole and make a day of hiking to the iconic black bridge. When we were finally permitted to go without a grown-up or an older cousin, it was a major milestone; a privilege that added to the adventure for a nine or ten year old.

The people living in the community surrounding that bridge never knew what it meant to us. I’m sure if they ever had the opportunity to see it from our wharf, they would gain a new perspective of their home. I doubt, however; they would recognize the context it played in our lives.

I wonder how many of our surroundings represent an important landmark or even a milestone to others? Perhaps your childhood boundaries included the neighbour’s oak tree, yet they didn’t know. Maybe when you drive by that all-too-familiar corner store, you know you’re only moments from your warm home and strong hugs. The workers inside keep to their tasks unaffected. Perhaps jogging as far as the road sign indicates you’ve reached your goal on your road to recovery. Yet the neighborhood is oblivious.

These are unknown connections to each others’ circles. They are numerous. They can be as powerful as they are invisible.
I get inspired contemplating how something in my environment, unknown to me, may be a strong marker, a milestone, a connection to someone else.

INVISIBLE CONNECTIONS

That landmark boulder, a dangling carrot, telling me I’m almost home, – That rose bush at the edge of the driveway, your boundary until Mom relents, you venture further on your own,

Your first time at the grown-up table, your hunger satisfied even before the first bite, – Or your first purchase, your own money, in the familiar store, counting out coins with delight,

These moments, these milestones, inserting us into each others’ circles, creating associations, -Yet our context is invisible to them, unaware of their own participation,

This tie we bind with each other, this proof we hold in solitaire, – Draw comfort in those connections, regardless the lack of witnesses to bear

B.Toner. January 2022

I’m as guilty as the next, zooming past everyday miracles to meet my self-imposed priorities. Ironically, I live in a beautiful area, not far from the ocean (on good days, I can hear it), surrounded by wild flora and fauna. On most days, this privilege is lost on me.

There are some occasions, however, in the midst of my humdrum, daily routine, when Mother Nature insists she will not be ignored. These are short-lived epiphanies during which my senses seem heightened or maybe just more receptive to the wonders surrounding me. I may notice a sudden tangibility in the air or specific animals sounds. Perhaps my eyes catch unprecedented colours in the bramble. During these times, I appreciate more deeply how I’m just a speck in the intricacies of the world.

What if I could train myself to more than just notice the aspects of my environment, on a regular basis, but rather to value them between these overwhelming, all-stop, sensational awakenings? What if I let them filter through during my mindless chores and commutes? What if I acknowledge the woodpecker as I get into my car? Watch the sunlight slowly paint the lawn when I rise out of bed? I could decipher shapes in the fluffy, white clouds against the incredible blue sky or thankfully inhale the cool breeze as I hang my laundry.

This habit could infiltrate all of my moods during everyday tasks. It could lighten and even highlight the ordinary. I think it’s worth a try.

Another Summer Night in Prospect


I first noticed the orange tint on our back deck, 
through the patio doors: a familiar hour - 
the sun’s unique signature, 
the gentle completion of her duties.
-An unavoidable invitation for which 
simply being an eye witness wouldn’t do. 
I needed to satisfy all my senses 
so I aimed my thoughts and body outside;
 a short walk to the mailbox down the road - 
a minimal response to a subtle summons.
-A half step outside my driveway, an incessant roar,
 greeting me from the ocean: 
an invisible and unrelenting pillow surrounding me.
 It’s source hidden deeply beyond the lush greenery, 
cushioning both sides of the road. 
Wild roses dotted my path - 
their scent gently mingled under my breath.
Layered over the ever-echoing surf, 
birds were bidding the neighbour hood good night;
 not in a chorus, but in a beautiful chaos of languages.
I felt the orange-patterned sky slowly tinting to pink, 
drawing my attention from the gravel beneath my feet. 
I was humbled by this moment of majesty -
 a humbleness not unlike being close to loved ones; 
loved ones you honour and admire, 
loved ones you soak in while you can.
A humbleness rich in comfort.

B. Toner August 2021

Confession is good for the soul. I confess that I’m giving myself permission to get it wrong. Already, I feel lighter. It takes energy to maintain a facade of knowing what to do – energy better directed to learning how to do. I’m relieved to admit, I can only guess.

What I lose in youth, I gain in ease at making that admission. I’m recognizing my abilities and my limitations. These I can live with and can continue to move forward. The people of this world say we’re in this together. I welcome their support with little guilt. No one, including me, has the knowledge or skill to face every challenge on this journey.

Still, I do strive to be wiser, braver, more capable. Still, I envy the talents of others and still, at times, I compare.

On the other hand, I take comfort in the wise scientists, the brave soldiers and the competent leaders. They help to take the pressure off me. However, they do lead me to ponder what part I play in the greater good. I know I’m in there, but I can only guess where.

I can only guess what the brave are facing,
Watch them carve a path from stone,
The risk, the weight, ignoring fate,
As they aim for the unknown,

I can only guess what the wise are thinking,
Testing theories without names,
Sorting greens from blues, and tales from truths,
Solving puzzles into frames

Chorus
So carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way
Borrowed goals, unpaid tolls, standing outside the play,
Carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way
Two cold feet, shotgun seat, higher the price I’ll pay

I can only guess what the loved are feeling,
Warming hands with endless smiles,
The tint, the glow, with room to grow,
Holding forever all the while

I can only guess why the world is turning,
Tracking time and keeping pace,
The trees, the sun, all wrapped in one,
Spinning patterns into space

Chorus
So carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way,
Borrowed goals, unpaid tolls, standing outside the play,
Carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way,
Two cold feet, shotgun seat, higher the price I’ll pay

I can only guess why the world is turning…

Music and lyrics by B. Toner, August 2021

How do I infuse some of that same vigour into initiating the more challenging tasks? Maybe I need more connections between my brain’s pleasure centre and my frontal lobe. Perhaps I’m trying to account for all the factors before taking a risk. What’s more daunting, the size of the first step or the weight of the outcome? If I ask enough questions, can I avoid finding a solution? When I set reminders, they bring only guilt for unaccomplished tasks and weigh down my progress.
The force of inertia is a powerful one to overcome. I just need the right lever, the correct catalyst. If I’m fortunate enough to find it, I may even use it sooner or later.
Probably later!

Why wait?

Why do I wait for the moon rise to chase away the sun? Why do I wait for sometime soon; today’s already begun? Why do I wait for the waves to tickle my toes before I cast offshore? I know life takes a million steps; maybe a million more.

Spinning my wheels, the past- the future, they just won’t pull apart
The finish line , remains invisible until I cross the start
Inertia holds the logs, stuck steady, gathering moss
Rotting my stalled path, making it longer to cross

Why do I wait to move? Staying still won’t shade me forever. Why do I wait to witness? Hesitation fails to be clever. Why do I wait to risk it? Time’s not hiding around the bend. I recover from initial shocks when I begin and begin again.

Watching paint slowly dry won’t cover my broken spots
Procrastination slows the flow, creating more blood clots
Halfway to never can begin with one distraction 
Getting stuck in my ways only delays my inaction

Brian Toner March 2021

Blinded by love! Blinded by rage! Flushed in embarrassment or paralyzed by fear! The more raw the feelings, it seem the more our body gives evidence. Science can explain the chemical to the physical, but what of the emotional? We’ve all passed through the tunnel of overwhelming emotions. That constricting intensity eventually gives way to the light, to reason, to the unclenching fists and the slowing of the pulse. However, we can’t think our way out of this tunnel. Often, only time and space can lessen their governance over our body.

These powerful emotions feed on contact, on circumstance and even on memory. At times, these deep experiences come together like jigsaw pieces of smaller feelings. At other times, they’re immediate reactions: a snap return to the base.

Over centuries, poets wrapped up these extreme feelings into a fictitious symbol: the heart. It’s circulating duties seem well matched for regulating emotions. As a muscle, we suffer physiologically when it fails to pump properly. As a mascot, we’re overcome by basic instincts when it fails to moderate sentiments.

This piece does not intend to conclude with solutions. Like many, I search for the right way to articulate how our rational, our very bodily functions are kidnapped by the heart. Traditionally, the rush of intense emotions leaves me speechless so perhaps this search is in vain.

I KEEP MY EYE ON YOU WILMONT
You bounce around my instincts and pop up as if by chance. Never an empty seat with you, insisting each moment we dance.
I gulp down pride to win your hand; hungry, but afraid of showing. You never starve for attention, feeding on any wind blowing.
This blue sky, too small to keep you steady, too weak to keep you down.  Your random, impish grin shakes me up and loosens my frown.
You tickle. I shiver. You amble. I chase, reaching out to be squeezed. Laughing, crying, moping, singing, you’re not a whim, but a life long tease.
We tumble awkward elbow over ankle, sunshine blinding all the way. I keep my eye on you Wilmont, as if I have a say.


Brian Toner      October 2020