mindfulness Archives - Passage To Joy

October 16, 2026October 16, 2026

Integration – the power of ‘and’ . . .

I doubt that there are many who do not have at least some memories of special times and special people that carry a ‘but’.

The last couple of years have, for me, brought a steady drip of challenges, including grief and loss. There have also been many new experiences, as well as old memories, to feed joy and growth. For a while, though, I have struggled with those ‘buts’. “It was a lovely day, but then . . .” Perhaps someone got annoyed, or there was physical pain, or something else that added a darker tinge to the ‘perfect day’. Or maybe the memory of a person I genuinely loved sits uncomfortably alongside those aspects that often made them difficult to live with.

Replacing ‘but’ with ‘and’ – integration not polarities

What I have realized is that the moment you replace ‘but’ with ‘and’, everything changes. AND allows us to embrace and integrate the richness of all aspects of a person or an experience as part of the wondrous weave of life. Instead of something that feels polarised and conflicted, there is an awareness of an underlying wholeness.

Buddhist and Taoist perspectives on suffering

I’ve never felt comfortable with the Buddhist view of suffering as the central condition of existence, something from which we need to liberate ourselves. It’s always felt like a rejection of an inherent part of living. Even as a teen, Taoism’s view of suffering as being the result of resisting the natural flow of the universe resonated much more readily with me. It’s not that you don’t feel pain or loss, but you cultivate an ability to be with them, integrate them and let them go to be absorbed into the currents of your living.

Metaphor: Buddhism is like diagnosing and untangling an internal knot of thought; Taoism is like stopping your effort to forcefully push a river and simply floating.

Focus of Observation: Buddhism looks inward to dissect the mechanics of the ego and mind; Taoism looks outward to align human rhythm with the larger pattern of nature.

Ultimate Frame: Buddhism seeks an escape or release from cyclical existence (Samsara); Taoism seeks deep, tranquil integration with life right where you are

Google AI

As I write, that word ‘integration’ keeps rising to the surface. It is also at the core of what I am working with as I age into elderhood. It feels to me that one of the key tasks of this stage of life is to bring together and integrate all of one’s experiences.

Non-duality

Day’s stored riches
spread gilding light
and paint the evening sky
in vivid hues
that gentle
into shadow,
then to night.

Night’s inky black
fades to grey,
colours seeping
then flooding back
till light explodes
and day
reclaims the world.

I think the importance of ‘and’ is that it implies wholeness rather than separation. Day and night exist on a continuum, are not a duality. And both are part of that larger pattern of all that is.

Honouring the whole

Every individual has strengths and gifts. They also have weaknesses and challenges of body and temperament. None of these alone reflect their human beingness. All the shadings and strands weave together to form a unique whole. In remembering those we love who have ‘become ancestors’, there is a need to integrate the good and not so good memories, to find an honest but compassionate acceptance that recognizes, celebrates and honours all that they were in this life.

Of course, this is learning that we can and ideally should apply to each person we encounter and to ourselves, as well as to the joys and pains with which life gifts us. That’s how we align our human rhythm to that larger pattern. It is important to remember, though, that this a process that requires attention, space and patience. It is not an instant ‘fix’.

Integration

Imagine a tapestry that only has access to pale shades. Now add in some darker threads. It’s not that the pastel piece is without interest. But those blacks, midnight blues, wine reds and more add depth and richness to the whole. You need access to the whole palette. Pain and grief do not disappear. However, when we are able to embrace then release them, to integrate them, then ultimately, with time, they enrich and expand our living and being.

February 20, 2019May 1, 2020

The interconnectedness of all

Murphy’s Point; an overcast, eerily still autumn day. Our woodland walk, unbidden, becomes a meditation on the interconnectedness of all things.

Living rock, underpinning, defining, evolving so slowly that we perceive only inertia and stasis. Each metamorphic striation has a distinctive character, encourages colonization by different trees and plants. These, in turn, support specific populations of insects, birds, reptiles and mammals.

To walk through these micro-zones mindfully is to experience the web of life, woven in wonder!

Flakes of mica dust glitter along the path to the old mine . . .

Human habitation was defined first and foremost by the bounty of the earth. Whether in the fecundity of fertile loam in which to harvest wild plants or cultivate crops or in veins rich with mineral wealth, our lives too are shaped by rock; by what lies within and by that to which it gives life.

I am awed by this deep knowing of my own rootedness in the very fabric of the earth!

In our increasingly urbanized world, we set great store by ‘independence’. Surely it is no coincidence that depression and anxiety are so pervasive when so many of us live so distanced from the pulse of life; our disconnection leaches colour from our internal worlds, rendering us so very alone.

Trees at Thanksgiving

Here stand beech and maple
arms outstretched 
to cradle the embers of summer
that fall to the forest floor,
blanketing it in red and gold
against the winter cold.

Here groves of hemlock,
limbs hung low
to cherish the memories of darkness
that cling to swampen ground,
sheltering it from light and chill,
comforting, peaceful, still.

               ~ October 8, 2018 - Thanksgiving Day

A typical Ontario view at Murphy's Point; Shield Rock, trees and water

March 26, 2018

Transitions in the seasons of the soul

I think there are multiple layers to the manifestation of inner seasons.

The internal season

On occasion in the past I have been very conscious of a specific internal season, particularly of winters of the soul as times of dormancy, retreat, grieving even. This is one layer and, from this perspective, I see myself now as in a transition from a winter that has been a time of mystery, of deep and subtle transformation, of stillness and silence, of hidden growth requiring patience and faith.

What has been interesting is that, in paying attention to the shift in nature these last weeks, I sense that it is not some human failing that we rarely transition smoothly; if this is the path nature takes then it seems to me that the two-steps forward one-step back dance is an inherent aspect of the character of change.

I see the land, still frozen, steeping in the thaw water that it is not yet ready to absorb, grungy, muddy, yet with hints of the possibility of spring. And I realize that I am content to live this within my own transition, to steep in a flood of insights that I am not yet fully able to soak up. I see the lake existing as thick white ice, clear glass and sparkling open water simultaneously and something inside me whispers ‘yes!’ in affirmation and recognition. In focusing on the subtleties and nuances of this time between winter and spring, I am newly comfortable in my own space of between.

Carrying all the seasons within

At another level, I am aware that I carry all the seasons within me, and can draw on the riches of each as I need or choose at any given time.

The turning of the year

Finally, there is the part of me that responds to the turning of the year, increasingly delighting in the changing rhythms that inform my living in both the exterior and interior worlds.

Now, in this time of increasing intimacy with both the natural and the inner world, each season, each new manifestation, each day of brilliant sunshine or unrelenting rain, each moment, is becoming equally precious. This is becoming almost as true for the seasons of the soul as those of the year’s turning. I try to sit with each, knowing that all things pass.

February 13, 2018February 13, 2018

Dancing down the drive to snow music

Snow music

My feet
find a beat
on the drum-tight shell
of ice-topped snow;

a crisp rattle,
then a tinkling, skittering
whisper of melody.

And I dance –
to the song that I hear
and to hear the music
of my dance!

February 13, 2018

Yes, for the last two days I have been dancing joyfully down our drive, delighting in the crispness of the air and beneath my feet and the unfamiliar soundscape!

January 24, 2018January 25, 2018

What does nature mean to me? Why is it important?

I was ever a child of nature, integrally connected with the rhythm of the seasons and with a strong link between external and internal realities.

Nature’s place in my life is as a sweet familiar melody running through my living,
it speaks the language of my soul;

it connects my roots to the beating heart of Mother earth
and it centers me in ‘now’ and ‘am’;

it lifts me out of the mire of day to day concerns;
gifting me moments of deep knowing and insight;

even in my darkest days, it anchors me to wonder and joy,
lighting my way back home to my best self;

it roots me in awareness of the constancy of change, unafraid,
and threads the cycles of dying and rebirth within my being;

it enfolds me in a living silence, rich in mystery,
opens the door to realms of myth and magic;

it inspires me to watch, to note, to listen,
sating my senses;

it draws from me a life-affirming reverence,
a deep resounding ‘yes’!

I’m very excited to be embarking on an exploration into Nature’s Poetry. Even this afternoon’s first foray into the preparatory work for Session 1, beginning to look at my personal connection with nature, has been richly nourishing.

I have, over the last couple of years, felt the pull back to my writing roots, which started with poems before I could even put pen to paper (I was three years old). So this online course speaks both to my deep sense of return and re-connection to nature in living rurally and to rediscovering a mode of expression that faltered as I focused on career and family.

What a delicious luxury it is to be invited down a path along which poetry, both in the reading and the writing, can illuminate one’s inner landscape!

I intend to do my best to follow Mary Oliver‘s instructions for living a life:

Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.