Show me the needle in the haystack
and the millisecond when turns the tide,
the world behind your words,
how to save face without pride.

Explain how to spare time without sacrifice
or to make first impressions twice.
Teach me to ignore gravity, age and taxes,
how to build castles when sand collapses.

Defend the weeds with highly developed resistance
or the sun that guards at the perfect distance.
Why are loved ones so much bigger in memory 
and why is bad luck better than not having any.

Identify for me chemicals that create loyalty, dedication,
and ideas that divide my world into nations.
What causes some thoughts to escape the subconscious 
and makes love so big, so rewarding and dangerous.

Do tell how to find Eureka!

B. Toner February 2023

In my ever-increasing age, I find myself repeating themes. (Then again, reflecting on past conversations with friends, I acknowledge a pattern of repetition no matter my age.) Nevertheless, similar to previous posts, I continue to spend time considering how overwhelming emotions can affect us.

I studied some authors who developed sound strategies for reducing harmful effects of these personal situations. The incidents in which you lose control; in which you think in error or don’t think at all; in which you say or do something destructive. Some suggested tools work for me, although I require more practice to avoid regrets.

We all experience storms in our life. I believe I have a responsibility to reduce any harm that may occur as a a result of these unchecked emotions. Conversely, I also see some of these storms as necessary to our growth.

I appreciate that climate change has increased the destructive nature of storms. Similarly, societal/worldly changes seem to have increased the severity of human reactions.

However, storms have always played a role in Mother Nature and her cycle; so too in our personal journey. A safe summer, thunder storm cleanses the air, cleanses the neighbourhood. A safe winter storm slows down the rush and insulates the underground activity.

At some point, the storm will come. My heart will block logical thought, reducing my control. I need to remember it will pass. It’s natural so there is no need to hold onto shame. Most importantly, I must try to reduce any fallout to others.
I think I’m searching for a balance; the perfect storm.

Rain clouds pushed me just inside the empty house,
A shell without shelter,
The door still wide open, I joined the storm’s fury,
Synchronizing our chaos,
Wind gusts splattered drops over my face,
Diluting my tears,
At its peak, the downpour thundered off my inside walls,
Drowning my rationale,
Nature’s power commandeered everything, all stimuli,
A wild heart in charge,
Forces blocked out time, blind to any meter,
Hours, seconds, even years

A subtle softening in the rain, in the wind,
Grateful to no longer taste my heartbeat,
The torrent gradually phased into rhythm, walls halted their quiver,
Silently moving outside my body,
Drizzle lingered past courtesy, a wet weight to everything,
Accompanying my exhales,
Fog still enveloped my perspective, my surroundings,
But thoughts were now possible,
Latching the door, the aftermath flavoured my beliefs,
A calm chaperone for my hopes,
Hopes to weather the next storm

B.Toner January 2023

I am not the first
Thankfully
Legions have tasted truths and soldiered on
Their whispers soften my thoughts
Putting my heart in my mouth
So you hear music even in my candour 

I am not the original
Gratefully
Pioneers disciplined their passion into art
Their dedication cast my creativity
Fore-bearers connected to re-interpret originals
So you behold beauty even from my conventionalities 

I am not the model
Miraculously
Ancestors confronted loss and leaned into generosity
Their repercussions model my ideals
Prompting intentions into actions
So you witness humanity even through adversity

B. Toner December 2022

In other pieces, I know I’ve written about giving each season their merit instead of always waiting for the benefits of the next one. This can be a challenge for me. After all, it’s less work to thrive under the summer sun than to shovel in the winter wind. Similar to stages in life; we experience joys and disappointments as a consequence of our longevity. Eventually, we cast our hopes to the next phase or the one following the next phase; recognizing how each season of the journey carries drawbacks and benefits.

I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to drive a car and yet the ownership of a vehicle later in life was daunting. I sought a permanent employment contract to better plan for my future, and yet the moments of job uncertainty provided freedom for adventures. I wanted to lighten my work life, but missed the daily energy that comes with solving problems.

I find myself still trying to figure out what experiences are worth accumulating during each cycle and what each stage requires of me. What wisdom can I gather and what will the next steps be?

I think I need to learn to let the next phase just slide willingly into my life while focusing on what I’m facing in the present. Predict; if I can. Plan; sure. Be mindful of the present; absolutely! Putting this goal into practice is a constant work in progress: a life in all seasons.

What does Autumn ask?

What does Autumn ask of us?
To collect and store our comfort
To wipe away our summer sweat
To let blossoms fall and cozy to the soil
To colour joy into Mother Nature's shift

What does Winter ask of us?
To muffle the sharpness under a blanket of white
To respect the wind blowing
To search for internal sources of warmth
To thrive boldly in the harshest beauty

What does Spring ask of us?
To share her schedule for hope
To recall the noises of the natural
To work losses into nourishing the future
To rally sleepers into celebrating possibilities

What does Summer ask of us?
To bathe in sand, surf and sunflowers
To permit blue skies and golden rays to soothe
To recognize the moving, spotted shade
To commit to the companionship of the panorama

What does Autumn ask of us?
To ............

B. Toner    October 2022
 

I’m not usually comfortable exploring the darker places on the emotional scale. I can easily be frightened of the possible downward spiral, conjured up by my vivid imagination. (Probably why I never enjoy horror movies.) I’m slowly learning that if you ignore these shadows, they tend to grow.
My harsh words to a loved one – my clumsy tumble in front of others – my mistakes on the job that affect my co workers. Shame and guilt can build up, overlap, blurring lines and meshing them into big, ominous clouds.
Various credible authors suggests I need to spend time with these negative feelings. (Not dwell on them, but rather spend time deciphering them.)

With careful thought, I may conclude that although my words and actions have been regrettable, hurtful even, they don’t make up my entirety. My perspective, my esteem, while in these negative spaces, may be skewed. It’s possible that my wrongful words were not connected to my tumble, or that my tumble was not connected to my mistakes with colleagues. Each fall/error may not be connected, may be unrelated. Therefore, they are not so overwhelming, so all-defining. Taking the time to break down each fault may lessen their impact on me and on others. Shedding light on them breaks apart the shadow.

So maybe the sum of the parts is greater than the whole; unless your light discovers the cracks and breaks them apart into manageable mistake.

Smaller Shadows

Shame weighs down
Heavily
Robbing the dignity needed to support the spine
Twisting into the shape of self-doubt

A mess of shadows blends into a silhouette
Merging too many fractures, 
Camouflaged even from the mirror

Gasps become too desperate to hear
Blood rushing, but not to the tongue
No momentum for words to escape

Not a rescue, but a light is required
Light from anywhere on the spectrum

Exposing the seems, the cracks, 
Makes honest reflection possible 
Shrinks the sum into parts

Shining from the outside
Bleeds into the interior
Reduces the mass into minors, into manageables

Glowing warmth expands the lungs 
Makes restoration possible
Eases the shoulders into full breaths

I am not helpless in your pain
I shimmer for you stranger
Breathe with me
Break the whole dark into slivers
Slivers dulled by strong postures
Until we face the sun on our own

B.Toner Oct. 2022

If you’re anything like me, when I wake up, it’s a struggle to remember most dreams; even nightmares seem to fade with time. They fill our heads in our subconscious state, scrambling and unscrambling all the data we absorbed in recent times and dissipate as we rise and face the day.

Sometimes, I wonder if our pillow is the filter for these oh-so-real imaginings. I like to think they slip through the cotton and collect on the underside. Then perhaps are carried off to some dreamland junk yard, where they are piled up like old cars. Or maybe they’re recycled for the next generation’s sleep cycle. Maybe they’re what holds the clouds together until their accumulated weight makes it rain. Those theories must have come to me in a dream.
On the other hand, our worries and doubts stay with us as we lay down and are there to greet us with the morning sun. They don’t drift away in the land of the forgotten. Instead, they keep us awake, sit heavily in our head. It’s like our pillow hoards these regrets and wishes so they remain like guests that overstay, not permitting them to soak through and dissolve.
I wonder what my days would look like if the patterns were reversed. If wild thoughts kept us company while worries were carelessly thrown away. I wonder if recalling that I was a hero or solver of all problems while I slept would place me in a better mood, rather then spending energy questioning future outcomes or letting guilt take up space.
Until I master the ability to alter brainwaves, I will need to find other ways to cope with the challenging aspects of life that mire my focus. Mindfulness, meditation and surrounding myself with positive people are a few possible strategies.
I’ll sleep on it and let you know.

Dreams and nightmares, they slip through my pillow with ease
Foggy images that disappear with the slightest breeze
All but forgotten, no trace where once my head rested
Just empty, wrinkled sheets where imagination nested
O that I might collect these confusing visions and dualities
Dripped from my sleep, diluting into realities 

Worries and hopes though, remain trapped in my head
Cuddling too close, stealing covers from my bed
Not lost in pillows, not whisked into night while asleep
Clinging to my wake, long after I pray my soul to keep
Rising at dawn, they greet me with gravity of the sun
I didn’t forget one mistake, one hope, one regret, not one

Soft pillow stand guard, discard my guilts and fears
Cradle my ideals, stroke my ego, dry my tears
Let me rise in company of dreamy interpretations
Surround me in paradise, my imaginary nation

B. Toner August 2022

I don’t have a reflection for this piece, except to say that inspiration came at me in a rush and it gave me a hopeful feeling. I hope you enjoy it.

Growing More Certain

Someday, the silence will share its strength, 
A last sigh, swallowing the noise.
Days will dawn when the dark will drain into the delicate,
Only faint shadows lingering.
Gratefully, you’ll see greener grass through the gravel,
A soft-coloured carpet to absorb our intrusion.
Wait! And the wind will wade through worries,
Breaking the anchor to sail apart.

Time won’t say when.
And I don’t know when,
But I grow more certain,
Despite grey matter limits,
Despite fractured prayers,
I grow more certain…

Someday, silence will share its strength.

B.Toner July, 2022

I close my eyes to settle into sleep or to take a break from the world that surrounds me. On the few occasions that I practice mindfulness, they are closed then too. When I need to pause from an intense encounter, I shut my lids.

That instinct crushes out most of the stimuli that is beyond my body. Sometimes, it can clear my mind to concentrate or better yet, it permits my imagination to distract me, away from my present circumstances. But where am I when I close my eyes?
It isn’t always completely dark. Often, imprints from my last vision dance across the black or memories circle in flashes. However, when I’m able to experience just the darkness, where am I?

Am I visiting my own foundation; keeping company with my basic self that seems undetectable in the light? When my eyes are shut, I let go of time; jump around from the present, to the future, from the future to the past. I follow no rules, yet I’m grounded to something- something that is authentic, unexplainable.

When I drop that thin layer of skin to block my site, I block input from the outside. I can breathe – occupy my personal sanctuary. I create my own landscape, unlike the one built by the unrelenting, pulsing society. Yet this place is undefined and unclaimed. It hides me and at the same time reveals me to what I am, without outside influence.
With my eyes closed, I return to me, but I wonder where that is.

WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES
Scheduling too much time in the synthetic,
False demands deplete my reserves and withhold depth,
Like spinning at a different pace than the natural world,
Not against it, no, just a separate rhythm causing friction,
Friction that burns, but gratefully, not beyond recognition,
I can still see traces of the organic inviting me back - when I close my eyes.
When I close my eyes, I return to where we first met, 
Where the river was so deep it overwhelmed and calmed us,
Where we laughed away the dew that coated our path,
When I close my eyes, I can see falling leaves measuring time,
Where the trees seemed lonely but gave perfect company,
Where I didn’t need to shut my eyes to shut out the world,
Where I was grounded, not ground down to crumbs,
When I close my eyes, I can return, temporarily, a lifeline 
until my body moves among the green and the undisturbed snow,
I’m re-introduced to the power of the clouds and the tickle of the forest breeze,
I’m almost there, until then,
I close my eyes.

B.Toner February 2022 

If you stood on the wharf at my childhood summer camp and gazed about a mile and a half or more towards one end of the lake, you would see the large hills that encompassed Lake Temiscouata. On a clear day, you could make out the Trans-Canada Highway cutting a grey line diagonally down one of the hills towards the corner of the water. At the bottom of that landscape was a gathering of small buildings: a few houses, a gas station, maybe even a small hotel. As your eyes moved closer to the water line, you could make out the train tracks, or portions of its razor straight line, through the openings between the trees. The high point of interest for me and my siblings was the little black bridge giving passage to the train over a small creek.

The bridge was not simply a meaningful landmark, but a milestone. We would race to call it out from the car during our summer commutes. We would watch trains coming and going, noting when it crossed the bridge.

A couple of times each summer, we would pack a lunch, maybe grab a hand-me-down fishing pole and make a day of hiking to the iconic black bridge. When we were finally permitted to go without a grown-up or an older cousin, it was a major milestone; a privilege that added to the adventure for a nine or ten year old.

The people living in the community surrounding that bridge never knew what it meant to us. I’m sure if they ever had the opportunity to see it from our wharf, they would gain a new perspective of their home. I doubt, however; they would recognize the context it played in our lives.

I wonder how many of our surroundings represent an important landmark or even a milestone to others? Perhaps your childhood boundaries included the neighbour’s oak tree, yet they didn’t know. Maybe when you drive by that all-too-familiar corner store, you know you’re only moments from your warm home and strong hugs. The workers inside keep to their tasks unaffected. Perhaps jogging as far as the road sign indicates you’ve reached your goal on your road to recovery. Yet the neighborhood is oblivious.

These are unknown connections to each others’ circles. They are numerous. They can be as powerful as they are invisible.
I get inspired contemplating how something in my environment, unknown to me, may be a strong marker, a milestone, a connection to someone else.

INVISIBLE CONNECTIONS

That landmark boulder, a dangling carrot, telling me I’m almost home, – That rose bush at the edge of the driveway, your boundary until Mom relents, you venture further on your own,

Your first time at the grown-up table, your hunger satisfied even before the first bite, – Or your first purchase, your own money, in the familiar store, counting out coins with delight,

These moments, these milestones, inserting us into each others’ circles, creating associations, -Yet our context is invisible to them, unaware of their own participation,

This tie we bind with each other, this proof we hold in solitaire, – Draw comfort in those connections, regardless the lack of witnesses to bear

B.Toner. January 2022

I’m as guilty as the next, zooming past everyday miracles to meet my self-imposed priorities. Ironically, I live in a beautiful area, not far from the ocean (on good days, I can hear it), surrounded by wild flora and fauna. On most days, this privilege is lost on me.

There are some occasions, however, in the midst of my humdrum, daily routine, when Mother Nature insists she will not be ignored. These are short-lived epiphanies during which my senses seem heightened or maybe just more receptive to the wonders surrounding me. I may notice a sudden tangibility in the air or specific animals sounds. Perhaps my eyes catch unprecedented colours in the bramble. During these times, I appreciate more deeply how I’m just a speck in the intricacies of the world.

What if I could train myself to more than just notice the aspects of my environment, on a regular basis, but rather to value them between these overwhelming, all-stop, sensational awakenings? What if I let them filter through during my mindless chores and commutes? What if I acknowledge the woodpecker as I get into my car? Watch the sunlight slowly paint the lawn when I rise out of bed? I could decipher shapes in the fluffy, white clouds against the incredible blue sky or thankfully inhale the cool breeze as I hang my laundry.

This habit could infiltrate all of my moods during everyday tasks. It could lighten and even highlight the ordinary. I think it’s worth a try.

Another Summer Night in Prospect


I first noticed the orange tint on our back deck, 
through the patio doors: a familiar hour - 
the sun’s unique signature, 
the gentle completion of her duties.
-An unavoidable invitation for which 
simply being an eye witness wouldn’t do. 
I needed to satisfy all my senses 
so I aimed my thoughts and body outside;
 a short walk to the mailbox down the road - 
a minimal response to a subtle summons.
-A half step outside my driveway, an incessant roar,
 greeting me from the ocean: 
an invisible and unrelenting pillow surrounding me.
 It’s source hidden deeply beyond the lush greenery, 
cushioning both sides of the road. 
Wild roses dotted my path - 
their scent gently mingled under my breath.
Layered over the ever-echoing surf, 
birds were bidding the neighbour hood good night;
 not in a chorus, but in a beautiful chaos of languages.
I felt the orange-patterned sky slowly tinting to pink, 
drawing my attention from the gravel beneath my feet. 
I was humbled by this moment of majesty -
 a humbleness not unlike being close to loved ones; 
loved ones you honour and admire, 
loved ones you soak in while you can.
A humbleness rich in comfort.

B. Toner August 2021