Aspiration

To have an open heart.

There have been many events in my life, as there are in everyone's, that have left scars. Some bigger than others, some more jagged and unhealed. Where do scars come from? If it is a wound free from the complications of infection, it could be a clean one, one that might one day be as faint as a far distant memory. So faint as to be erased with the healing magic of the new skin we grow every 7 years. A thin line of white on tanned skin. Others heal poorly, raised, red, jagged, visible. We bear them with pride, showing them off at every opportunity. Consciously or not. Dinner time conversation. Beginning of the relationship story time. This is who I am; a timeline in scars, bruises, wrongs inflicted. Learnings.

But what did we learn that we are here bearing scars, and telling their stories? That they are the flag bearer as we explain ourselves to new friends, new loves. It is a question I am wondering about today, this week, this lifetime.

A scar suggests an injury, a cut, open fracture, burn, gash as a result of some trauma, some painful event or deed. Often we relate the stories of our scars to those who inflicted them. Someone else. Lost lover, bad parent, faithless friend. At best some well meaning, or unintentional emotional blunder visited upon us by a hapless individual. These seem to be the type of scars we bear most overtly, assigning responsibility and injurious blame to the other. Even sometimes when we think we are not, we are attaching a name and a face to the different scars we bear.

But what if. What if there is something else to be made of these experiences, something better, more right to learn. Is it possible we have 'learned' something other than what is most true? Something other than what we could be learning?

I say this because I think I have been off. Somehow somewhere along the line I got my wires crossed and started generating scars.

We are made of light, of stars, of soul. We are spiritual beings having a human experience. Our humanity tells us there is something wrong with us, faulted, messy, imperfect. At some point we began to believe that the challenges we have faced, the experiences we have had may have been a result of this wrongness. But what if we are mistaken? That the things that have caused our scars were actually meant to open a door, not inflict a wound. We just misinterpreted. Saw it through a lens that was not clear. These things are meant to open us, not knit the flesh of our hearts with a map of scar tissue. Not close us, make us weary or less trusting.

We are built to love. Made to be open hearted. The things that knock us over, the tsunamis of experience are simply here, or on their way, to wash us clean, remove detritus. We are being invited to see with fresh and wide open eyes. Invited into truth. Awaken.

There is no getting it wrong.

Snow Melt

I was recently invited on a backcountry ski tour (thanks Josh!), in the Kootenays. Our four days on the Bonnington Traverse came complete with temps in the low -20's, clear skies and broad mountain vistas, a few sweet well-earned turns, and some fun (and for a few steps slightly sketchy) high alpine ridge travel. Skiing is something I grew up doing, and I was introduced to ski touring in BC back in the late nineties and early 2000's.  I found it addictive and wanted to do more of it, but it was one of those things that time, work, geography, companionship and skill conspired to limit me in. In 2008 when I moved to BC more permanently I aspired to get into the winter backcountry again, get better and more competent at touring. It's now 2014 and here I am, finally getting down to it. I have no aspirations to work professionally at it, but aim to do more of it for fun, for bodily solace, for the hard work and the glorious (though not always graceful) powder turns it affords me.

I wrote in a previous post about 'the Farm', a place deeply connected to memories of my dad and one that taught me much of what I know about real life. By real life what I mean is living in places where it is impossible to take basic things for granted or get bored for lack of things to do. On the Bonnington  there are a number of small efficient huts scattered at 9-11 km intervals throughout the tour. They sleep 6 or so…depending on how close you want to be. Bunk beds just wide enough to fit two thermarests sandwiching a table with lower bunks acting as benches, a small counter with a coleman two-burner, a small wood stove, and abundant drying hooks and lines pretty much fill the space. If more than 2 of you are standing up or trying to do anything at the same time forget about it. One of you at least will end up burning your ass (literally), tripping on something or simply getting stuck in the midst of the tiny crowd unable to reach whatever you are trying to get at. These wee cabins are supplied with wood, axes and mauls, basic kitchen supplies, and a gas stove and lantern. There are a number of gaps in the chinking of all of the huts, so in colder weather puffy jackets and LJ's are worn inside until such time as sleeping bags are pulled out for the night. There are no open creeks near any of the cabins so water is made by melting snow - a constant act of labour over the wood stove. This is an environment where I feel deeply at home, tuned in to basic needs and fall easily into the rhythm of the steady puttering work of keeping warm, hydrated and well fed. There is a constant supply of small tasks, and while I am tired from the humbling days of skinning up long ascents (especially being out of 'ski shape' after only 4 days of skiing this winter) and cold weather, I find it relaxing, grounding to keep this type of busy. The right kind of 'busy'. I imagine that I could live this way for good long periods of time. I have. I spent weeks and months of my life living at the Farm, chopping and loading the wood bins daily, lighting and stoking fires, priming stoves and lamps, and melting snow for water. These things are second nature to me. I fall into them. In this world of dish washers and taps and central heat I am less sure of what to do, more likely to be idle. Life becomes less about movement and more about looking for something to move towards. Making lists and ticking boxes to help me feel accomplished, purposeful.



In hut life purpose is inherent and embodied. The shared need for basic things…water, warmth, food and rest are the driving force of every evening and morning. Throughout the night, especially in the arctic cold that gripped us this past week, we even move out of sleep intermittently, to keep the fire going to heat the space so that energy can be restored for the next day of slogging uphill.

I am always acutely aware of the primacy of water when I'm living in the field. Especially in the cold. Probably a lesson hard learned through years of guiding winter trips with dogs and people in frigid northwestern Ontario. Both needed water and lots of it. To this day I recite my aspirational '4 litres of water a day' spiel to all my students, summer and winter. How important it is for the mind, body and soul to be abundantly hydrated. How the litre of water you should be drinking first thing in the morning before emerging from your sleeping bag can make or break your day, your entire experience, on so many levels. When I am on trip I practice this ritual personally without fail, because it keeps me on my game, and allows me to be cheerful and funny at times that are anything but inherently cheery or humourous. On this trip, as with many others I was focussed on the constant and proactive production of water. It is a small thing that makes a world of difference.

Maybe it is in these small and detailed acts that we make up our calling. I know somehow for me there is a connection to my life purpose wrapped up in this repetitive and endless task of melting snow. This minute but essential act of service.