I drift off to sleep and I find myself in a stampede of horses. I am riding a beautiful stallion. We race through the open meadow, the warm sun caressing my skin. I am the lead rider. Suddenly, the horses begin to move faster and faster. I start to panic. The ride is getting out of control. I scream “Pull me off! Pull me off!” My husband lying in the bed next to me hears my frantic cry. He grabs my arm. I am now in two worlds. I can hear him trying to wake me but I remain in the midst of the stampede of thundering horses.
With the pull of my arm, I fall violently to the ground. The horses continue to charge over my lifeless body. I am screaming in agony. A warrior emerges from the maze, his headdress of feathers twists in the wind. He spurs his horse towards me. He encirlces my lifeless body and then begins to trample it. I cry out in agony but he does not stop. I can feel myself getting thinner. Now, my body is paper thin. “Stop! Please stop!” I beg.
“Speak through your Spirit, not your body” he says.
Everything fades and I am once more in my bedroom. My husband looks at me with concern. I breathlessly assure him that I am OK.
A few days later I find myself sitting across from my Aboriginal Elder Anthony. As I tell him about my curious dream a warm smile comes across his face.
“What do you think the dream was about?” I ask.
After a moment’s contemplation Anthony looks at me with his ancient eyes sparkling. “Linda, did I ever tell you my Spirit name? It’s Thundering Horse.”

Today I had a very close call. As I gathered up the laundry I realized my wedding ring was missing. In a panic I quickly did a replay of my day. The last thing I remembered, I was at my physiotherapist’s office and she was working on my hand. As I slid the ring off my finger, I carelessly slipped into my jeans pocket. Then I forgot about it and carried on with my day. Now, the jeans in question sat slumped on top of the huge pile of laundry. Frantically I grabbed the jeans and tore through the pockets. Horrifed, I could see that there was no ring was in sight.
I ran to the phone and called my physiotherapist’s office. Within minutes I had the whole office scouring the floor. They called back to report it had not been found. At that point I was in hysterics. I needed to calm down and retrace my steps. As I drove through the rain I tried to not cry as I thought about my beautiful ring and how much I loved it. I recalled the day my husband gave it to me. It was out twentieth wedding anniversary and to mark th occasion he gave me a beautiful diamond eternity ring. It was his way of telling me how much he loved me and today, in my absentminded fog I lost it!!!
It was dark by the time I got to the mall. I ran through the parking lot searching under parked cars. I went into the small shops I has passed earlier in the day and asked if a ring had been found. No luck.
As I drove home I played the scene in my head of how I would tell him. I knew he would be more hurt than anything and I dreaded it. Then I realized that if it was gone it was gone. We would eventually (and I mean eventually!) get over it and I reminded myself that I still had the ring I got when we were first married. Yes, I would return to that ring-a ring from a simpler time. Most important, I had my wonderful husband and that was far more precious to me than the ring.
When I got home I decided to really give the laundry pile one more shake down. Suddenly I heard a faint “tinkle”. Out came my beautiful ring. I fell to my knees and cried. Perhaps I needed to see that it was what the ring represented to me that really mattered. Oh who am I fooling…I knew that all along!

It’s Christmas morning and knowing that it’s going to be a while before everyone gets up, I yank the brand new Oprah magazine out of my Christmas sock. Leafing through the articles, a phrase catches my eye.
“… She rewarded herself with a fur trimmed, wine coloured coat which she adored. Eventually she does marry and when she gives birth to her first daughter she cuts up the coat to make something for the child. That’s the story of motherhood, in a large way. You take the thing that is most precious to you, and you cut it up and give it to somebody else who you love more than the thing.”
I stop and gaze out my living room window and I am transported back in time….
We didn’t have much growing up. With three little girls to raise, my parents did what they could to provide for us. There wasn’t a lot of extra money at Christmas and even though we were quite poor, we always did manage to get one special toy from Santa. One year we all got Barbie dolls. My Barbie had a brunette “bubble hair-do” and she came with a beautiful yellow dress–I think she was a bridesmaid.
Now, in those days, Barbie only had the clothes she came with. You didn’t get any other clothes for her. If you wanted her to have clothes you had to make them yourself. And so, my mother did just that. She made Barbie clothes. But these were not ordinary Barbie clothes, these were ball gowns!
The first one she made was a pink satin “Marie Antoinette” type gown with full crinoline underskirt. The underskirt was soft green and it was trimmed in matching pink satin. Soft pink and green–so avant-garde wouldn’t you say? I guess the pink dress was a hit because my mother then made the same dress in royal blue velvet. This time with white satin trim and she finished the hem in tiny pearls.
Next was a slinky black evening gown. A simple off the shoulder number; it was trimmed in gold piping. A sexy long slit ran up the leg–very Bob Mackie! Yes, these were the things my mother made for my Barbie and I loved every one of them. What made these clothes so special was that my mother was actually cutting up her beautiful dresses to make these things!
Merry Christmas Mom. Thanks for the memories.

Winter Solstice arrived at 12:47 pm today. With the days getting longer, Winter Solstice marks the end of the darkness—a moving towards the light. So, in honour of the year I just had, I attended a Solstice Celebration.
There we were, my daughter and I, on the land of “glamorum”— a beautiful property just north of Orangeville. Not quite sure where to go, we followed a path that was carved in the snow. As we trotted through the woods we laughed and chatted. “Where are we going?” “Don’t fall!” “I think I have to go to the bathroom.” And then we came upon it–a lodge beside the river. As we drew closer, we could hear the people inside tending to the crackling fire.
Kim, one of the fire keepers smudged us before we entered. We were reminded that in the lodge we were to always walk in a clockwise direction so as not to disrupt the flow of energy. Inside we met the second fire keeper Jason. Together Jason and Kim were on shift to tend to the fire and oversee the lodge. The fire had been burning for 4 days and 3 nights. My elders taught me to always acknowledge the fire keepers so, with me today I brought ceremonial tobacco as gifts for them and sage for the fire. They were most appreciative.
We were invited to sit wherever we felt most comfortable. As I sat down on the bench I looked over my right shoulder and saw the white ribbon. I wasn’t surprised that I had chosen to sit at the north portal. The north portal represents transformation and wisdom. It is the grandmother’s position.
Soon others began to arrive. What a wonderful group! We began with a song and drumming which invited the Grandmother Spirit to join us. Then, medicines were passed around. Medicines included cedar for healing, cornmeal for prosperity, lavender for beauty and tobacco for gratitiude. As we took the medicines into our left hand, we each spoke of what we were to “give away” or “let go of” into the healing fire. When our intention was complete, the medicine was thrown into the fire. The cedar crackled and danced on the burning embers. Now cleansed, we were now ready to “receive”. Again, each person took the medicine into their left hand spoke of what they needed for the coming year. We closed the ceremony with more drumming, singing and finally, a huge “whoop!” sent our prayers upwards to the Creator.
What an amazing experience! Now, as I look back upon the year that has passed I realize that I have become a better person; more compasionate–more true to who I am. But this transformation of mine is still not complete. Like the bud that lays beneath the snow, I await the new beginning that comes with spring thaw!

I am surrounded by many women who are going through their own form of transformation. For some it is a career change, others a realtionship change and then there are those that simply are taking on a completly new outlook on life-a virtual shedding of situations and people that are not good for the soul. It is heady stuff and for those on the outside looking in, it is always simply attributed to hormones. But the truth is, there is much more to mid-life transitions than raging hormones.
According to Dr. Christiane Northrup, leader in women’s health and wellness issues, research reveals that in addition to the hormonal shift that means the end to childbearing, our bodies–and specifially our nervous system–are being rewired.
This psychological change, when embraced whole heartedly holds enormous promise for transforming and healing our bodies, minds and spirits. Is it any wonder that the current movement of psychospiritual healing is composed largely of women in their forties, fifties and early sixties?
Dr. Northrup explains that the process of transformation can only succeed if:
1. The woman is willing to take full responsibilty for her share of the problems in her life
2. The woman is willing to feel the pain and loss for the parts of her life that she must leave behind. In other words, she must experience the pain of “letting go”.
So, a woman in transition finds herself at a crossroads. A voice from her old self begs her to stay in place, not to change. But, from a new path another voice becons, imploring her to explore aspects of herself that have been dormant during her years of caring for, and focusing on, the needs of others.
She is preparing to give birth to herself. And that my friends is the wisdom of menopause.

I have not posted a blog for awhile. Something has literally stopped me from doing anything creative. Except for a few occasions, I have lacked inspiration; and even on those few occasions I felt the urge, it was difficult for me to spend much time on my computer. I did however get this down recently during our first snow storm….

Snow is falling. It is a perfect winter’s night. The silence sings its reverent song. I look outside my window and a certain sadness comes over me. It was 20 years ago on a night like this that I was missing my mother. I remember how the falling snow had created a soft blanket around our home. I stood at my front door and felt the chill in the air; the sad loneliness of the silent night. As I gazed up at the brilliant stars that filled the sky, I offered a silent prayer. Yes, this was to be my first Christmas without her. I missed her dearly.
So, on this night I think about those I know who have recently experienced a loss. An old friend of mine lost his mother a few weeks ago and my sister-in-law lost her brother. How tragic, Chris was so young. With all of the wonderful things that life has to offer, loss is also something we must take in stride. We all live and we all die. We all suffer loss and we all heal-eventually.
Loss, that universal experience can also be through the end of relationships. I have those close to me that are currently in the throes of ending long term; and not so long term, relationships. It dosn’t matter who is right or wrong here. Sometimes a realtionship has just run its course. And this is so painful, especially at this festive time of year.
So remember my dear friends, life and love are precious gifts. Appreciate the joy you have today as it can be taken away so easily. If you are fortunate to have the one you love with you tonight, hold them close. And if you know someone that is currently living with a loss, extend a loving hand to them and know that for all of us, life travels in circles-from joy to heartache and back to joy once more.
This blog is dedicated to those who cannot be with the ones they love tonight.
Now, enjoy Sarah Mclaughlan’s On a Winter’s Night http://bit.ly/7n0Sxs

It’s hard to believe that it was a year ago that I injured my shoulder. If someone had of told me back then that this injury would take a year to heal I would not have believed them. In fact I recall my doctor telling me something to that effect and I didn’t take him seriously. But he was right and it has. So, as predicted, last month I started to feel like myself again. With my newfound zest for life I started making plans to return to work in January. It felt great.
But slowly my right arm began to trouble me. Perhaps it was getting back at me for making it compensate for “lazy lefty” for so long. I tried to push through the pain but it wouldn’t go away. And then it happened. I burned my hand on my gas range. As I yanked my arm away from the heat, a searing pain shot through my shoulder. I almost passed out! Surprise! I am, injured again!
Pain has paid a return visit. Acupuncture and massage are mildly helping and my precious sleep is once again disturbed. This morning I tried to do a low impact workout and I had to stop. Feeling sorry for myself, I grudgingly rode the stationary bike and watched others work the machines with ease. Then I began to think about the whole situation.
Here I was on the road to recovery, taking on more and more each day. Things were really beginning to take shape; and then this. What happened? I asked myself, was this just rotten luck or was it more?
I thought about how I had been rushing around lately putting my life back in order. I was busy making plans and perhaps I wasn’t ready to start making plans. What if I’m really not ready to start work in the New Year? What then?
Then my body spoke: “Stop thinking! You are once again solving problems with your head. You want your life to return to order so badly that you are thinking your way into solutions. You are trying to force the stiuation rather than letting things flow. You have stopped listening to me! When you are ready, I will tell you and not a minute sooner.”
I surrender. My body wins. Neglected for so long it has finally made its stand. I have no choice but to listen.

It has been a quiet time for me; a time of deep reflection. Searching for answers, I resist the temptation to turn towards what I know because it feels safe. I have gone down many avenues in the past few weeks, turning over rocks, examining them and continuing on my way. I feel the pulse of the truth rising to the surface. But I am told must remain quiet and let my inner soul speak to me. Tonight, in honour of the Spirit that guides me, I share with you some Native wisdom:

THE INVITATION

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living.
I want to know what you ache for,
And if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are.
I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love,
For your dreams, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon.
I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow,
If you have been opened by life’s betrayals or
Have become shriveled and closed from fear or further pain!

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own;
If you can dance with wildness and let ecstasy fill you
To the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be
Careful, Be realistic, or to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you’re telling me is true.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself,
If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own Soul.

I want to know if you can see beauty
Even when it is not pretty every day,
And if you can source your life from God’s presence
I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine,
And still stand on the edge of a lake
And shout to the silver of the full moon, “Yes!”

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live
Or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair,
Weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done for the Children.

It doesn’t interest me who you are, how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me
And not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied.
I want to know what sustains you from the inside
When all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself,
And if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

Oriah Mountain Dreamer, Indian Elder

Last month I attended the imagineNATIVE Film + Media Arts Festival in Toronto. This festival, in its 10^th year celebrates the works of indigenous filmmakers and media artists. At this year’s festival I saw 6 films in total-3 feature films and 3 shorts. Brilliant cinematography and complex artistic themes illustrated the depth and breadth of the creative talent that lies within the aboriginal community today.
One of my favorite films was “Reel Injun”, a powerful homage to the North American Native throughout a century of cinema. In this film, director Neil Diamond embarks on a personal quest to deconstruct the image of the stoic Indian that dotted television and movie screens all over the world. A native from Waskaganish, James Bay, Diamond compares his own Canadian upbringing with the vastly different images he grew seeing on the movie screen as a young boy. He explains, “Little did I know that when I was cheering for my hero Clint Eastwood, the bad guys that he was killing were actually us!”
The other movies I attended we equally inspiring. I attended one screening at the AGO. This special program celebrates 50 years of Cape Dorset art. It consisted of a screening of “James Houston: One of the most interested people you will ever meet” followed by a gallery tour of the Cape Dorset print show that is currently on display at the AGO. Again, another stellar presentation.
In total, the festival took place over 5 days. As I left the theater on closing night I couldn’t help but feel an incredible sense of pride. This festival was truly a tribute to a culture that produces brilliant artists, musicians, poets and filmmakers. I thought about my own journey as a creative person. My struggles have brought me closer to the spirit that lies within me. Yes, I am part of this rich community and my own creative power is just beginning to unfold.

Update: Due to the overwhelming interest in “Reel Injun”, I have added the movie trailer. Enjoy!
http://www.nfb.ca/film/reel_injun_trailer/

Have you ever thought about the circumstances surrounding how you met the key people in your life? Imagine if you hadn’t been in that exact spot at that exact time–your whole life may have turned out completely different. Is it divine intervention? Consider this true story:
It was the mid ‘70’s and I was in my first year of Interior Design at the University of Manitoba. One night, while getting ready to go out to a dance, I told my roommate, “I have a feeling I’m going to meet someone tonight.” I continued, “His name will be Steve and he won’t be a student here–he’ll be working.” Not one to make such predictions, I don’t know what prompted me to say such a thing. 
When we arrived at the dance, the party was in full swing. Scanning the room, I spotted a table with some empty seats. I went up to the three guys sitting at the table. “Hey, I know you!” They looked puzzled. “Yup, you are Mark, you are John, and you are Steve.” Again, I’m not sure why I did this. Of course, in honour of my earlier prediction, I definitely had found my “Steve”.
The music was really loud so we didn’t say much as we sat at the table. Suddenly “Steve” asked me to dance. While on the dance floor he said, “So how did you know my name?” I was shocked. Steve went on to tell me that he was not a student; he was just visiting with some friends in the residence. He had recently graduated and was articling at a CA firm. Steve also told me his friends’ names were in fact John and Mark. This was uncanny! When I told him I had just been having fun by guessing their names he said, “Wow, it’s like you’re The Amazing Kreskin.”
Steve and I dated while I was in school and we married in 1981. The story of how we met was told at our wedding reception by none other than Mark, our best man!
I look back on this story with amazement. I never imagined that on that night the “Steve” I was to meet would someday be my husband and the father of my two beautiful daughters.
Coincidence? I think not!

With the IIDEX show rapidly approaching I have been reflecting on why I chose to take a break from my practice. Over the years I have had moments that made me really stop and question why I am in this business. One of those moments happened a few years ago and it has stayed with me since.
I was attending the Interior Design Show at the Direct Energy Centre in Toronto. By mid day I decided to have a light lunch. I opted for sushi. As I placed my order I watched the young fellow in the paper hat reach into a picnic cooler and draw out a handful of sticky rice. He sliced some raw salmon and tuna and placed it in a plastic container with a pinch of ginger and a dollop of wasabi. Suddenly I lost my appetite. It was at that point that I had an epiphany. Interior Design was like sushi!
My love for sushi goes way back. My first experience with eating sushi was 30 years ago. I learned from the chef that day that sushi was an art form and the sushi master took many years to develop his skill. Cutting the fish was a specialty in and of itself. Over time I watched sushi gain such popularity that it became the latest fast food. Soon people were purchasing kits to make sushi in their own homes.
I wondered could this be happening to the interior design industry? Could it be a victim of its own success? TV shows promote the notion that things can “just happen” over a weekend and design is something you simply have an eye for. The truth is it takes years to become a professional interior designer. Creative ideas require ample time to formulate and with our world moving faster and faster sometimes it is the design process which suffers.
I considered my own fast paced business. Was I just going through the motions, meeting deadlines and not allowing myself to be truly creative? I changed my mind about the sushi. As I walked away from the kiosk I reminded myself to never become the guy in the paper hat.

The season is changing. I could feel it as I took my walk this morning. There was a slight chill in the air and I saw a few prematurely withered leaves on the ground. Other signs of change are also around me. Our youngest daughter has taken to doing a countdown on the kitchen whiteboard. Apparently there are 12 days to go and she is off to university again.
So here we are, at the end of the summer. I can’t believe it’s almost over. True, the weather has not been great but for me it was a summer to remember. It all began in early spring. After much contemplation, I told my husband that I was going to stop working for awhile. I needed time to figure out what I really want at this stage in my life. True, it was a difficult decision to make but once I made that decision I never looked back. What a glorious summer it was! I spent my time doing whatever I wanted to do. Between reading, writing and meditating, I connected with friends and I spent time alone up at my cottage. This break gave me a greater sense of inner peace and tranquility.
But now the season is changing and I wonder why I feel this inner stirring in me. I guess the summer is a perfect time to hide out. No one questions a summer break. But, when fall rolls around and you don’t have a defined path, that’s a bit radical. And I do feel that subliminal pull. I have begun to question myself again. It takes a huge effort on my part to resist the temptation to just fall back into doing the things I know. There is such an urge to fit in. Stepping off the “platform of my life” so to speak is odd and unusual. I no longer have the simple definition of who I am. And now, I can’t hide behind the season of the sun. My higher self tells me to relax; it’s all part of the process. I know intuitively that the big changes are not coming for a while. Sit back, I tell myself. Enjoy the scenery. Things will happen in their own time.

Today as I sat across from her I marveled at how far we had come. My business partner, my best friend, my “day wife” had just come back from an amazing trip to Belize. She is part of a group of wonderful people that are building an orphanage there. Business partners for 11 years and girlfriends for even longer, we had been through it all together.
It all began over a year ago. We both were searching for deeper meaning in our lives. At that time it wasn’t really overt. It was just casual conversations and a sharing of books and articles. In the fall, I started to practice meditation and she delved into yoga. No sooner had we begun and both of us began to notice the universe shifting before us. Alignments that could only be described as divine intervention began to present themselves. Change was happening. We recognized that we were beginning to travel on different paths. So, difficult as it was, we let go and allowed the chips fall.
And so, here we are today sitting across from each other chatting and laughing over coffee. She has literally transformed herself. Her new company is emerging and I know it is right for her. And me, I am on a venture that integrates my design background and my need to connect with my aboriginal heritage. The best part of it all is that we are still the best of friends. We support each other unconditionally. Friendship like this is truly a gift from God.

As I sit tonight and enjoy the beauty of the full moon I thought it appropriate to share with you the significance of the moon in aboriginal culture. Native people know that everything in Creation has spirit. The plants the trees and water, the wind, the rocks and the mountains have spirit. The sky world, including the moon and the other planets have spirit. All these are part of the First Family, the natural world.
The moon is called Grandmother Moon and great respect is paid to her. It is said that Grandmother Moon watches over the waters of the Earth. We see this in the regulating of the tides. It is said that Grandmother Moon is especially close to women because she governs women’s cleansing cycles or “moon time”. When women are on their moon time, their power is at its strongest. Because of this, women in aboriginal culture may not prepare foods or medicines; use the pipes or other sacred tools at this time. This is a time for women to partake in quiet reflection on her life and the lives of her loved ones. Just as Grandmother Moon watches over the waters of the Earth, it is said that women watch over the waters of mankind.
Some teachings say that when the moon is full, a woman can ask Grandmother Moon to give her new energy. Full moon ceremonies and sweats are held either on the night of a full moon or two days before or two days afterward. In a ceremony, women will sit in a circle from youngest to oldest, representing the life journey from infancy to old age. They drum and sing. Tobacco is placed in the fire and women will ask for the cleansing of the earth.
This is an ancient teaching that I share with you tonight.

One of my favorite CD’s of all time is Norah Jones “Come Away With Me”. Here’s a song called “Shoot the Moon” http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=TENV8IhpZ2A#t=11

It appears that Michelle Obama’s arms are in the news again. Yes it’s hard to believe that the first lady of the free world has drawn so much attention to this rather mundane body part. But I totally get it. You see I have been admiring her arms long before anyone noticed. I confess that I am a closet arm watcher. That’s because I have spent my life hiding my own arms. Silly as it sounds, somewhere along the line I got it into my head that my arms were not attractive or shapely enough to see the light of day. So sadly, I would hide them. It seemed no matter what my weight or level of fitness, those poor appendages were shown no mercy! When it came to fashion I was really picky too. Although I have purchased some really nice sleeveless dresses in my time, when it came time to actually wearing them, I would chicken out at the last minute. I know that sounds crazy but this arm thing was really a big deal.
So, why am I sharing this with you? Because I have had a change of heart. After so many years of verbally abusing my arms they simply gave out on me. I injured my shoulder earlier this year. Of course this happened because I was pulling too much luggage and strained myself. Once the frozen shoulder set in I was shocked to see how fast the muscles in my arms atrophied. That pretty much rendered both arms useless. I needed help with everything. I missed my independence, I got depressed. It was at that point that I realized how disrespectful I had been to my wonderful arms. After all, these were the arms that held my babies and embraced my love. They steadied me as I learned to ride my bike as a child and joyfully flung my bouquet over my head at my wedding. I am now on the mend and my arms are slowly forgiving me for the years of abuse. Yes I don’t have Michelle Obama’s arms. I never will. I have mine and I will never again take them for granted!

John Lennon, that brilliant talent, at the height of his career stepped off the platform. He made the decision to pull back and spend time with his wife and son. That took such courage. I know how it feels to do something that not everyone understands. I am so fortunate to be surrounded by a loving family and wonderful friends. The hardest part though is to go out into the industry and try to explain something that defies explanation. Can I not simply say that sometimes we just need to take a time out? Life is long and sometimes complicated. What’s a year or two in the overall big picture?
John Lennon wrote a song that captures the sentiment perfectly:
Watching the Wheels
People say I’m crazy, doing what I’m doing.
Well, they give me all kinds of warnings, to save me from ruin.
When I say that I’m okay, well, they look at me kinda strange.
“Surely, your not happy now, you no longer play the game.”
People say I’m lazy, dreaming my life away.
Well, they give me all kinds of advice, designed to enlighten me.
When I tell them that I’m doing fine watching shadows on the wall.
“Don’t you miss the big time boy. You’re no longer on the ball.”
I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round.
I really love to watch them roll.
No longer riding on the merry-go-round.
I just had to let it go.
Watch the video http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=qp9dc9im3-M

As human beings we are driven by fear. We are afraid of the unknown. That’s why we don’t like change. We will hang onto things well beyond their usefulness because it makes us feel safe. We stay in relationships, jobs and living conditions that are not working for us because somehow the devil you know is much better than the devil you don’t. On one level, it makes perfect sense. Why would we want to project ourselves out there into the scary unknown where we could possibly be hurt or rejected? It’s much better, we believe, to stay where we are, feeling miserable-and being miserable to those around us.
Consider the flip side of that argument. Imagine the possibility that we could project ourselves out into the unknown and find ourselves in a whole new reality, a reality in which we feel alive again. In Elizabeth Lesser’s book “Broken Open” she states: “How strange that the nature of life is change, yet the nature of human beings is to resist change. And how ironic that the difficult times we fear might ruin us are the very ones that break us open and help us to blossom into who we were meant to be.” She likens this to the phoenix which is a mythical bird who remains awake through the fires of change, rises from the ashes of death and is reborn into his most vibrant and enlightened self. She attests, “If we can stay awake when our lives are changing, secrets will be revealed-secrets about ourselves, about the nature of life, and about the eternal source of happiness and peace that is deep within us.”
What about you? When faced with difficulties in your life do you rise up and face the fires of change or to simply go back to sleep?

This blog is divinely inspired. Tonite as I was quietly contemplating what my next blog could be, I was guided to my bookcase. There, I drew out my book on angels. As I flipped through the pages a soft voice said to me, “No, tell your story”.  And so, with that instruction, here is my angel story:
Many years ago when my children were still young, my father called me up and asked me to come by to see his new drapes. My father at that time had recently become a widow. As a family, we stayed pretty close to him, giving him all the support he needed. But on this day I was running around like crazy. I impatiently told him that I had a meeting to go to. With some coaxing I agreed to drop in on my way downtown.
When I arrived at the house I knew I was already running late. I jumped out of my car and ran towards the front porch. As I was running up the stairs a gentle voice said in my ear, “He’s so alone.” At that instant, without even realizing it, my pace immediately slowed. By the time I reached the front door I was calm. I walked through the door with a bright smile on my face. My father was so happy to see me. He proudly showed me his new drapes. I gave them the nod of approval. Then he asked, “Lindy, do you have time for a cup of tea?” “Of course I do Dad!” I said to him. And with that we sat and had a great visit.
I left that afternoon feeling wonderful. I was a bit late for my meeting but somehow that no longer seemed to matter. In fact now as I look back, I can’t even remember what the meeting was about. My father has since passed away. I know now that my angel, in her very gentle way intervened that day and gave me a memory which I now cherish.
Do you hear your angels speaking to you?

Ready to listen to the most beautiful song? Dim the lights, sit back and enjoy http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=OM1PY2l9ZKs

When I was about 5 years old, while playing outside and I noticed one of the sidewalk squares in front of my house had been replaced. Fresh concrete lay before me. I hesitated for only a moment before I dipped my toe into it. My shoe left a small crescent shaped mark. That was fun. Then I stopped and realized the impact of what I had done. This mark was going to be there forever! I would grow up some day and that little mark would still be there. Then, I carried the thought one step further. I wondered what I would look like when I grew up. I thought “I will someday be 30, 40, 50 years old. I will someday be an old lady!”  The concept really stopped me in my tracks. I mean, at such a young age I suddenly felt this invisible chord which would connect me to the future. With that in mind I had an idea. I made a pact with myself that no matter how old I was I would always come back to this moment in time. I would remember what my house looked like, what my street looked like. I would remember that on this day the sun was shining and I was wearing these little black patent leather shoes.
Can you imagine? At such a young age I managed to comprehend the abstract of myself living in the future! And so, as the years passed I remained true to my promise. I have stopped to remember that wise little girl on that beautiful summer’s day. I feel that she is my child now. I advocate for her, I reassure her,  I am always there for her. No matter how old I get, she will always be in my heart.

In Elizabeth Lesser’s book Broken Open, How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow, she explains how none of us is exempt from the human condition. She quotes Wavy Gravy the clown activist, “We’re all just bozos on the bus, so we might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.” Her point is this; contrary to the self-assured image we work so hard to present to each other on a daily basis, we are all half baked experiments-mistake prone beings born without an instruction book into a complex world. 
Since we are all in the same boat, or bus for that matter, why is it that it is so hard to drop the pretense? Every person on this earth hurts but none of us wants to show it. We go out into the world each day and put on a smiling face-even while we are carrying any number of hurts inside-loss, betrayal, worry. And we feel like we are the only bozo bus. We believe that there is another bus out there that has all of the perfect people in it. You know the ones-they are the beautiful, happy well dressed people. They come from perfect families and have wonderful jobs that don’t bore or aggravate them. They don’t make silly mistakes or say totally inappropriate things at the wrong time. Yes, they are on the cool bus and we bozos stand forlornly outside with our noses pressed up against the glass.
But the truth is, we all know that the cool bus does not exist. It just looks that way because we are all playing the same game. So in honour of our flawed selves, let’s celebrate our quirkiness, our uniqueness, our humanness. Yes, we are all just bozos on the bus. As Wavy Gravy says, we may as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

As we approach this Thanksgiving Day, I want to first express how thankful I am for my beautiful family and wonderful friends. I am truly blessed. I also want to thank you, my subscribers. You have not only given me words of encouragement but you have also provided me with great ideas for future blogs. I am so grateful for having this opportunity to write (and have people read what I write!). My first blog was published in early August. Since then I have had hits from all over the world-Australia, Germany, North Korea, United Kindom, Italy and the good old USA. It’s been a wonderful ride. So thank you my loyal subscribers! In honour of thanksgiving, I share with you one of my favorite poems:

Gratitude
Be thankful that you don’t already have what you desire,
If you did, what would there be to look forward to?
Be thankful when you don’t know something
For it gives you the opportunity to learn.
Be thankful for the difficult times
It is durning those times that you grow
Be thankful for your limitations
They give you opportunities for improvement
Be thankful for each new challenge
It will build your strength of character
Be thankful for your mistakes
They will teach you valuable lessons
Be thankful when you are tired and weary
It means you have made a difference.
It is easy to be thankful for the good things
A life of rich fulfillment comes to those who are
Also thankful for the setbacks.

Today, find a way to be thankful for your troubles and they can become your blessings.
Happy Thanksgiving!

For me, this blog is wonderful outlet during this time of personal change. Always looking for blog ideas, I find myself asking, “Is it relevant?” when I am reading an interesting book or article. I store all of these potential blog ideas in my mind and let them germinate for awhile. Then, when I feel inspired, I just sit and write. It’s really that simple.
Today, I want to share with you how this whole “blog thing” started. First, I give full credit to my wonderful friend Renée Safrata. She is the owner of Reneevations, a Vancouver based company that works with corporate leaders in developing business strategies. Last July, Renee came up to my cottage for a visit. As we sat in my living room catching up on each others lives I told her of the many changes I was going through. My transformation was creating deeper meaning in my life. I felt my aboriginal roots emerging. Renee listened intensely. “Lindy,” she said. “You’ve got to write this all down…You should do a blog!”
I told her I never imagined myself writing a blog and I had no idea of how to get one started. Renee set my mind at ease. A blogger herself, she offered to help set it up. And so, on that rainy afternoon in July, a blog was born!
How we arrived at the name is a story in itself:
Many years ago, on the verge of starting my own company, I was wrestling with the name. I told Renee of my dilemma. “Hey, I’ve got it!” she said, “You should call it Makinsachange! You would be designing spaces-creating change!”
I’ll admit the name was fun and deep inside I really liked it but didn’t have the nerve to take it on. Too unusual, too bold; sometimes a thing can be right for you but you are simply not ready for it. Now, after all these years, “Makinsachange” is perfect.

Rita Joe, acclaimed poet, was a Mi’kmaq woman who, late in her life began to write. With no formal training, she wrote of the pain of her childhood. Orphaned at a young age, she was sent to live in the residential school system. In this setting, Rita Joe experienced the horrors of a system whose main focus was to obliterate the “Indian in the child”. It was through her poignant prose that she found her voice.
I met Rita Joe in the year 2000. I was in Eskasoni, Nova Scotia attending my Aunt’s funeral. One afternoon we decided to visit her. I understood that she had known my mother when they were young. I was excited to have the opportunity to meet this talented woman. When we arrived at her home I was struck by the humble surroundings in which she lived. This was a woman who had written numerous books and was the recipient of the Order of Canada. Gosh, she had even met the Queen of England! How could this be?
We arrived at her home and waited patiently in her small entrance way. The first thing I noticed when she came to greet us was her kind and gentle manner. She was delighted to meet “Mary’s daughters”. Then came the moment I will never forget. She suddenly turned to me and with a deep and reverent voice said, “Girl, the spirit is with you.” Dumbfounded, I looked at my sisters. They we were stunned too. She gently stroked the space around me as if to acknowledge something that only she could see. Closing her eyes she chanted, “My Goodness! I can feel it. It is so strong it has my knees shaking!” On one level I was confused but deep inside; my soul understood what Rita Joe was saying.
Rita Joe passed away in 2007. It was in all of the major newspapers. The Globe and Mail called her the “Gentle poet, a champion for her people”. The CBC broadcast a special documentary on her life. Yes, she was a Canadian treasure. But for me, she was the first person to recognize the essence of my being; a precursor to the path which was soon to unfold.

Sleep does not come easy these days. Perhaps the changes happening to my mind and body are wrestling for dominance in my consciousness. When I do manage to get a good night’s sleep, it is bliss. Last night was one such night. As I drifted off to sleep, my surroundings slowly faded away….
I dreamed I was in Picasso’s studio. This was not my first visit. On this day I sat obediently on the old wooden chair; the only sound was the whirring of the fan that sat on the table beside me. I watched the master’s ancient hands briskly stroke the canvas-each stoke delivering a brilliant burst of colour; red, yellow, black, white-symbolic colours of my aboriginal heritage.
Picasso focused intensely on his work. Time passed with ease; I was honoured to be in his presence. When his work was complete, he turned and handed me the painting. As I gazed admiringly at the painting, suddenly the canvas transformed itself into a rough hewn piece of birch bark. The vibrant colours burst forth from the rough textured wood and exploded before my eyes. I looked up at Picasso. He smiled knowingly at me. We both understood what the painting represented.
The museum curator looked at my painting. Yes, he declared, this was an authentic Picasso. How did I get such a treasure? “Picasso is my friend.” I told him.
I gently woke from my dream, my body fully rested. Feeling a deep sense of inner peace, I buried myself deep under the covers. “What a glorious dream.” I thought to myself. “Yes, I know. It is time to start painting again.”