I wrote this some time ago about the pockets of vulnerable people all around us. I hesitated to post it in order to avoid sounding like a lecture. I solved my dilemma by not including a reflection. The poem speaks for itself in each stanza about the homeless, the disabled, the poor and the elderly who are often overlooked by the privileged like me. I promise to be more positive in my next entry.

Forgotten but not Gone

He’s just the man on the corner of South and Main,
How easy I manage to keep him outside my frame,
An afterthought under foot, sleeping in open skies without stars,
Can I spare a buck from the safety of my imported car

His hyper-focused mind is trapped in the filter,
Without family buffers, social norms throw him off kilter,
His connections are fragile, always teetering on the edge,
Society for the majority creates a paralyzing wedge

Programs cast nets for photo-ops or basic needs,
Empathetic wounds don’t cut deep enough to bleed,
No speeches on enlightenment, surviving’s the sole talk,
Diplomacy holds little warmth with promises in chalk

A lifetime ago, she stood tall as a cedar,
Now comforts are meted out like scraps at a feeder,
Wisdom wheels around on chairs and drips in the drool,
She makes little sense to us because we are the fools

B. Toner July 2020

In previous entries, I’ve written about perception; how I want to be perceived compared to how I may be perceived. Exploring this theme is an ever-evolving process in my human journey.
At work, I’ve built a comfortable level of confidence in my people skills and attribute some of my career successes to those abilities.
Lately though, I’m awakening to the realization that despite my diplomacy, I’m more transparent than I believed. Don’t get me wrong. I’m at ease in my purposes and conversations on the job. Perhaps though, my (long-winded) explanations in defence of my point of view or goals have been unnecessary. Admittedly, some are better than others at reading people, but it seems my basic intents and feelings are more obvious and less camouflaged.
I can give credit or blame for this inadvertent openness to both my partners in conversation and to my genuine, readable self. Both reinforce my growing belief that we are all not as good as we think at hiding feelings. I’m not certain yet, if this exposure is always a positive factor, but it influences me to remain more intentional in my professional conversations; especially during those tough talks where conflicts exist.

Perhaps when dealing with others, if I redirect the energy from trying to remain impartial and emotionally unaffected to concentrating on speaking and listening with honesty and mindfulness , I can create a better solution for all parties.

This brings me back, once again to a common theme in my writings: being more self-aware and reflective during my interactions.
No matter how well I dress up my actions (smiling to ease the news) or my appearance (does this tie match the socks?), it seems I still wear my heart on my sleeve.

Brian Toner

LOVE, SHAME, JOY, DREAD, ETC...
I skillfully select words to camouflage the rush,
My pose and gestures help distract from the blush,
Still no detours, no delays, it radiates straight from my bones,
Seeping through my armour, frost cracking stone,
There are always hints in what I bare, a glance here, a glimpse there.

Sometimes bound to this moment, a significant mark,
Linked to past seasons, layers upon layered bark,
The right melody invokes them, a traffic jam provokes them,
Feeding on my pulse, you echo them, I reject them,
Navigating an involuntary share, a glance here, a glimpse there.
Brian Toner, June 2020

Free will! It’s an expensive gift that burdens us from the moment we can hold our head up by ourselves. It’s the liberty that I enjoy while simultaneously preventing me from controlling others for my convenience. Like the slow driver who is often in front of me. I could force him off the road in my frustration, but I choose to avoid jail time. My free will comes at a cost.

Many things seem outside the control of my will like the cold weather and my bone structure. I could choose to wear long underwear when needed and reduce my sugar intake. (not likely) Even climate change seems outside my influence or am I choosing to let it grow wild through my in-actions? Do I put salt on my driveway to reduce the ice, or will it end up in my well? Free will has consequences. What is the boundary between free will and control? Maybe it’s a misconception.

Some experts suggest focusing on a small circle of control; an area where your free will has power to control. Will power. They say that your breathing and your thoughts fall under that influence. Though there are limits. I can only hold my breath for so long without brain damage. When planning actions, I can only think of so many consequences. Free will has limits!

On the other hand, I have free will to practice my breathing and to be physically active, both of which will improve my lung control. I have will power to decide on which ideas I concentrate and to see opportunities instead of obstacles, both of which can improve my outlook. Free will is time consuming!

So is it a misconception of control or just a very small circle of influence? I’m leaning towards the latter, but I still wish the slow driver would get out of my way. His free will is costing me!

(Mis)-Conceptual Control

I can't see the heat that smothers the cold.
I can take comfort under the blanket.
I'm blind to the spoken words that cut me down.
I can sense my blood chase after them.
I can't name the breath that inspires.
I can see charity in action.
I can't see the thoughts that kidnap my attention.
I can count the minutes of loss sleep.
I'm unable to touch the music that lightens my mood.
I can feel a smile spreading over my face.
I won't witness the birth of the raindrops.
I can drink from the well.
I can't focus on the seconds that grow my beard grey.
I can list the years dedicated to my career.
I'm incapable of measuring the risk of loving someone.
I can hold my child's hand each time he falls.
 

Brian Toner March 2020

I can appreciate how hard times are just a part of life. When I take stock these days, however; it seems that the Earth, civilizations and even individuals are getting pummeled more frequently than in the past. There are extreme weather events and climate change; extreme divisiveness among cultures and a lack of human decency in many of the world’s governments. Adding to those challenges are the personal battles some people are facing, some more than others. Trials build character, but how much character is a person suppose to stack up?

On the other hand, Marc Scibilia in his song “How Bad We Need Each Other” says that “Storms never come to stay…” This is good news for sure. So how do I endure or prepare for the dark times when they’re upon me? From the books I’ve been reading, I’m learning that my preparations are the tools to help me endure them. As the dark clouds approach and loiter over my hunched shoulders, these tools can provide a life line.

They tell me to look for the positive inside the trial; not by wearing blinders, but my focusing my view on different aspects. For instance, I should try seeing how my co-workers’ talents contribute to the job before noticing their shortcomings.

I should take time to count and name my blessings, however small, because they can inspire my vision.

I should hug my son more often. In fact, I should give out more hugs.

I can remember that I choose the interpretation of my reality and that aiming for the positive can help me take actions; actions that overcome adversity.

I can spend time doing things that bring me joy, like writing.

I can share the positive ripples with others to help them swell into a tidal wave of energy.

So here are my small efforts to build my resistance against the storms. Maybe they’ll lessen the impact. Maybe I’ll learn to build character with a smile.

Waiting for the Storm

Toasting by candlelight, champagne glass and can of beer,
both cold with wet,
Powers gone out, the fan's shut down. 
Can't breathe without breaking a sweat.
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin. 

She wears a winning smile. I lose at Scrabble.
Can't prove it, but she cheats.
Spoon's in the chowder. Butter's in the freezer.
Save them from the heat. 
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin.

We've closed the shutters, cleared the garden
and tied down the grill.
With you is where I want to be,
the calm before the thrill.
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin.

Brian Toner  January 2020

“Those who ignore history are bound to repeat it!” Building on that idea, I invested some time in exploring the emotional aspects of past experiences. I’m considering now that it’s not just a “learn-from-your-mistakes” idea, but rather a “re-live those emotions” approach.

When our family was younger, I purchased a well-used, 1980’s VW camper. The body and the interior were well kept, but the motor needed more attention and money than I could afford to give it. Nonetheless, for two summers, we had wonderful adventures in it.

We named it the Galileo, in honour of the noble scientist and of our love of science fiction. (A shuttle name from Star Trek). It had everything needed for camping in the lower, middle-class: a fridge, a sink, a closet/cupboard, 2 beds (one over the rear engine and one in the pop-up canopy), swiveling captains’ chairs and a folding table. All of our keepsakes could be safely stowed away while we explored the camping life; a treasure chest on wheels.

The connection we felt to it was instantaneous; a mixture of child-like wonder and a sense of meeting the unknown. Like many vehicles today, we sat high, but for us it was a special perch; more like a Disney ride.

It didn’t like speed and pure will powered Galileo up some steep hills. There was no air conditioning either, but we didn’t sweat the small stuff en route. Rather we were drenched in the experience. Everywhere we went, smiling faces greeted us. People seemed to connect easily to the vehicle or to what it represented.

Trying to articulate the sensation today, I’m limited to tangible factors: waking up snug and in the wild, breaking down on the side of the highway, eating lunch in our high perch. The list simply provides the logistics of the memory. How do I convey the blended aspect of that history? I’m confident you have similar past events that when recalled, bridge the heart and the mind. How do you describe the sentimental aspects? When you spend time recounting, does it re-stir the emotions as well?

Those emotions are one of the few things we can carry across time. When we do, they enrich and inform our present day. I think it’s a worthwhile goal, purposely applying those emotions to my current state; connecting nostalgia to hope.

“Those who embrace the past, may benefit from it.”

Hopeful Nostalgia

I felt it then. I hope for it now.
That lifeline that sets my feet on solid ground.

I smiled back then. I pray for it now.
Connections that pull me off the island.

I laughed it off then. I pick at the scar now. 
My failure that laid it all bare, that uncovered the essentials.

I lived for it then. I live for it now.
A nudge into the infinite that keeps me here.

Brian Toner October 2019

I am fortunate in so many ways including the amazing experiences at my parents’ cottage, the family cottage. As this post goes live, it is changing hands; out of our hands. Faced with the end of an era, I now reflect on how it has influenced my life, this summer treasure of over 30 years. I dedicate this post to these reflections.

It was built as an original, out my parents’ vision. They spent their retired, warmer months relishing in the slower pace of cottage life. They were architects of their own sanctuary, simultaneously and purposefully creating a space where their children and their children’s children could be refreshed in their company and by the ocean breezes.

So what do I cling to in this transition? What do I hold close to my heart as I say farewell to this home away from home? This was an estate where life-partners, grand children and friends made introductions or re-connections. This was a seasonal hearth where relief embraced you as you stepped across the threshold and worries drifted into the open skies. The mantra that links my thoughts to that place is anchored to gratitude.

I am grateful for the bursts of light at sunrise, filling the rooms and greeting you out of sleep; the everlasting, painted sunsets arresting your thoughts. I have gratitude for the deeper sleeps, the bigger dreams and the time away from my millennial-paced life.

I feel blessed by the songs, the laughter, the card games and the roller coaster of conversations among siblings. I am thankful for the easy swims, the long beach walks, the sand castles and the special trips to town. Though most powerful for me was the regular realization of my blessings. This was the fruition of my parents’ dream, surrounded by nature, a loving family and a luxurious coastline. Spending time there, appreciation rose to the surface of my mind as easy as breathing. Constant reminders placed me in a perpetual state of gratitude.

That is what remains with me, the estate of gratitude.

An Estate of Gratitude

Here, I count my blessings to match the hummingbird’s flutter. I slow my breath to the rhythm of the ocean waves. I acknowledge the nourishing roots of my heart. Here, I sleep on a cushion of salt air pushed around by the moon. I appreciate my lack of ambition in a game of solitaire. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Here, I marvel at the sand castle on the beach and in my dreams. I am moved to sing praises to the Great Hand carving out the scenery. I revel in the warm swims without borders. Here, I tear up for the company of my family in close quarters. I bravely scar from the bite of the horsefly and the swarm of mosquitoes. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Here, I am in awe of the seasonal symptoms, more evident to all my senses. I consciously drown in tradition to energize my future. I recognize the sun’s glorious heat and dramatic finales. Here, I am aware how my pace slows with the tide. I can sigh the relief of limbs stretching across an unfettered landscape. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Brian Toner 2019

I’m regularly challenged to strike a balance between comparing for motivation and comparing in envy. I live a privilege life in numerous ways, both in the tangibles and in the intangibles. Yet there are still things I long to hold, to experience and to share. Where is the healthy line?

I accept that my brain is constantly trying to make connections to every piece of information absorbed. Survival and learning depend on tying new stimuli to memories, whether in delicate or obvious ways. Comparing and contrasting are two of those essential practices. So how do I manage this comparison instrument? I’m not sure I can filter my response at the instinct level. Is that even what I want?

Sometimes, it’s only when I compare to others that I can measure my progress. Some benchmarks are paramount to my growth or to my diminishment. Was I as generous as my neighbour? Did I express genuine joy at someone’s good fortune? Do I wish that great idea had been mine so people would recognize my accompishments?

Using positive self-talk might help redirect my thoughts. Taking the time to label those comparisons may put them in perspective. Could I teach myself to embrace motivational comparisons and to step away from those originating from envy?

If I’m unable to cease the comparisons, I can name them and try to reduce the ones related to jealousy when they soak through my brain cells. I can hold off the self-judgement and try using a mental mantra to analyze the origin of each comparison. This could take time and effort.

Practice makes perfect; then again, perfection is measured by comparison.

I Walked Among Them

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

I kept silent as grass in my isolation, witnessing connections

Posing, I was hardly an obstacle on their way

I saw battles, tugging at tethers

I saw dances, stretching their strings

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

I remained confined as shadows to the light, enying dependents

Pouting, I was invisble to the determined eye

I saw offerings, shining from their structures

I saw demands, burrowing into their base

I walked among them last night

People of purpose

Brian Toner April 2019

My friend has a neurological condition that he is compelled to disclose sometimes. The label grants him access to some programs and much needed supports that can help level the playing field in society. On the other hand, many don’t peel back that label to see the person and instead make limited judgement. Case in point, he met a new co-worker a few months back. This colleague learned about my friend’s condition, singled him out by offering him a drink and by loudly explaining that he had a sister with the same condition who also needed special attention. The gesture of the drink was meant to help, but instead it dismissed my friend and made him feel embarrassed in front of others. The giver was attempting to make a connection both to his own world and to my friend. It was driven by sympathy and not welcomed. As painful as it was, the event was not without merit. It demonstrated the desire to connect but was carelessly executed.

For another example, consider the strong bond we create within our close relationships. The more we dedicate ourselves to the attachment, the deeper the impact on our lives. Sadly, many of those relationships break down. The experiences cause deep hurt and require lots of healing. Yet most would agree that the intimacy was not without merit.

Throughout my regular and not so regular, daily obstacles, I continuously struggle to recognize the merit in these challenges. Then I wonder if perhaps the search for merit actually gives birth to it.

Just…This…Breath

This one is through gritted teeth. This one I’m letting go. This one taste bitter. This one goes unnoticed by my company. This one was lost for a moment.

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just… this…breath.

This one is slow and easy. This one stretches my chest. This one I can hear with my eyes closed. This one is holding my head above water. This one needs me to dig deep.

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just…this…breath.

This one is short and unsatisfying. This one prepares me to shout. This one I’m holding onto. This one tickles my throat.   This one shrinks my anger.              

Unique in a pattern of vital repetition, enough to sustain me for this moment,

Merit in just…this…breath.

B.Toner January 2019

I find myself outside more often in the late summer evenings. Something inexplicably draws me outdoors when the sun goes down. It feels like an old friend showing me something new. Maybe it’s because I can still stand outside without 17 layers under my parka. Maybe it’s due to the knowledge of the summer’s pending battle loss to autumn. Nevertheless, there I am sitting outside on my back deck or standing still on my front step. It’s peaceful and intimate.

Thick in my thoughts during these moments is the expression about “enjoying the simple things in life”. Not doing anything but listening to the muffled night sounds supports this concept of getting back to basics.

Are these joys really the simple things though? They create experiences that are very complex and stir intense contentment.

Take the idea of holding the door for someone; certainly a simple and rewarding act. More than that, it creates in both parties,  feelings of gratitude and familiarity. It’s only a moment, but the effect can linger in your thoughts, can alter your mood and can even pause stress. Additionally, think about what circumstances needed to align for that specific event to occur.

What about those times we run into an old friend unexpectedly. We take time to catch up, to live momentarily in the nostalgia, to extend on the connection and maybe even to make plans for the future.

Returning to my evening of solitude in my backyard, there are moments when I  can hear my son inside the house, talking to his friends. The spontaneous feelings of love and gratitude for these things in my life come to the surface in a powerful way. I am able to take stock of all of my blessings, family, home, career, etc.. Add to the experience, the night skies twinkling with stars that are light years away. They cross time and space to appear at that moment. Simultaneously, I realize how comfortable the weather is and how quiet the breeze blows. All of these conspire and inspire in innumerable ways. They create rich and intricate connections that can touch all of us deeply. Maybe that’s why we acknowledge them repeatedly and try to articulate them in a basic expression.

It turns out these simple things in life that we strive to hang onto are rather complex.

LONELY FOR THE STARS

I was concerned those celestial lights had other plans. Standing in my back yard that night, a vigil of my own design. I blinked several times to confirm that my eyes were indeed open. Even the distant streetlight seemed reluctant, casting only blended shadows. The darkness was not the company I had been seeking.

I waited patiently, gently for the smallest reward. Almost inperceptively it came, a twinkling connection from a giant light years away, so far away. My only company tonight, a vision more clear in my peripheral.

My hope gathered  momentum as more constellations joined in. I remained planted, afraid to move. Worried my acknowledgement might frighten them to burn out and to  leave me stranded under the night blanket. They seemed unchallenged by the distance, by my presence.

Their numbers steadily increased and I felt my tension dissipate under their care.

No longer lonely for the stars.

B. Toner

Sept, 2018

Another Christmas has come and gone. Now we find ourselves in the dead of winter. I can appreciate that this season of snow blankets and frosty breath has much to offer. Postcard sceneries magically cover up a multitude of bland corners of the neighbourhood. Skiing, snowshoeing, ice skating and even sleigh-riding, which were impossible under the summer sun, can be daily occurances.

Unfortunately, underneath the snow, I often harbour a sentiment of “getting through” this tough season in order to enjoy the warmer months. These gray days build character and make us proud Canadians, but I secretly anticipate spring.

Today, driving home from work, I pointed out this scenery to my son and realized it had become the norm. Driving by evergreens with fluffy whip cream on them, watching the sun reflect off the ice in the bay and even scraping off the windshield, all now part of our routine. A routine which  is as real and embedded as applying sunscreen and swatting away mosquitoes.

So why do I insist on dreaming of the normalcy of better days when this quarter of the Earth’ s orbit is as regular as the other three? I consider myself a positive thinker (for the most part). Therefore, my growth lies in becoming a present thinker; an enjoy-the-moment kind of person. Not simply in the things that I do, but in those circumstances that surround me and influence these things that I do.

I can appreciate the January Sun.

O JANUARY SUN

I can see her even now, but we’re not as close. She’s more distant, less welcoming. She mopes across the sky with a touch of hopeful warmth; not carefree warmth as it was a few months past.

She keeps more to herself this season. Silent, she is less intrusive. Content to rise late and rest early. Her winter dance is lower and less dramatic; as if she has partially retired from her duties.

I miss our summer affair when I would sweat under her constant attention, sneaking brief moments to hide under the shadows she splashed. Today, I am careful not to be blinded by her cold reminders, reflecting off every frozen surface.

O JANUARY SUN! You soldier on in purpose. Barely threading us through a white winter until you once again take your mark at center stage.

B. Toner – January, 2018