Confession is good for the soul. I confess that I’m giving myself permission to get it wrong. Already, I feel lighter. It takes energy to maintain a facade of knowing what to do – energy better directed to learning how to do. I’m relieved to admit, I can only guess.

What I lose in youth, I gain in ease at making that admission. I’m recognizing my abilities and my limitations. These I can live with and can continue to move forward. The people of this world say we’re in this together. I welcome their support with little guilt. No one, including me, has the knowledge or skill to face every challenge on this journey.

Still, I do strive to be wiser, braver, more capable. Still, I envy the talents of others and still, at times, I compare.

On the other hand, I take comfort in the wise scientists, the brave soldiers and the competent leaders. They help to take the pressure off me. However, they do lead me to ponder what part I play in the greater good. I know I’m in there, but I can only guess where.

I can only guess what the brave are facing,
Watch them carve a path from stone,
The risk, the weight, ignoring fate,
As they aim for the unknown,

I can only guess what the wise are thinking,
Testing theories without names,
Sorting greens from blues, and tales from truths,
Solving puzzles into frames

Chorus
So carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way
Borrowed goals, unpaid tolls, standing outside the play,
Carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way
Two cold feet, shotgun seat, higher the price I’ll pay

I can only guess what the loved are feeling,
Warming hands with endless smiles,
The tint, the glow, with room to grow,
Holding forever all the while

I can only guess why the world is turning,
Tracking time and keeping pace,
The trees, the sun, all wrapped in one,
Spinning patterns into space

Chorus
So carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way,
Borrowed goals, unpaid tolls, standing outside the play,
Carry me, carry me on, carry me all the way,
Two cold feet, shotgun seat, higher the price I’ll pay

I can only guess why the world is turning…

Music and lyrics by B. Toner, August 2021

How do I infuse some of that same vigour into initiating the more challenging tasks? Maybe I need more connections between my brain’s pleasure centre and my frontal lobe. Perhaps I’m trying to account for all the factors before taking a risk. What’s more daunting, the size of the first step or the weight of the outcome? If I ask enough questions, can I avoid finding a solution? When I set reminders, they bring only guilt for unaccomplished tasks and weigh down my progress.
The force of inertia is a powerful one to overcome. I just need the right lever, the correct catalyst. If I’m fortunate enough to find it, I may even use it sooner or later.
Probably later!

Why wait?

Why do I wait for the moon rise to chase away the sun? Why do I wait for sometime soon; today’s already begun? Why do I wait for the waves to tickle my toes before I cast offshore? I know life takes a million steps; maybe a million more.

Spinning my wheels, the past- the future, they just won’t pull apart
The finish line , remains invisible until I cross the start
Inertia holds the logs, stuck steady, gathering moss
Rotting my stalled path, making it longer to cross

Why do I wait to move? Staying still won’t shade me forever. Why do I wait to witness? Hesitation fails to be clever. Why do I wait to risk it? Time’s not hiding around the bend. I recover from initial shocks when I begin and begin again.

Watching paint slowly dry won’t cover my broken spots
Procrastination slows the flow, creating more blood clots
Halfway to never can begin with one distraction 
Getting stuck in my ways only delays my inaction

Brian Toner March 2021

Blinded by love! Blinded by rage! Flushed in embarrassment or paralyzed by fear! The more raw the feelings, it seem the more our body gives evidence. Science can explain the chemical to the physical, but what of the emotional? We’ve all passed through the tunnel of overwhelming emotions. That constricting intensity eventually gives way to the light, to reason, to the unclenching fists and the slowing of the pulse. However, we can’t think our way out of this tunnel. Often, only time and space can lessen their governance over our body.

These powerful emotions feed on contact, on circumstance and even on memory. At times, these deep experiences come together like jigsaw pieces of smaller feelings. At other times, they’re immediate reactions: a snap return to the base.

Over centuries, poets wrapped up these extreme feelings into a fictitious symbol: the heart. It’s circulating duties seem well matched for regulating emotions. As a muscle, we suffer physiologically when it fails to pump properly. As a mascot, we’re overcome by basic instincts when it fails to moderate sentiments.

This piece does not intend to conclude with solutions. Like many, I search for the right way to articulate how our rational, our very bodily functions are kidnapped by the heart. Traditionally, the rush of intense emotions leaves me speechless so perhaps this search is in vain.

I KEEP MY EYE ON YOU WILMONT
You bounce around my instincts and pop up as if by chance. Never an empty seat with you, insisting each moment we dance.
I gulp down pride to win your hand; hungry, but afraid of showing. You never starve for attention, feeding on any wind blowing.
This blue sky, too small to keep you steady, too weak to keep you down.  Your random, impish grin shakes me up and loosens my frown.
You tickle. I shiver. You amble. I chase, reaching out to be squeezed. Laughing, crying, moping, singing, you’re not a whim, but a life long tease.
We tumble awkward elbow over ankle, sunshine blinding all the way. I keep my eye on you Wilmont, as if I have a say.


Brian Toner      October 2020

I wrote this some time ago about the pockets of vulnerable people all around us. I hesitated to post it in order to avoid sounding like a lecture. I solved my dilemma by not including a reflection. The poem speaks for itself in each stanza about the homeless, the disabled, the poor and the elderly who are often overlooked by the privileged like me. I promise to be more positive in my next entry.

Forgotten but not Gone

He’s just the man on the corner of South and Main,
How easy I manage to keep him outside my frame,
An afterthought under foot, sleeping in open skies without stars,
Can I spare a buck from the safety of my imported car

His hyper-focused mind is trapped in the filter,
Without family buffers, social norms throw him off kilter,
His connections are fragile, always teetering on the edge,
Society for the majority creates a paralyzing wedge

Programs cast nets for photo-ops or basic needs,
Empathetic wounds don’t cut deep enough to bleed,
No speeches on enlightenment, surviving’s the sole talk,
Diplomacy holds little warmth with promises in chalk

A lifetime ago, she stood tall as a cedar,
Now comforts are meted out like scraps at a feeder,
Wisdom wheels around on chairs and drips in the drool,
She makes little sense to us because we are the fools

B. Toner July 2020

In previous entries, I’ve written about perception; how I want to be perceived compared to how I may be perceived. Exploring this theme is an ever-evolving process in my human journey.
At work, I’ve built a comfortable level of confidence in my people skills and attribute some of my career successes to those abilities.
Lately though, I’m awakening to the realization that despite my diplomacy, I’m more transparent than I believed. Don’t get me wrong. I’m at ease in my purposes and conversations on the job. Perhaps though, my (long-winded) explanations in defence of my point of view or goals have been unnecessary. Admittedly, some are better than others at reading people, but it seems my basic intents and feelings are more obvious and less camouflaged.
I can give credit or blame for this inadvertent openness to both my partners in conversation and to my genuine, readable self. Both reinforce my growing belief that we are all not as good as we think at hiding feelings. I’m not certain yet, if this exposure is always a positive factor, but it influences me to remain more intentional in my professional conversations; especially during those tough talks where conflicts exist.

Perhaps when dealing with others, if I redirect the energy from trying to remain impartial and emotionally unaffected to concentrating on speaking and listening with honesty and mindfulness , I can create a better solution for all parties.

This brings me back, once again to a common theme in my writings: being more self-aware and reflective during my interactions.
No matter how well I dress up my actions (smiling to ease the news) or my appearance (does this tie match the socks?), it seems I still wear my heart on my sleeve.

Brian Toner

LOVE, SHAME, JOY, DREAD, ETC...
I skillfully select words to camouflage the rush,
My pose and gestures help distract from the blush,
Still no detours, no delays, it radiates straight from my bones,
Seeping through my armour, frost cracking stone,
There are always hints in what I bare, a glance here, a glimpse there.

Sometimes bound to this moment, a significant mark,
Linked to past seasons, layers upon layered bark,
The right melody invokes them, a traffic jam provokes them,
Feeding on my pulse, you echo them, I reject them,
Navigating an involuntary share, a glance here, a glimpse there.
Brian Toner, June 2020

Free will! It’s an expensive gift that burdens us from the moment we can hold our head up by ourselves. It’s the liberty that I enjoy while simultaneously preventing me from controlling others for my convenience. Like the slow driver who is often in front of me. I could force him off the road in my frustration, but I choose to avoid jail time. My free will comes at a cost.

Many things seem outside the control of my will like the cold weather and my bone structure. I could choose to wear long underwear when needed and reduce my sugar intake. (not likely) Even climate change seems outside my influence or am I choosing to let it grow wild through my in-actions? Do I put salt on my driveway to reduce the ice, or will it end up in my well? Free will has consequences. What is the boundary between free will and control? Maybe it’s a misconception.

Some experts suggest focusing on a small circle of control; an area where your free will has power to control. Will power. They say that your breathing and your thoughts fall under that influence. Though there are limits. I can only hold my breath for so long without brain damage. When planning actions, I can only think of so many consequences. Free will has limits!

On the other hand, I have free will to practice my breathing and to be physically active, both of which will improve my lung control. I have will power to decide on which ideas I concentrate and to see opportunities instead of obstacles, both of which can improve my outlook. Free will is time consuming!

So is it a misconception of control or just a very small circle of influence? I’m leaning towards the latter, but I still wish the slow driver would get out of my way. His free will is costing me!

(Mis)-Conceptual Control

I can't see the heat that smothers the cold.
I can take comfort under the blanket.
I'm blind to the spoken words that cut me down.
I can sense my blood chase after them.
I can't name the breath that inspires.
I can see charity in action.
I can't see the thoughts that kidnap my attention.
I can count the minutes of loss sleep.
I'm unable to touch the music that lightens my mood.
I can feel a smile spreading over my face.
I won't witness the birth of the raindrops.
I can drink from the well.
I can't focus on the seconds that grow my beard grey.
I can list the years dedicated to my career.
I'm incapable of measuring the risk of loving someone.
I can hold my child's hand each time he falls.
 

Brian Toner March 2020

I can appreciate how hard times are just a part of life. When I take stock these days, however; it seems that the Earth, civilizations and even individuals are getting pummeled more frequently than in the past. There are extreme weather events and climate change; extreme divisiveness among cultures and a lack of human decency in many of the world’s governments. Adding to those challenges are the personal battles some people are facing, some more than others. Trials build character, but how much character is a person suppose to stack up?

On the other hand, Marc Scibilia in his song “How Bad We Need Each Other” says that “Storms never come to stay…” This is good news for sure. So how do I endure or prepare for the dark times when they’re upon me? From the books I’ve been reading, I’m learning that my preparations are the tools to help me endure them. As the dark clouds approach and loiter over my hunched shoulders, these tools can provide a life line.

They tell me to look for the positive inside the trial; not by wearing blinders, but my focusing my view on different aspects. For instance, I should try seeing how my co-workers’ talents contribute to the job before noticing their shortcomings.

I should take time to count and name my blessings, however small, because they can inspire my vision.

I should hug my son more often. In fact, I should give out more hugs.

I can remember that I choose the interpretation of my reality and that aiming for the positive can help me take actions; actions that overcome adversity.

I can spend time doing things that bring me joy, like writing.

I can share the positive ripples with others to help them swell into a tidal wave of energy.

So here are my small efforts to build my resistance against the storms. Maybe they’ll lessen the impact. Maybe I’ll learn to build character with a smile.

Waiting for the Storm

Toasting by candlelight, champagne glass and can of beer,
both cold with wet,
Powers gone out, the fan's shut down. 
Can't breathe without breaking a sweat.
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin. 

She wears a winning smile. I lose at Scrabble.
Can't prove it, but she cheats.
Spoon's in the chowder. Butter's in the freezer.
Save them from the heat. 
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin.

We've closed the shutters, cleared the garden
and tied down the grill.
With you is where I want to be,
the calm before the thrill.
Just sitting in the kitchen, waiting for the storm to begin.

Brian Toner  January 2020

“Those who ignore history are bound to repeat it!” Building on that idea, I invested some time in exploring the emotional aspects of past experiences. I’m considering now that it’s not just a “learn-from-your-mistakes” idea, but rather a “re-live those emotions” approach.

When our family was younger, I purchased a well-used, 1980’s VW camper. The body and the interior were well kept, but the motor needed more attention and money than I could afford to give it. Nonetheless, for two summers, we had wonderful adventures in it.

We named it the Galileo, in honour of the noble scientist and of our love of science fiction. (A shuttle name from Star Trek). It had everything needed for camping in the lower, middle-class: a fridge, a sink, a closet/cupboard, 2 beds (one over the rear engine and one in the pop-up canopy), swiveling captains’ chairs and a folding table. All of our keepsakes could be safely stowed away while we explored the camping life; a treasure chest on wheels.

The connection we felt to it was instantaneous; a mixture of child-like wonder and a sense of meeting the unknown. Like many vehicles today, we sat high, but for us it was a special perch; more like a Disney ride.

It didn’t like speed and pure will powered Galileo up some steep hills. There was no air conditioning either, but we didn’t sweat the small stuff en route. Rather we were drenched in the experience. Everywhere we went, smiling faces greeted us. People seemed to connect easily to the vehicle or to what it represented.

Trying to articulate the sensation today, I’m limited to tangible factors: waking up snug and in the wild, breaking down on the side of the highway, eating lunch in our high perch. The list simply provides the logistics of the memory. How do I convey the blended aspect of that history? I’m confident you have similar past events that when recalled, bridge the heart and the mind. How do you describe the sentimental aspects? When you spend time recounting, does it re-stir the emotions as well?

Those emotions are one of the few things we can carry across time. When we do, they enrich and inform our present day. I think it’s a worthwhile goal, purposely applying those emotions to my current state; connecting nostalgia to hope.

“Those who embrace the past, may benefit from it.”

Hopeful Nostalgia

I felt it then. I hope for it now.
That lifeline that sets my feet on solid ground.

I smiled back then. I pray for it now.
Connections that pull me off the island.

I laughed it off then. I pick at the scar now. 
My failure that laid it all bare, that uncovered the essentials.

I lived for it then. I live for it now.
A nudge into the infinite that keeps me here.

Brian Toner October 2019

I am fortunate in so many ways including the amazing experiences at my parents’ cottage, the family cottage. As this post goes live, it is changing hands; out of our hands. Faced with the end of an era, I now reflect on how it has influenced my life, this summer treasure of over 30 years. I dedicate this post to these reflections.

It was built as an original, out my parents’ vision. They spent their retired, warmer months relishing in the slower pace of cottage life. They were architects of their own sanctuary, simultaneously and purposefully creating a space where their children and their children’s children could be refreshed in their company and by the ocean breezes.

So what do I cling to in this transition? What do I hold close to my heart as I say farewell to this home away from home? This was an estate where life-partners, grand children and friends made introductions or re-connections. This was a seasonal hearth where relief embraced you as you stepped across the threshold and worries drifted into the open skies. The mantra that links my thoughts to that place is anchored to gratitude.

I am grateful for the bursts of light at sunrise, filling the rooms and greeting you out of sleep; the everlasting, painted sunsets arresting your thoughts. I have gratitude for the deeper sleeps, the bigger dreams and the time away from my millennial-paced life.

I feel blessed by the songs, the laughter, the card games and the roller coaster of conversations among siblings. I am thankful for the easy swims, the long beach walks, the sand castles and the special trips to town. Though most powerful for me was the regular realization of my blessings. This was the fruition of my parents’ dream, surrounded by nature, a loving family and a luxurious coastline. Spending time there, appreciation rose to the surface of my mind as easy as breathing. Constant reminders placed me in a perpetual state of gratitude.

That is what remains with me, the estate of gratitude.

An Estate of Gratitude

Here, I count my blessings to match the hummingbird’s flutter. I slow my breath to the rhythm of the ocean waves. I acknowledge the nourishing roots of my heart. Here, I sleep on a cushion of salt air pushed around by the moon. I appreciate my lack of ambition in a game of solitaire. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Here, I marvel at the sand castle on the beach and in my dreams. I am moved to sing praises to the Great Hand carving out the scenery. I revel in the warm swims without borders. Here, I tear up for the company of my family in close quarters. I bravely scar from the bite of the horsefly and the swarm of mosquitoes. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Here, I am in awe of the seasonal symptoms, more evident to all my senses. I consciously drown in tradition to energize my future. I recognize the sun’s glorious heat and dramatic finales. Here, I am aware how my pace slows with the tide. I can sigh the relief of limbs stretching across an unfettered landscape. Here, I am in a perpetual estate of gratitude.

Brian Toner 2019