Creative Thoughts

A Few Drams on Raasay and a quick hello to Skye: Scotland Reflections Part 5

Onward west we ventured. A spectacular drive from the Glencoe region toward the Isle of Skye brought us to Eilean Donan Castle, which sits at a meeting point between three lochs. This restored castle was one of the most frequently found instagram tags when I began researching our itinerary. Generally, we find ourselves going in the opposite directions of the most trendy stops, however this spot has some well deserved clout.

While this castle stood in ruin for the better part of the last few centuries, it was purchased by Lt John McCrae in 1911 and lovingly restored based on surviving ground plans from it’s long history. The island of Donan, where the current structure sits, dates back to the 6th century where a chapel was believed to originally reside. In the 12th century (or so) the first castle was erected, by the late 13th century the castle held by the Mackenzies, and in the 14th century the MaCrae’s garrison on and off on behalf of the Mackenzie chiefs. In the 1700s, 300 spanish troups resided in the castle after landing in support of the Jacobites. This lead to the government of the time taking the castle down to ruins, which is how it sat until Lt John MaCrae and his subsequent decendants began the journey to restoration. Today it sits as a living museum to times past and has been used in numerous films. This was a well invested admittance fee!

After our break touring the castle and grounds, we continued west over to the Isle of Skye to await our first ferry of the trip.

Let me tell you how much I stressed about ferry trips. Once we landed in Scotland, and began feeling out the nature of some of the planned on trips on ferries, we actually rearranged a big chunk of our trip to avoid a few crossings due to local news and unpredictable seasonal weather. In the long run, I was so glad we did this. And, our first trip – just 25min from Skye to the Isle of Raasay (Island of the Red Deer)- was quite seamless, much anticipatory stress aside.

Because we arrived obnoxiously early for our ferry (see above anxiety), we had time for a mystical little hike in the Skeabost Bridge area of Isle of Skye. There is a rumour in the area that if you place your face in the icy cold waters of the stream here you will be granted timeless beauty. Neither of us felt the need to do this, but we did enjoy the fairy realm like scenery, rainbows and crisp fresh air nonetheless.

After our short ferry ride that evening we arrived on the Isle of Raasay. We had booked a stay at the Raasay Distillery, a new and modern whisky and gin distillery on a very small island. One of our higher investment stays of the trip, Raasay was well worth it. The distillery hosts a very small Inn onsite, all modern and well attended by excellent staff. We were greeted with a few drams, set up in our room upstairs (which came with a bottle of complimentary Whisky) and then left to watch the moon rise over the mountains visible across the way on Skye while enjoying a few more drams before dinner in the Distillery’s restaurant (as award winning as the Distillery itself). The whisky, food and company was wonderful and I remember sleeping very well that night!

The next morning we awoke to breakfast in the hotel while watching a whale surf through the bay and then a distillery tour. This is where we began to appreciate Scottish gin is often just as good as their whisky. We also were impressed to hear about how this Distillery is working to revive the island’s way of life within their growth. The Raasay Distillery employs about 30% of the island’s population, with priority placed on hiring those who have roots in the Island and either already reside there or were willing to move back. They source their water from a well on the island that is supplied by rain water, and source everything else they possibly can on the island or as immediately locally as possible. Beyond this, they also return their used bran back to local farmers to use for livestock feed at no cost to the farmer other than picking up.

After this enlightening tour, we were tasked with waiting for our ferry back to Skye. Slightly more relaxed this time, we visited a Pictish Stone that sits on the Isle of Raasay.

Once back on Skye we drove towards Portree (pronounced Port Rhyee) and decided (aka Garrett decided, I was a little too hungover to argue) to hike up to Old Man of Storr. It was a big of a push up on the steady incline to some well worth it views.

We lucked into dinner in Portree shortly after (as it turns out, Portree is definitely a town to make reservations in advance in.. even in the shoulder season, we had to do quite a bit of maneuvering and lean on some luck to find a place to take us for dinner) and then found our airbnb to settle in for the evening. We wound down watching the moon rise again over the rolling, dark hills in our part of Skye.

That night I dreamt I was a time traveller. I was looking at some pretty silver rings with celtic designed carved into them. As I put one onto my finger, there was a big flash of light and I woke up to our next day on Skye.

We took a back road, mountain pass across the island to Bog Myrtle Cafe – a delightful aesthetic of vintage books, art and furniture with strong espresso. After breakfast we continued up the coast line to the Fairy Glen for a walkabout (another well versed spot on the instagram tourist plugs). From here we continued onwards up to Duntulm Castle ruins that watch over the sea. The monument to this castle reads: “the world may end, but music and love endure”. What a message to stumble on at what feels like the edge of a world.

Continuing down the coast from this tip of Skye we wandered Brothers Point before finding our next dinner stop, “Old School Restaurant”, the name describes the venue. The dinner service was wonderful, with a big old wood stove to warm us up.

While I was glad we included Skye on our visit, having been there I’m not sure I would stress about going back. It is certainly one of THE destinations for most tourists in Scotland, and though we were there in shoulder season so likely dodged the bulk of congestion, the area to me felt fatigued. Mystical and wonderful, and yet somehow tired. I wrote lots about feeling tired, excessively so, while there. Was that a dram too many at the distillery that kicked off our stay in the area? Perhaps. Could it also have been an area well worn by tourists boots and the clicks of cameras?

This may not click with all who read this, but as someone who is becoming attuned to the whispers of land across many timelines, Skye was an interesting place to be received but almost in a despondent way. I’ve been to places that hold a tune of “thank goodness you came to visit” enthusiam, and with the grain of salt that may be a mild hangover after the chest cold that came with Edinburgh, Skye seemed to say “thanks for stopping by but I’m really a bit busy” with the door already half closed. This isn’t to say anything negative about the hospitality to be found on the island, more to speak to the energy of the landscapes we found ourself wandering through.

I was glad to have been and ready to leave. From Skye we began our trip further up the west coast, to a land more rugged and almost alien in it’s scenery. Think purple skies, molten rocks, pink beaches, untamed orange grasses and rogue sheep. More on that next time.

Peacock Herb, Findlater Castle and Cullen Skink: Scotland Reflections Part 3

Returning to this series after a busy week away teaching in western Saskatchewan. This part of our journey along the east coast and into the Highlands was pursued and directed by Storm Babet. Luckily, we only met the edges of this system on our routes, staying about a day ahead of it.

As Babet began to pick up speed and roll into the east coast, we took advantage of the morning to head from our cozy inland airbnb back to the coast to find the ruins of Findlater Castle. The wind coming off the North Sea was no joke. Google maps led us to a parking lot that seemed to be shared with a local cattle farmer’s yard just up the coast near Sandsend. From the barnside parking place, google told us to walk across a field towards the sea. Luckily I have my husband somewhat conditioned to wandering into the abyss based off atlas obscura coordinates at this point in our relationship (though, he doesn’t always adapt his footwear choices appropriately, but that’s for another post) so off into the nearing hurricane force wind we went.

After a brisk walk to the coast, we found what we were looking for. I was talked out of my intentions of hiking further towards the ruins on the cliffside, as a mist was beginning to join the wind and make the narrow, unofficial trails down to the remains for the 14th century stronghold a little sketchy.

Outside of Edinburgh Castle, this was our first castle stop on our journey. Also our first ruins. The current ruins are believed to be a 14th century rendition on top of 13th century foundations. The location and the set up of the castle offer a very game of throne-esque picture of what it may have looked like hundreds of years in the past. All that remains is lower levels of the castle built into the side of a cliff, facing the North Sea and resisting the relentless wind and waves washing down the east coast.

As with much of the coastal ruins of Scotland, the history of Findlater is believed to be rooted as far back as Viking raids and Pictish rulers. The history throughout Scotland but especially throughout the east coast seems to be rife with brutal take overs, familial betrayal and political jousting. It’s believed that the original 13th century structure was built to prepare for a Norwegian invasion, afterwhich the Norwegians held the castle for a short period. Sometime in the 14th century the Ogilvy family rebuilt, allegedly with the Laird’s intention to imprison his father in the cellar in order to continue an affair with his mother in law (says wikipedia anyway). The mother in this story eventually married a Gordon, who promptly took hold of the castle and imprisoned the mother. Mary Queen of Scots tried to get involved at one point to eject Gordon, during this 16th century drama, but it’s unclear as to if this was successful or not. The castle fell into disrepair in the 17th century as a new home was built for the earldom in nearby Cullen.

The history and the scenery very much spoke to energy of dissolution and bereavement that seem to be transmitted by these lonely ruins on the cliff. Standing in the wind and the mist, listening to the waves crash and feeling the dampness leach into my skeleton it isn’t hard to imagine tales of familial betrayal, violent seige and eventual abandonment. The dark edges of human nature seem to reside in this aesthetic, not necessarily in a way that feels haunting, simply in a starkness you cannot manufacture. It’s title, “Findlater”, translating from Norse roots “white cliff”, speaks also to that sense of being a little forgotten I seemed to feel as I looked over the ruins.

After finding Findlater we drove a little further up the coast to Bow Fiddle Rock. The wind was continuously picking up making for some pretty amazing demonstrations from mother nature around this natural rock formation in the sea.

After spending a little time marveling at the views, we headed back towards where we came from, driving along the coast through the historic town of Cullen, allegedly where the famous Cullen Skink soup is said to have originated. The town has roots back to the 12th century, likely even earlier. It is said that somewhere in the hills surrounding the town three kings are buried from a battle in 962. A Dane, a Scot and a Norwegian marked by three isolated rocks.

Robert the Bruce founded the church in the village in the 14th century and it’s rumoured that the organs of his wife were buried in the chapel. The town has an impressive viaduct built in the late 1800s for railway operations that still stands today.

We had a quick lunch and got out of the rain in a local cafe. This was the perfect place to sample Cullen Skink, which we seem to have gotten the last bowl of (much to a local late lunch goer’s annoyance). In the environment of a chilly, old, coastal fishing village, a soup like Cullen Skink, a smoked fish chowder, makes a lot of sense. I personally wasn’t sad I tried it, as it did the trick to warm the bones up on that day, nor was I disappointed at never needing to have it again afterwards. After grabbing some snacks we hurried back to our cozy airbnb and got the fire place roaring, as Storm Babet settled in for the afternoon. A perfect afternoon to be settled with some tea on the couch, listening to wind howl outside. I was getting over a pretty nasty chest infection (thanks Edinburgh) at this point, and was thankful for an easy afternoon of rest to make use of.

That night I dreamt of a flowering herb that appeared with vibrant blue/purple flowers in a narrow fan shape. The whole plant seemed to spread out like a peacock’s tail, and in the dream it was being called “the peacock herb”. When I woke up, I was thinking about blue vervain, a herb I was beginning to know more and more about in my herbalism explorations, and a herb certainly sacred to the land I was in. I’m not sure about it’s links to peacocks, though I have found some sources that link Vervain to being a home for the larvae of the peacock butterfly. Much of Blue Vervain’s lore has roots into druidic times. It was used as a temple herb in Greek, Celtic and Roman temples. This plant has very much pursued me as I work through my herbalism apprenticeship. It is one of the first herbs I remember being curious about, though not much information was found early on. As I’ve reached the end of my formal apprenticeship, it has become a herb I use quite often, and one that works with me in the dream space frequently- appearing with nudges for both myself and for clients.

Egyptians believed that Vervain was created from the tears of Isis. Christian lore links it as the plant used to dress the wounds of Jesus after his crucifixion, and by the 16th century in apothecaries across Europe it was used for ailment after ailment. My intention is to create more herb specific posts on here soon, so I’ll save the bulk of Vervain’s written history for that perhaps.

Waking from a dream with vervain top of mind just added to my desire to connect to the land of my ancestry while exploring my present day identity. Waking that morning the wind still howled and the rain was falling. We had a breakfast made by our host, packed up and headed west to the next leg of our journey: Glencoe.

More on that next week, I need to get at my herbalism thesis with rest of my morning!

Tidal Graves and the Eyes of Dunino Den: Scotland Reflections Part 2

After a few days in Edinburgh we were ready to move onwards. We picked up our rental car and headed North to Torryburn Beach. It took a while, but we eventually found what I was looking for: the grave of Lilias Adie.

Lilias Adie, a woman in her sixties, was accused of consorting with the devil in the early 1700s. She was imprisoned under the crime of witchcraft, tortured and interrogated until she eventually confessed. She passed away in prison before she could be executed for witchcraft. She is one of only women accused of witchcraft with a gravesite, as most were burned. The village feared she may rise from the dead, so they buried her in a wooden box between the low and high tide markers on Torryburn Beach. They covered her burial site with a massive stone slab. In 2019 her gravesite was relocated using original documents from the village church that led her persecution. Unfortunately, prior to this rediscovery, her remains had been stolen by grave robbers in the late 1800s. Her skull ended up in a private museum in 1875, then went to the University of St Andrews before going missing yet again. To this day, her skull remains missing.

I’m not sure even in reflection I have the words for the sensations I was aware of while looking out over the tide. I think I was already becoming aware of a dissonance between wanting to seek out the past; to know more about my ancestry, the history of women, the history of a land my gene pool came from.. juxtaposed with the realization of how much gets lost to history. Lilias Adie’s story is known from the words written about her during her imprisonment and trial, by her accusers and persecutors. Likewise for many of the women who were tried and burned at the stake. Likewise for much of my ancestors. The reasons why they left where they were blending in with historical reasoning but not much personal record. The past remains a mystery, and perhaps that is as it should be.

Yet, standing looking out over the murky grave of Lilias, there is no choice but to remember even that which cannot be known. The fear she may rise from the dead has long passed, and now there is a hope that she will to share her story.

Garrett eventually dragged me away from staring into the abyss as the tides rose, and after grabbing some lunch in a nearby village we headed East to Dunino Den.

Tucked behind a 17th century church and graveyard and down a short path into the woods, the entrance to Dunino Den is guarded by the remains of a sacred well. The well appears to me as a watchful eye. Just to the left of the earthly observer and sacred waters is a staircase etched into the steps of the stone embankment, leading down into the den.

I’m not sure I had ever experienced such a palpable shift in energy as what we experienced descending into the ancient sacred site. The gentle forest sounds that existed as we stood at the well disappeared as we descended. Suspended silence took over. It truly and vividly was an experience of stepping to a place outside of time itself.

We were lucky enough to be the only human visitors present at the time, though it certainly did not feel like we were alone. The stone banks were full of various carvings, some very very old and some new. Faces, symbols, words, hand prints and offerings of coins, cloth and trinkets are scattered everywhere. Dunino Den has been dated back as a site in use as far back as Pictish times, and likely earlier than that. Standing looking around the “den” on the bank of a gently flowing creek I felt all at once welcomed back to a place I’d known in some lifetime and bombarded by watchful eyes of beings beyond what is known. Nothing malevolent, but observant nonetheless.

Dunino Den is believed to have been used as a ceremonial site for as far back as it can be dated. The nearby “modern” church and graveyard contains a large, neolithic age standing stone. This is a rare place where modern day religion existed without destroying more ancient spiritual grounds.

We stood in the Den as long as we were permitted to. There was a very clear moment where we were nudged to continue on. The sacred silence we were suspended in as we took in the grove was lifted and with thanks we headed back up the narrow stone steps, past the sacred pool and back towards our current timeline.

“In a direct and obvious sense, the past never leaves us, it is embedded in the present, is veined through our beliefs, our diet, our traditions, our way of moving through the landscape and much else.”

Alistair Moffat, The Hidden Ways

As we walked back through whatever veil seems to gently guard this sacred place, I was reminded that though many things are lost to written history, there is always opportunities to remember when we sit into non-linear ways of receiving information. As has happened to me more than a few times now visiting the “old world”, places other than my place of birth, our feet sometimes fall on paths we’ve walked in other lifetimes.

From here we drove upwards on the East coast to our home base for a few days near Turiff. The woodstove was lit for us when we arrived, and as Storm Babet was starting to howl on the horizon and so we made our place for the night.

More to come soon.

On the backs of dragons: Scotland Reflections 1, Edinburgh

As spring arrives I am in some ways still steeping in the intensity of last year: one of my busiest professional years yet, getting married in September and then spending a month overseas in Scotland on our honeymoon.

I’ve always found that travel is best processed in hindsight. All the experiences over the year, culminating in our travel in the fall, very much seem to have neatly encapsulated a transition point in my life. Perhaps a writing exercise for another time, or over this series of reflections, is my own ongoing embodiment of that transition. I haven’t quite found my language for it yet. I remember when I first tried on my wedding dress, there was a surprising feeling of not recognizing myself. Seeing instead who I was becoming, and what embodiment I was just stepping into.

That feeling continued as I moved through the year leading up to our wedding. In some ways I linked it to an initiation of sorts. To what, I’m not sure. There’s a level of maiden in many ways I stepped out of, but I don’t quite identify with the traditional “mother” phase heading towards crone in common spiritual language. What replaces mother in modern day life when “mothering” isn’t the calling?

Even now, as I work on my herbalism thesis (which I should be working on now, but when creativity calls, it calls), which focuses on integrative herbalism in the treatment of modern day cyclical health (women’s health); I am faced with that same question. For those of us who are consciously choosing to not have children, existing within a healthcare and wellness care system that hinge fertility as the deciding factor around health, much of the time, how do we support vitality while linking a woman’s value to more than just their ability to bear life into the world?

Around this same time, in the midst of wedding planning and facing all the micro transitions along the way to our wedding, we began to figure out where we wanted to travel to afterwards. Both G and I have always been interested in Scotland, and it was in with a few other options for our honeymoon. For me, Scotland has many ancestral ties. I knew whenever I did get there, there would be many explorations in real time as well as otherwise that would occur. In hindsight, it seems more and more appropriate that the energetic “homing beacon” began to chime in as this being where we headed to on our first trip as a married couple.

Our first stop on our trip was Edinburgh. It was a relatively short flight across the pond from Toronto, and after a brisk jog through the Toronto airport due to a delayed incoming flight – we settled into the overseas flight. As I tried to sleep, I was washed over with memories of my maternal grandparents. Specifically, the home of theirs that I spent lots of time at. Memories of summers spent in the back yard, with cousins, running through the garden. The feeling of running through the corn in the garden. Picking peas and carrots. The smell of their garage. I wondered if my grandparents had ever explored some of the territory I was about to explore. I had the sense they were along for the ride with me. Likewise with my paternal grandparents. What ancestral memories would I find, and what questions would I answer? I also had the sense that this was firmly my journey. I remember thinking, I am creating my own memories on the foundations of the past. Perhaps it was the half asleep and already sleep deprived vision taking hold, but as we approached EDI in the very early hours of the morning, it appeared to me that there were black dragons flying alongside our plane. Some guides for the journey ahead, perhaps.

We landed at 6:30am on Oct 17th. Our first orders of business were cappuccinos in an airport cafe while setting up our SIM in my phone and getting a handle on the bus system that we’d be using while in Edinburgh for a couple days. We took our first double decker bus from the airport to our BNB, which was just outside of the downtown area of EDI. Our hosts were gracious enough to let us move in that morning, the day of our check in, and even insisted on cooking us breakfast. Much appreciated way to start our first day. In a brave attempt to mitigate the worst of the time change, we had a strong intention to use the day to explore the city and stay awake. Which, we did indeed. Another bus, and 17,000 steps later we had seen much of Old Town on our first day. As we stepped off our bus into the city centre on Princes Street, facing the gardens with Edinburgh Castle looking down at us from the top of the city, it was one of a handful of experiences I’ve had of my breath being taken away completely.

Edinburgh is a very aesthetically pleasing city. Old town has been essentially the same for a few centuries now, and runs from the coast up the molten rock hill to peak with the castle at the highest point. New town has been essentially the same for the last couple centuries, and sits below Old Town. Remove the cars and street lights, and you could very easily be standing in the 1700 or 1800s. Though, a thought I had many times while we were in the city, the air quality may have been significantly worse back then. At one point, Edinburgh was considered Europe’s most population dense city. Multiple-story buildings were common in the 16th century and by the 18th century, buildings on High Street were often six to ten stories tall and could reach up to 14 stories towards the back where the land sloped down. The city was supplied with water via street level wells from the 16th century to the early 19th century, when slowly more modern plumbing became possible. Those living on higher floors (usually the wealthy), had to hire water caddies to trek water up the stairs until late 19th century. In 1797, the “Nastiness” Act was passed, which prohibited the tossing of waste out windows during daytime hours. Sanitation was a major issue in Old Town, along the Royal mile, until the late 19th century at least. Edinburgh would have been breathtaking for different reasons until very recent history.

We took in much of the Royal Mile on our first day, breaking in our travel legs well. We visited Greyfriar’s Kirk Graveyard (featuring many Harry Potter film graves, and much history) where G was shadowed by what seemed like a spirit dog. Perhap Greyfriar’s Bobby himself. We wandered up Victoria Street, the inspiration for Diagon Alley, popped into Napier’s, a herbal store that has been around since 1860, and then trekked back up the Royal Mile to the castle.

Along the way I found The Witch’s Fountain, tucked around the corner from the busy thoroughfare at the entrance to Edinburgh Castle. You have to know where to look to find this somewhat controversial monument, luckily I had done some research prior to our trip so I did know how to find it.

The Witch’s Fountain was created to remember the many women who were accused, tortured and convicted (commonly without fair trial), and publicaly executed for “witchcraft” – a label of convenience as we now know. The controversy behind this memorial is in the wording. The language on the plaque implies that the women being remembered were guilty, which as modern history shows, was never proven. The assumption that the women accused and forced to bear a horrible end to their lives, and the long history of persecution in other ways since, risks perpetuating harmful rhetoric. The debate, I suppose, is if remembering is still more valuable than forgetting.

By the end of our explorations on this first day, we were both nearly delirious from sleep deprivation. We somehow managed to find some fish and chips on our way back to our bnb, before hitting our bed pretty hard for a good night’s sleep.

On our second day, we woke up to a lovely view from our bedroom window of the mist rising up over Arthur’s Seat after a 12hr sleep. With our coherency restored, and a little in need of a break from the congestion of city central, we took the bus out to the coast and found Portobello Beach. We grabbed a couple flat whites at a beachside cafe, and walked the beach in low tide. I spent most of that time finding stones and shells in the sand. The whole vibe reminded me of a book from childhood, Kate’s Castle. Here I was creating a realtime adventure in a land full of history and adventure, little imagination needed. With some time to spare, we continued walking along the beach, before finding a bus to catch over to a nearby neighbourhood that housed the Royal Yacht Britannia. After finding it behind a paywall, we decided to carry on back to Old Town where we had a tour of the underground vaults to take in.

Edinburgh didn’t only grow upwards, it also expanded underground. Largely due to lack of real estate, underground bridges and vaults were created. At first for businesses such as taverns, cobblers and storage centres. This relatively quickly devolved into low-no income living situation and illegal business. The vaults are as you’d imagine, dark, cave like carve outs in the rock foundations of the city. We toured the South Bridge Vaults, completed in 1788. Rumours suggest that during the illegal use era you could find rebel distilleries, bodysnatchers storing their latest digs (steeling bodies from graves to sell to researchers was a common, and lucrative, practice in the 18th-19th centuries as medical research grew but religious institutions outlawed studies on cadavers), and many unfortunate families making home in small caverns. Ventilation would have been non-existent and air quality just as bad if not worse as above ground. By the 1860s the vaults were believed to be emptied, though they were not discovered until the 1980s during excavation for building updates above ground. Now they are largely tourist attractions.

To cap off our final day in EDI, we found a bite to eat in Old Town before making our way back to our BNB and preparing to leave the city the next morning.

As awestruck as I was at first in EDI, I left feeling ready to leave. I was struck by what would have frankly been a horrible place to live historically, as magical as it seems today. Perhaps that lived experience was a past life experience I’ve had, as I couldn’t seem to separate the past from the present. As I began to steep myself in the history of my bloodlines, the idea of being faced with leaving rural settlements as the elite cleared space for sheep and given the option of city centres like EDI or getting on a ship, it was an interesting reflection as to what would be more appealing. Edinburgh is full of history, a centre of amazing scientific and medical progress, the inspiration for much creative works and novel thinking – and yet, I sensed so much turmoil, congestion and heaviness in the air still. I’m glad we went, and I was glad to turn our gaze towards route out.

More to come.

Weekly Reflections: Sept 7-13

Hello!

I’m not entirely sure what to write about this week. The week itself was full of “regular” busy-ness between work and organizing myself for the course I have been teaching over the past few days.

In all honesty I was so mentally focused on the two big things up coming (house possession and course) I regularly forgot about my birthday (which is today) as well.

It seems apt to mark a new year of being in this world alongside all the transitions I am stepping into.

Teaching this “educator” course for The RideWell Method has been a wonderful realization that I am ready to step into offerings like that. Working with clients but also teaching others how I work with clients. It was a strange exercise to put my “method” into a textbook and teach from that perspective (and clearly based on my use of quotations around method I still have minor symptoms of impostor syndrome!). As usual, I went into this teaching weekend with a very loose plan of how I expected it to go. From a self-observance point of view, I’ve been learning a lot about how I teach and impart experience and enjoying some positive feedback from my participants.

Tomorrow we open the doors to our new house (and first house)! This possession date feels like it’s been a long time coming. This week I took my big, decorative mirror off the wall it’s been on in my apartment’s dining room off the wall and packed it. That seemed like a low key ceremony in unmaking this apartment mine. It’s been just under four years that I’ve been in this little building on Ferndale and I will be leaving it with many clear memories of my first adult home that really felt like home. It most definitely has it’s quirks.. living on the middle floor with a heavy footed and vocally charged toddler above, and a toddler aspiring to death metal vocals below may be some.

Somehow with everything in prep this week I’ve been able to sneak some rides in. Wednesday it was clear that Benjamin was physically feeling not quite himself. Whether it was some left over body soreness from some jump work we had done the past weekend, his last foot trim not being the most biomechanically efficient or perhaps a growth spurt of some sort. He was avoidant to his left shoulder and very muscularly tense in that area. So we did plenty of mobility work on the ground, in saddle and then some off horse massage work to cap off. By Friday he was beginning to feel more like himself so I repeated the work from Wednesday and. Yesterday perhaps was the highlight of my riding week. Brit and I took to the trails (something I’ve been hinting at all week lol) on her property and we factored in all things that make for a good trail ride: new paths, a gallop through the trails, some spooks and snorts at birds flying out of the tall grass, and a sunset.

Funnily enough- astrology tells me that the moon is in my fourth house, today. The fourth house is all about home and family. What a wonderful way to begin my next year here- capping off my time in one home to begin building the next, accompanied by my partner (who is currently making me his favourite breakfast treat.. toaster strudels and coffee.. but don’t be alarmed: we bought cream of wheat this week as we both started craving it like the elders we are becoming) and surrounded by many others in my life.

I think that’s all I have for this morning. I’ve been more inclined to post more regularly on my personal instagram as a mini blog recently too (@katmah1). I’m grateful that I woke up this morning and the first thing I wanted to do was write here. The routine has been set in place!

Next week I’m sure I’ll have some moving adventures to share, as that will largely be what my week is encompassed by!

My intentions for the week:

Cultivate presence amongst the chaos.

Embody openness to new ideas and ways of being.

My intentions for my 28th year:

Align with myself, my intuition and trust who I am becoming.

Move forwards with bravery and presence.

Talk to you next week!

Weekly Reflections: Aug 31-Sept 6 2020

As I sit down to write this morning with my lovingly prepared coffee I’m surrounded by packing chaos and the soothing sound of the fall breeze outside my window (alongside the usual traffic and city noises outside our apartment).

Since we purchased a home outside the city limits it seems like we notice more and more all the reasons we are ready to no longer be in the city. The noise, the hustle, the density of people. Possession day is now just a week away.

It also seems to me that this whole year has been about wrapping up the ends of one stage of my life, while preparing to step into the next. The early hustle of my career has settled into a comfortable routine and in that routine giving rise to new themes and projects to further my ability and reach. My approach to practice has become more intuitive to how I see the world, not just what the world has told me. I’ve circled back on things that I left behind in order to “succeed” over the past five years. There’s an anticipation for what’s next as I truly don’t know what to expect. The old “five year” plan I wrote has been checked off and I haven’t quite written the next plan yet. Perhaps I’m a bit more comfortable in flowing vs planning, now.

I began this week craving a healer. My body was disconnected and my mind was scattered. On short notice I was able to drop into Pocca Pocca here in Winnipeg and get a massage and spend some time on the hot stone beds. This was a good solution to reconnect to myself at the beginning of a busy week. The theme of wanting to be healed, though, continued through my week. Perhaps it was the full moon that created tensions for many in my circles. I wanted someone like me to work on me or with me. Isn’t that a paradox? I am the healer I need and crave (but who wants to solely heal themselves?!). I also craved connection with likeminded souls, and I found myself reaching out to close friends (who all seem to live so far away) to commiserate on what the full moon was shining light on.

The shifts continued. I began working out of the first new space of the fall in River Heights. This is my first time truly working out of a time shared treatment space, so my ego has needed some time to adjust. I found myself re-formatting the space numerous times over the week in order to make it more functional (hopefully for everyone using it) and soothe my inner control freak. All that being said, it’s a lovely space and everyone who visited it this week seemed to enjoy it. As an aside to this space – I was invited to check out a second room in contrast to the original one I had agreed to rent at the St Norbert Arts Centre. Where I had had some minor internal anxiety over renting a second space this fall, viewing this alternative room at SNAC seemed to soothe those. In comparison the original room was quite lovely- though north facing into the trees. This alternate room is south facing looking over trees and river, and freshly painted. Where the first room was going to take a little sweat equity from me to make it the space I desired, the Universe stepped in to provide me with much of that work done in this alternate room. For that I was very grateful to the administrator at SNAC for calling me in when she heard it was becoming available.

My week largely passed in a blur. With back to back bookings on my in clinic days that made time fly, and returning to some regular riding clients- it was a productive week on the client front. Today’s project to complete the week work wise is to finish the text book for next weekends course.

Personally throughout the week I was working through phases of learning how to ground myself. I’ve been strongly called to more meditative practice, back into a regular movement practice (that is my own, and not in coordination with teaching or training others simultaneously!), and space to enjoy my time at the barn riding.

Speaking of riding, I’ve had phenomenal rides this week. A bit less in frequency then my inner Virgo tells me is “right”, but as I learn to let go of that internal schedule (as a condition of success) I am finding that I am settling into new teachings from my body in my position and tuning into Benjamin’s movement more and more. As a result I’m also feeling new engagement patterns. An issue I’ve been working through is some tendonitis/pain in my knees. Though this doesn’t bother me while riding, it seems to be connected to the addition to more riding. The logical cause for this irritation is an overuse of my quadriceps and an underuse of my hamstrings, causing an imbalance or tug o war situation.

It has been slowly improving with the addition of targeted movements to help balance everything out, and really sinking into my own awareness while riding of how I’m using front vs back musculature. I’m blessed to have such body awareness, however such awareness does often come with more sensation!

I’ve been meditating a lot on transitions lately. It seems as though so many of us have been thrust into a period of steep transition and much of the world’s response to that has been to resist. The revolution we are all living through is much less one of conspiracy plots, in my opinion, and perhaps one more of our own awakenings. Awakenings to how the way life was structured no longer works. I’ve been thinking lots on the stereotypes and themes behind each generation. My generation (the millennials) got caught in societal norms and conditions that we were told were the best way, but turned out to not quite work in today’s world. The next generation after us began truly resisting those ideals and now pushing for the revolution at hand.

The main takeaway? There’s no right or wrong way to live, and the only ones controlling us are who we allow to control us. Everything in the world and in society has a purpose and place, though sometimes the timing gets drawn out or outlived. Our resistance to change is often a direct correlation to our perceived security and safety. Survival is conditional, and many of us have connected comfort to survival and comfort being translatable to familiar. The way things have always been. To me, what this time has spelled out is quite similar to the local work I do with clients routinely. Change is uncomfortable, but that doesn’t mean it’s a threat to our survival.

Highlights to this week: discovering a new personal care routine at Pocca Pocca, discovering new layers in my riding, and welcoming new space and the autumn routine back into my life.

Intentions for next week:

I will stay grounded and present for the transitions at hand.

I am ready to speak my truths.

It is safe for me to find ways to enjoy my time.

Now I’m off to hopefully FiNaLlY finish the text book I’m writing for next weekend’s “The RideWell Method, Level 1” course! Wish me all the focus!

Talk to you soon.

Fast Forward

It seems almost too serendipitous that ten years almost to the date of the formal graduation and marked transition out of high school I found myself back at a wedding celebration in my home town community.

Combine that with the ever present pop up memories on social media from the decade ago period of life that seems like an entirely different lifetime at this point. How wonderful of social media’s ability to constantly remind us of where we’ve come from, our joys and our traumas, to reflect on at an almost uncomfortably consistent basis.

To have these memories: high school grad, summer celebrations, snapshots of adolescence and innocence as well as relatively recent snapshots of vacations, journeys and competitions arising as in real time I am ever present in current steps in transformation. Between house shopping with my partner, witnessing the bloom of my professional practice, and living through history on a global perspective.. the memories of the past seem both superficially distant as well as irreplaceably potent.

I live a life now that I’m not sure the younger version of myself would quite foresee- yet, I am so much of what she would have craved.

I’ve come to know a deeply settled and consistent part of myself that is healing younger versions of me.

This old part of my soul, of my generational knowing, has the ability to nurture the wild, lost and rebellious parts of my younger timeline. The roots that were always there have been fortified by presence. There is a rhythm to this stillness within me; far from lifeless, rather like a still pool of water teaming with life and purpose under the surface.

It speaks to trust, this rhythm. With gratitude- I have been able to acknowledge the orderly chaos with which life unfolds. Mindfully, in reflection, every moment makes perfect sense. I would not understand this stillness and this consistency now as nurturing unless I had followed my heart through chaos.

Looking forward as I did a decade ago towards what was coming next- I only knew the vaguest details. Everything went to plan, it just wasn’t exactly the expected route. Leaving adolescence I knew I wanted to retain aspects of who I was: a learner, a sharer, a teacher, a catalyst. The path I was taken on opened my eyes to healing- my own and others- and a few blind corners later I have exactly what I didn’t know I wanted. Fast forward to now- another decade past and another entrance to a path opening in front of me.

I know better now than to expect.

Something about spending time in a hometown, with hometown people, under the wide open sky surrounded by cultivated growth bolsters the idea that our paths unwind and pull us forwards- regardless of our expectations or willingness- only to become obvious and clear in meaning later on.

What is coming next? I have the vaguest ideas. Some are hopes and wishes, some are inquiries. There is no certainty, but in that lack there is consistency. We can only walk the path as it unfolds.

Things I do know in this moment. My body and I are in a much more conscious relationship with each other. Likewise with food, with daily practices, with substances, with commitments. I know now in a new way that am worthy of experiencing presence within conflict, and it is safe to be in conflict. Consistent love, to the same end, is also safe. Roots don’t tie me down, and simplicity doesn’t make me less worthy of connection. Abundance in life is matched with creativity – and both are divinely mine to experience. Old grief is welcomed and it is through feeling that expression becomes free and creativity is granted power.

The past few months, though globally we have been slowed down and asked to examine ourselves, our histories, and our normals- to me it seems as though someone has pressed fast forward and pause all at once.

I feel ever present to the flow of old things being drawn to the surface for exploration and release, and with that the new awareness of whats possible. It’s not what I expected, but it is what I needed and within each lesson even if born from pain there is joy for that simple fact. I am receiving what I need. As I allow the space to experience- the path continues to unfold itself.

I look forward on a path I cannot clearly see (labyrinth?), knowing that trusting that in this next phase of the journey I will experience new revelations around self, community, home and love.

The Curator

I dreamt last night of standing in a large meadow facing a familiar mountain. Sparrows darted in and out of the tall grass, keeping wild boars at bay.

Sparrows, in dreams, can symbolize innocence, restlessness, and freedom. They can also be related to family life. Wild Boars, can symbolize courage, assertiveness, and confrontation. A suggestion that one is learning to face their fears.

After a recent meditation I felt called to make a note to myself to “not edit my thoughts” and to “stop curating my experience”. In a moment of observing my normal operating I saw how endless editing was scripting the experience I thought was appropriate. Key term here, “thought”..

How can we think our existence or experience? Is it not simply something that is felt?

Where does this internal curator come from? I’ve been getting to know her over the past little while, as I’ve been becoming aware of personal tendancies towards body anxiety and even dysmorphia at times, disordered eating habits, and both a victim of and an observer of the endless stream of health and wellness “advice” on our screens and in our society.

I often wonder if before we all had “experts” at the tip of our fingers we were actually better off? I don’t necessarily mean those in immediate need of care, experiencing chronic life threatening diseases, or those benefitting from medical care. I think more of the vast majority of us that get lost in the array of fads, research, and chatter that tells us what our bad habits are, why we have them and how to break them.

This is me speaking as a professional in that exact industry.

My practice has changed dramatically in the last few years, and I’ve only been in practice for half a decade. When I look back at what I took right out of university and how each year brought the next best thing into my practice, usually for a short time before it became part of a larger melting pot of tools to use with various clients, I am not that surprised that when it comes to my personal wellness there is this curator that sits and edits what an experience should be compared to what it actually is.

I’ve struggled the last year, going through an evolution and what I’ve labelled metamorphosis, in many ways. My perspective on health has changed. My awareness of what should and shouldn’t be simple has changed. I FEEL now how interconnected all our systems are as humans, yet will still catch myself getting frustrated that my body doesn’t respond to what my mind logics.

I do my best to interact with myself as I would a client. With compassion, empathy and above all else patience. Healing, evolution, being human is a cyclical experience. The metaphor of a path or journey no longer quite fits, either. After all, none of us actually know where we are actually moving towards anyway. The pathway metaphor also implies a linear movement pattern, and the human experience is anything but that.

I see clients cycle through a curated experience frequently as well. In fact, it’s how I catch it in myself. They will come in and relay their experience to me using phrases like “I know I shouldn’t think this but..”, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be”, “I don’t think I should feel this way”, “I know this isn’t right but”.. and the like.

Where is the guideline that says something should be exactly how it is in any moment?

We are taught that pain, discomfort, anything above a certain weight, our true feelings, our judgement, our tiredness, our desires, our addictions, our coping mechanisms, our anger/sadness/grief/envy, our timelines are incorrect. All these things don’t meet a standard that groupthink has set somewhere along the lines, and because of that they’ve been deemed something we must edit and curate.

Our thoughts have lost their permission to be free. Our conscious need to maintain our place in society keeps our subconscious unconscious.

Much of my own healing and awareness has been developed via years of meditation and recent breathwork. Instead of experiencing, I’ve found myself busy trying to curate the experience. Great healing has taken place too. That’s the thing, though. Awareness and healing takes place not always by consciously trying to process or experience. Instead a surrender, gracefully or not, into the ebb and flow is the more potent experience.

Many people I meet resist raw experience because they fear a loss of control, and that if they begin feeling the “bad” they will never feel the “good” again. They resign to a “comfortable” neutral, gray zone out of a resistance to a wave like experience. Emotions at some point weren’t safe. I’ve noticed this within myself. Approaching family gatherings I tend to go numb, recluse, and now in awareness sit in an uncomfortable place of wanting to interact more but being somewhat stuck behind layers of old armor.

It’s a strange place to be. Aware, and in my own process with it- but also working with awareness not to edit or make my experience something that creates comfort for others while sacrificing my own process in return. While I, and we all, work to develop a better relationship with our internal editors (because there is such a thing!) it can create friction in familiar relationships. Any form of personal growth can be repulsive to those closest to us. It threatens their perception of us, of the normal- and that is perceived as unsafe by our unconscious operating systems.

That is one of the top reasons and barriers for those beginning a journey towards lifestyle change. Not only was I taught this in my Applied Health degree program, I have seen this at work with clients and with myself. It’s rarely intentioned this way, but like crabs- humans can be limited by the networks they live within.

I write this not to place blame on the groups we all abide within, nor on ourselves for the curator within. I write to absolve myself and anyone else who needs to read it of the guilt that can come with process. The shame we place on ourselves in moments of frustration, impatience and metamorphosis.

Exactly how things are is how they should be. Precisely what you feel is appropriate. It doesn’t have to make sense, and you don’t have to understand it.

 

Space, Wide Open

I used to have this dream when I was on the cusp of falling asleep. I was floating through the world and as I drifted my size would change. I would shift from shrinking so much that everything around me seemed so massive to expanding in such a way that I was taking up huge chunks of space, compressing everything around me. There were no emotions attached to the dream, though I remember feeling slight anxiety about the transitory nature of my matter.
Life for me lately has been fully encompassed by creating space.
For the first time in a very long time (ever?) I am truly being called towards stillness in created space.
Filling space has never been a problem for me. Whether it’s with ambitious projects, eating, exercise, businesses, sports, volunteer work, travel or social endeavors- I am an expert at filling time and space. These are things I’ve been shedding. Replacing the narrative of “I should therefore I will” with “I choose to because I desire to” as guidance has unveiled how much my nature escapes the present moment with directive space filling.
And so, we sit in empty spaces and resist the urge to fill them.
There is an interesting paradox for me forming between my tendency to fill space energetically and otherwise with busy-ness, as well as my lean towards using food as another filler. It’s been a year of imbalances coming to the forefront. The year started with a stark wake up call when my body went on revolt. Symptoms including extreme hormonal imbalance symptoms, weight gain, and a loss of the freedoms I used to have with my movement and metabolism. What had likely began as adrenal fatigue years ago went full scale, roping in my thyroid and hormones too. All this on top of facing the shedding of the brand I spent my early career years building and growing, and working through transitions in my personal life.
What I’ve noticed now after dedicating time to rebalancing is that while my symptoms have largely cleared up, what I am left with is about 40 extra pounds on my body from where I started. It seems even my body is more comfortable with filling space than it is with allowing voids to be happy places too. This, in itself, has created it’s own wave to ride along the journey.
It’s brought to my attention that I’ve always had body issues, as many women do. As I clear out space internally and externally I am left with rampant anxiety and judgement on self, two things I haven’t really ever had to face. The validation offered to me via sports, competitive riding success, entrepreneurship and management early on in adult life kept my energy focused elsewhere. I am now being asked to redefine my relationships with aesthetics, femininity, my physical presence, and myself. I am lucky enough to be on this portion of the journey with a unbelievably sound partnership.. contrast to experiences in the past that were a part of my subconscious scheme to fill space with other’s chaos so I did not have to experience my own chaos.
In a recent breathwork session I had a vision of myself, my body, becoming the unsaid things between adults of my childhood. Things I’d absorbed unknowingly as an innocent. Things that I perceived made me guilty by default.
Space does not tell us to fill it. Rather, we find ways to fill and organize it for our own entitlement. Filling space brings many of us comfort, as wide open space remind how insignificant our human worries can be. Our bodies are a direct representation of our relation to space and to ourselves. The unconscious will shift our outwards flesh into whatever form it needs to feel safe. How many of us walk around entirely unaware of this fascinating process?
As I always do, I’ve settled into this awareness. There is a poetry to sitting with everything that swirls around a liberated space. Some days I find emptiness with a peacefulness alongside it. Other days I am insatiable with the need to fill space. The rest I am content to just observe. Adding a layer onto this I’ve begun (on ND’s orders) experimenting with intermittent fasting. It’s surprised me how easy it is to fall into this routine. It’s brought purpose and logic to feeling open, and an awareness to how much I’ve filled space just for the sake of feeling full in the past. It feels less like a challenge and more like an awakening. As if a connected piece of me is being shaken out of a slumber and rising up to the surface again; having been sheltered from the storm and the metamorphosis by a well crafted armor.
Our bodies do know best, after all, as much as we like to think otherwise.
The most fascinating part of all this to me is how much more drawn I am to creative work. Painting, writing, intuitive movement have all been calling me more and more. I find it difficult to stay within a “status quo” lifestyle and instead find myself exploring and enjoying the quietness of slow days. It’s as though I am slowly detoxing the hustle and grind energy from my body; allowing myself to expand and contract in a more synonymous flow with the ebb and flow of nature.
My new workspace and freedom to expand into my own evolution has provided a wonderful canvas for my professional life. Space in my schedule no longer brings anxiety. Instead it brings time to rest, play, create or simply be. I do not know exactly what comes next and the internal voice affirms that this is okay. I can continue writing this chapter without plotting the next, for now. I can simply exist –  no permission needed- with the love that surrounds me, the creativity that fills me and the wide open spaces I am creating for myself.
Is that not what we are here to do? Simply being; existing in the wide open spaces we find ourselves in with no more than a witnessing of how we fill those spaces.