Jamieson Wolf's Blog, page 76

The Lady of Leaves – A Poem

The leaves had 

started to change

colour. No longer

green, they were

filled with hues

of red and

gold and orange.

The world was 

once again moving

towards a rainbow

of colour and 

there was a

crispness to the

air that smelled

of wood smoke

and hints of 

the coming cold. 

I came upon 

a line of 

leaves, leading into

the distance. They 

were all the 

same brilliant yellow, 

so bright it 

almost hurt to 

look at them. 

With the leaves

forming a path, 

they looked as 

if someone had

taken the bricks

of the yellow 

brick road and 

arranged them. I 

was going to 

walk by them

when a wind

rose up around

me, causing the

leaves to circle 

and dance around

me. I heard the 

crinkle of leaves

and watched as

a woman, dressed

in a dress 

the same colour

of the leaves

came walking down 

the path towards

me. It was 

only as the 

cyclone of leaves

ceased it’s movement

that I realized

her dress was 

made from the 

leaves themselves. She 

smiled at me

in a kindly 

sort of way. 

“The leaves normally do not react that way towards your kind.” 

She said. Her

voice sounded like

the wind rustling 

through the trees. 

“They’ve told me to take you with me. Come.” 

She held out 

her hand and

I took it. 

The skin was 

dry under my 

touch and I 

wondered why I

was going with

her so willingly;

but there didn’t

seem to be

anything to fear

from her. There

was an almost

regal presence to

her and I

felt comfortable immediately.

Her skin was

like paper under

my own. She

saw that I

had questions. My

eyes gave me

away. She smiled

kindly and began

to walk down

the path, bringing

me with her.

“All will be told in time. Your curiosity is good though, it will serve you well.”

She walked slowly,

as if every

step was somehow

painful. Indeed, she

was almost limping.

“How will my curiosity serve me well?”

“Oh, curiosity keeps the spirit alive. When there are always things to look at, to see, to discover, the soul and spirit grow. It’s the natural way of things.”

She stumbled then

and crumpled to

the ground. I

bent down to

help her up

and was amazed

at how light

she was. She

saw my questions

in my eyes

again, at what

I wanted to

ask her. She

held up a

paper thin hand,

stalling my voice.

“I am all right. Again, it is the natural way of things, these changing of seasons.”

We still walked

further along the

path of yellow

leaves. I stopped

and looked at

her closely for

the first time.

Not only was

her dress made

of leaves, but

her as well.

I could see

where the dress

should end, there

was merely the

change in colour

to a lighter

shade of leaves

that made up

her skin. I

stood back from

her, taking all

of her in.

“Yes, I am made from leaves.”

She said, as

if reading my

mind. She smiled.

“It is my time to fade away. Look, there is the tree I was made from.”

She pointed to

a large oak

tree, it’s branches

bare of all

its leaves.

She motioned to

her dress, offering

me a bright

smile. There were

tears in her

eyes though and

I longed to

wipe them away.

“It’s almost winter. That is when my time ends. I’m born when Autumn arrives and can walk the earth when the leaves fall. My time is almost done.”

“How can you stand it?”

I asked her.

“It is the way of things. You have to live life when it’s given to you and not spend time thinking of what could have been. You can only think about what is.”

More of her

leaves, more

of her, fell

away as she

spoke, the leaves

joining the ones

already forming the

path. I realized

then that they

all came from

her, that she

had marked her

path across the

ground with herself.

“Why are you showing me this?”

I asked her.

She gave me

one last smile.

“So you know. So you can pass this knowledge on.”

A strong breeze

ripped across the

air and her

whole form fluttered

with it, as

if she were

coming apart at

the seams. I

watched her until

all I could

see were her

eyes, blinking like

jewels among leaves.

“Don’t forget. Live the life you’ve been given and don’t look back. Always look forward. Always.”

Then a final

wind rushed by,

tearing the last

of the leaves

away. I was

surrounded by a

swirl of leaves

and could hear

the sound of

her laughter. It

was joyous, as

if she weren’t

really dying. It

was the sound

of freedom. I

looked at the

path of leaves

and stopped to

pick one up.

I put it

in my pocket

and it sat

there like a

ray of sunshine

that would help

keep me warm

through the coming

winter. The wind

sounded as if

it were sighing.

“I won’t forget. I promise. I won’t forget.”

I walked home,

thinking of the

future.

Actual Magic – A Poem

There are some days

when I feel like

the Scarecrow:

made of straw and

bits of fluff, with my

head filled with clouds,

nary a thought inside,

or able to pass through

the fog that waits within.

On other days, I feel

like the Cowardly Lion,

all bluster, filled with

pomp and circumstance

on the outside to hide

the fatigue and that

all I want is to curl up

and lose myself in slumber.

There are even days

where I feel like

the Tin Man, that metal

being without a heart,

as if emotion can’t penetrate

my metal shell, nor

seep through it.

More often than not, though,

I’m looking around at

the world like Dorothy:

full of wonder, enchanted

by the land around me;

being daring enough

to explore everything,

to discover all that life

has to offer, all over again

as if for the first time.

Dorothy held onto the hope

that she would get home,

that she would find the place

in this world and the one

beyond where she belonged.

Though I embody all of them

(the Scarecrow, the Cowardly Lion,

and the Tin Man)

it is Dorothy I hold closest

for she proved two things:

there’s no place like home

and that magic,

true magic,

actual magic,

is always possible.

Neverland – A Short Story

“She’s quite delusional. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Dr. Patterson handed me the report on a large wooden backed clipboard. I looked down at the report, started to flip through the pages. “Her name is Wendy Darling?”

Patterson nodded. “She’s the eldest daughter of the Darling family. Mister and Missus Darling are quite distraught. The mother blames herself, of course. All the stories she used to tell her as a child.”

I scanned the pages of the report. “She thinks she went to some place called Neverland?”

“Yes, where children never grow old. Imagine! She obviously has some issues with growing older and has reverted to a child like state, imagining things that don’t exist. I’ve seen it before; it’s quite common in families with a lot of children.”

“How many children do the Darling family have?”

“Well, there’s Wendy, John and Michael, Wendy being the oldest and Michael being the youngest. Perhaps she’s afraid of being replaced by her brothers? Starved for attention and love? There are all sorts of causes to this behavior.”

I looked at Wendy Darling through the one way glass. We could see her but she couldn’t see us. She sat at a table in the centre of the room, her hands placed primly in front of her, fingers linked, hands still.

She had long brown hair that flowed down past her shoulders framing a heart shaped face. Her skin was rose coloured and she was quite beautiful. Almost too beautiful.

Wendy didn’t look around the room, only straight ahead. She smiled then, almost as if she could see us through the glass; as if she knew we were talking about her.

“Have you spoken to her?” I asked.

“Well, that’s the strangest thing,” Patterson said. “I have and she seems remarkably lucid, as if she’s completely sane. Normally the mentally disturbed give off this air of…instability. But Wendy Darling seems really believe in Neverland. She can’t be persuaded otherwise.”

“She knows we’re watching her.” I said after a silence.

Patterson looked momentarily flustered. “Inconceivable. There is no way that she could see through the glass.”

“Even so, she knows we’re talking about her.” I said.

“Inconceivable,” Patterson said again. But he sounded less certain, unsure.

“I’d like to speak to her. Will there be someone else in the room with me?”

Patterson shook his head. “She hasn’t shown a history of violence, only a calm demeanor. So there will be no need. Other doctors who have talked to her have found her pleasant and even charming.”

I nodded and looked at her once more through the glass. She raised her right hand in a little wave, wiggling the fingers at me before placing them one more daintily on the table in front of her.

I felt a moment of fear, something not uncommon in my profession, and opened the door to the interview room. Wendy turned to look at me with eyes so blue, it looked as if they were filled with the ocean. They were a bright, brilliant blue; a colour I had never seen before.

“Hello!” Wendy said cheerfully. “Have you come to talk to me about Neverland?” Her voice was bell like, wind chimes being brushed by the wind. It sounded almost like music.

I nodded and held out my hand to her. “I’m Dr. Barrie.”

I took my hand in hers and was shocked by its warmth. I was used to the clammy, cold skin of mental patients. Wendy Darling’s hands were warm and soft, as if she felt no ill effects at her surroundings.

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said. “Everyone here has been so lovely to me. I don’t know how to thank you.”

I said nothing to this. In truth, her brightness made me slightly uncomfortable. I was used to people complaining about the cold, the drafts in the rooms; I was even used to the ramblings of an extremely unstable patient or two. But I had never been thanked by a patient, least of all for their place in a mental facility.

“You’re welcome.” I said. “I trust that you are feeling well?”

“Oh, very well, thank you. The food here is lovely and everyone is so kind. I feel as if I’m away on a holiday!” She smiled and the smile only heightened her beauty. “Did you want to know about Neverland?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“Because everyone wants to know about it; it’s what everyone asks about. No one wants to know about my favourite book or what my favourite food is or what music I like. Everyone wants to know about Neverland.”

“Why do you think that is?”

She laughed, that tinkling sound of music. “Because you think I’m crazy. Everyone here thinks it doesn’t exist.”

“It doesn’t.”

“How can you be so sure that Neverland doesn’t exist? Have you seen it with your own two eyes? Have you ever been there?”

It felt funny to admit that I hadn’t been to a make believe place, but I answered her. “No.” I said.

“Then how can you tell me that it doesn’t exist, Dr. Barrie? Surely you must believe in things that cannot possibly be?”

“I believe in what I can see and touch, no more.”

She smiled at me and the smile seemed fairly indulgent. “Oh, Dr. Barrie. So ready to disbelieve, so quick and sure in your resolutions.” She reached forward and patted my hand. “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean something doesn’t exist.”

I stayed silent for a moment, knowing that Patterson would be in the other room, observing the conversation from behind the safety of the one way mirror. I wanted to keep Wendy talking, to hear her voice some more.

“Tell me about Neverland.” I asked.

“What would you like to know? There is a lot to tell and I doubt very much I could cover everything in a short conversation.”

I rummaged in my brain for a question and asked the first one I thought of. “How do you get there? How do you get to Neverland?”

“Why you fly, of course!” She said this as if it should have been the most obvious of answers.

“Fly?”

“Oh, you don’t believe me Dr. Barrie, I can see it in your eyes. But yes, you fly.”

“People can’t fly Miss Darling.”

“Oh, but they can, they can! All they need is a bit of pixie dust.”

“Pixie dust?” I felt the conversation was starting to go into some strange territory, one that I was not entirely comfortable with.

“Yes, pixie dust. Oh, and happy thoughts. You must think a happy thought, you can’t forget that. That’s the most important part.” She closed her eyes in concentration and counted the steps on the fingers of her right hand:

“First, you sprinkle yourself with pixie dust. Then you think of your happy thought. It has to be a really happy thought, one that fills you up from your head to your toes. You should feel it tingling in your fingers. Then you begin to fly.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Well, I think flying is the wrong word. Perhaps the right word is floating. Yes, you float. And you can move yourself in different directions, almost as if you are swimming.”

“Flying is like swimming?” I could think of nothing else to say. Hearing her speak had robbed me of all rational thought. As she spoke, I pictured myself floating through the air. I wondered if I needed psychological help instead of Wendy.

“Yes, it’s lovely. Complete weightlessness. Then you have to fly towards the second star to the right of the moon. It’s best to fly at night so that you can see the stars. You head towards the second star to the right and fly straight on until morning.”

She fell silent and I could see it in her eyes that she was reliving every moment, that she was remembering, not imagining, herself in flight.

“Where does one get a pixie?” I asked.

“Why, I haven’t the slightest idea.” She said. She rewarded me with another one of her smiles. “Peter always has the pixie with him; I’ve never had to look for one myself.”

“Peter?” My interest was piqued, despite myself. “Who’s Peter?”

“Why Peter Pan of course! Surely you must have heard of him.”

I shook my head. “No, Miss Darling. I haven’t.”

“Oh, he’s lovely, but he’s so full of mischief. Sometimes I don’t think he will ever grow up. In fact, I’m sure he won’t. He’s so dead set against it.”

“He doesn’t age?”

“No one in Neverland does. They remain as they are when they arrived and age not a moment older. There are children that roam the island who would be hundreds of years old here, should they come back.” She looked at me with her bright blue eyes; they shone like beacons in the dark room. “I am seventy eight years old.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “I don’t believe you.” I said. “You don’t look a day over twenty years old.”

“Oh, but it’s true.” She said. “Look at my papers, Dr. Barrie, they will tell you the truth.”

“I’ll do that, Miss Darling.”

“Oh, see that you do, Dr. Barrie. I would hate for you to think that I was lying to you. Neverland is such a marvellous place. I almost wish I had never left.” A look of sadness crept into her eyes. “Peter must miss me something terribly.”

I’m not sure what drove me to do it, but I reached out and clasped her hand. “I’m sure he knows you are alright.” I said, hardly believing the words coming out of my mouth. “I’m sure he’s waiting for you to return.”

Another smile graced her face. “Oh, Dr. Barrie! Do you really think so?”

I nodded, touched by the child like delight in her voice. “I do.”

She leaned in closer to me. “I know you’re supposed to be persuading me that Neverland doesn’t exist, that I’m making it all up. But you’ve been there before. I can see it in your eyes.”

I shook my head. “Impossible, I would have remembered. Besides, I cannot fly.”

She laughed again, that wind chime sound. “Dr. Barrie, everyone flies in their dreams. Haven’t you ever dreamt of a place more beautiful than any place you’ve been? A place where your childhood fantasies come true? Where mermaids swim in the water and pirates lay in wait for you?”

Something occurred to me then, a brief flash of memory and dream: A brilliant golden ship floating through the air, the sky black and blue behind it. The clouds parting way for it so that it could make its silent progression through the depths of the sky.

Wendy grinned, a flash of teeth. “Oh, Dr. Barrie. You do remember. Don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

 

“So what did you think of her?”

I turned to see Patterson entering the staff lounge. He had a grin on his face. “Wendy Darling?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “You believed her, didn’t you? You walked out of the interview room so quickly, and you had yet to really delve into her problem. You looked unnerved when you left.”

“She…she got to me.” I said.

Patterson nodded, agreeing with me. “I will admit that she does have a certain charm, a certain something about her. But surely you agree that it’s all nonsense, Barrie? Floating ships and mermaids and people who don’t grow a day older? Poppycock,” He laughed, a broken cackling sound so different from the tinkling of Wendy’s laugh. “Absolute poppycock.” He said.

I laughed with him. And as I laughed, I felt as if I were betraying Wendy. Despite evidence that she was crazy, I didn’t think she was. I had only spoken to her briefly but she wasn’t crazy.

I had spoken to mentally disturbed people before and I knew she wasn’t that. She wasn’t mentally disturbed. She spoke with a clarity and resonance that spoke of sanity. I had no doubt in that.

Wanting to do no more than satisfy my curiosity, I went to the file room and pulled out her file, flipping it open to the first page. I ran my finger down the page, trying to find her date of birth; and then I found it. After a quick calculation, I discovered she was seventy eight. She was seventy eight years old.

I felt a heat begin in my stomach and rise up to my chest. How she could be seventy eight was beyond me, but there was the truth in black and white. Papers could not lie, facts could not lie. I had always depended on fact to prove what was right.

Now I was hoping that fact would prove what was not possible. I thought of something she had said during our brief interview: “Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean something doesn’t exist.”

Without thinking, I grabbed the file and walked down the long tiled hallways to her room. I knocked on the door and heard no answer. I knocked again and still heard no answer.

Taking a set of keys from my belt, I unlocked the door, already knowing that I would find it empty. She wasn’t there.

I felt a momentary pang of loss at her disappearance. There was so much I still wanted to ask her, so much I still wanted to know. I looked around the room again and something caught my eye.

Sitting on the bed was a small cloth pouch and a piece of parchment.

Inside the pouch was a glittering substance that looked like dust. I took a pinch out of the bag and let it fall from my fingers. It twinkled in the half light of Wendy’s room and dissolved into the air.

With nothing left to do, I stared at the parchment, taking in the one word printed there in a curving, spidery script:

Believe.

What Forever Would Bring – A Poem

When I left

the dark forest,

I walked along

a path. I

didn’t know where

it was going,

had no idea

where I would

end up. Above

me, the clouds

changed shape. I

saw eagles, falcons

and other birds,

as if the

very clouds were

telling me to

fly. I made

my way through

the storm fields,

forcing myself to

walk through the

tall grass that

was whipped too

and fro with

such wicked ferocity.

A field of

grass that whispered

thoughts I had

when darkness took

hold. The grass

told me to

lie down within

it, and just

to let go.

I traversed  through

through the deep

murky swamp, ignoring

the goblin that

hid within telling

me that everything

would be okay

if I just let

He laughed

at me, at

what I had

been, every terrible

thought I’d had

about myself. I

came to the

ghost lands, where

all those I’d

thought I had

loved called out

to me, telling

that I was

nothing, that I

was pathetic, that

they owned me.

I ignored all

of them, the

grass, the goblin

and the ghosts.

I left them

behind me, in

my past. Instead,

I kept my

eyes on the

path and looked

from time to

time at the

birds in the

sky, leading me

towards what, I

didn’t know. The

path turned to

red dust and

pieces of rock.

I suddenly found

myself in front

of a large

mountain that towered

high up into

the sky and

the clouds. There

was no way

I could climb

over it. I

stood there, not

knowing what to

do. It was

then that a

shadow detached itself

from the rocks

and walked towards

I watched as

the shadow grew

bright, as if

it was not

made from darkness

but from a

bright white light.

Then you were

in front of

me, shining like

the stars and

the moon. You

smiled and spoke

my name softly.

“I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”

You said to

me. I nodded.

“And I for you.”

I said. I

pointed to the

mountain, at it blocking the

only way forward.

“What do we do now? How do we climb over it?”

You looked at

the mountain and

then back at me.

“It’s only an obstacle because you see it that way. Why don’t we just go around?”

I shook my

head, trying to

find the words.

“It could take forever to go around the mountain.”

You smiled and

your light increased.

“Then it will be forever with you. Besides, who knows what sights we’ll see?”

You took my

hand and we

started off, around

the mountain. The

falcon’s and the

eagles, the ravens

and the crows,

all made of

clouds but somehow

solid, swooped down

to join us,

following us on

our journey towards

what forever would

bring.

Joy Given Shape – A Poem

When I look

at you, all

I see is

light. Every movement

you make leaves

tracers in the

air, so bright

and beautiful is

the light that

pulsates from you.

When you speak,

It is as

If you’re singing

to a part

of me that

has remained in

the dark and

was waiting to

bask in your

light. You are

joy given shape,

brilliance given focus,

beauty given form

and I am

grateful to know

you.

 

* For Alexandra, because you are wonderful. :)

The Deathly Hallows – The Story Behind My New Tattoo

Why a tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol?

Well, people would assume it’s because I’m a fanboy. They would be right. I’ve loved the Harry Potter series since the first book came out in paperback (I was a little late to the bandwagon).

I’ve read them countless times; well, I stopped counting when I read the seven books in the series when I read them for the fortieth time. I’ve read the books many more times since then. I think it’s around sixty times by this point.

When my boyfriend took me to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, it was a nerds dream come true. I still can’t process everything I saw and the whole trip feels as if it was a dream, even though I have photographic evidence of being there!

I have three four editions of the books (ebooks, Canadian paperback and hardcover and the US hardcover editions). I have three Harry Potter mugs, two Harry Potter scarves, a Harry Potter wand. I have a wearable time turner and a Deathly Hallows pendant. I have seven Harry Potter themed t-shirts, a Gryffindor crest and belt and more.

So, why a tattoo of the Deathly Hallows symbol? When I got my second tattoo, Harry Potter’s scar on my right wrist, people assumed it was just a fanboy thing. However, it was more than that. It meant more to me than just the joy that Harry Potter brought me. Harry was marked at birth to die, but rose above everything.

To me, it meant that we are not defined by our scars. Regardless of what happens in our past, we, too, can rise above it.

With the Deathly Hallows symbol, the purpose behind it is threefold. It’s a fanboy tattoo, yes, of course it is. It’s also a reminder of my recent trip to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter which was a birthday present from my boyfriend (who wins the Boyfriend of the Century Award for sure!).

More than that, it has a deeper meaning.

When I was hit with the MS last year, I felt as if I had died. I withdrew from everyone, from society, from life. I couldn’t walk, couldn’t see, and would have quite happily (at the time, mind you) died. I was in a bad way. For most of May, I considered taking my own life.

I was suffering from depression and trying to come to terms, however shakily, with the way my body and my mind were now. I had become someone I didn’t know how to live anymore. I wasn’t going out except when I got better to go to work. I didn’t go out with friends, didn’t really leave my apartment for anything except essentials. I was lost. It was like I had died, had already taken my own life for all that I was living the one I had. Which was not at all.

In June of 2013, after a very dark month, I made the choice to live. The fact that I had come close to quitting, to letting go…well, that frightened me. I wanted to live, even in this new body I didn’t understand. From that moment, I did everything I could do to go out into the light.

I reconnected with friends and started taking classes that would better my spirit like Tarot, Reiki and Manifestation. I started eating healthier, started walking more, even with my cane. For me, 2013 was a very long year, but it ended on a high note. I spent Christmas with my Mom and Dad, surrounded by love, comfort and joy. I had, figuratively speaking, come back from the dead.

When I got my Scar tattoo in 2002, I originally wanted to get the Deathly Hallows symbol on my right wrist. I decided at the last moment that I didn’t want something with death in it’s name on my body.

Fans of the books and movies will know that the one who possesses all three Deathly Hallows (the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak) becomes the master of death. Having survived my own “death”, it seemed like a good time as any to give myself a symbol, a visual reminder of how far I’ve come.

The Lights of Shangri-La – A Review

Sooner or later, the touchstones of childhood call us back home…

I had the immense pleasure of seeing the opening night of The Lights of Shangri-La last night. It was glorious in every sense of the word.

It’s the new play being put on by Toto Too Theatre. The Lights of Shangri-La  is by David Whiteman. It features performances by Sean Toohey as Crockett Sumner, Cathy Nobleman as Pen Sumner (Crocket’s sister), Lucas Kenny as Ilya Petrov (Crocket’s estranged lover) and Nisha Toomey as Maddy Sumner (Pen’s daughter).

The Light’s of Shangri-La is about Crocket and Pen. Each have something that they are keeping close, secret from everyone that loves them. It’s making relationships difficult, strained. Both Crocket and Pen yearn for the days when they were younger, when there wasn’t a care in the world. Who doesn’t dream of their youth and the magic it held?

David Whiteman has penned a play that manages to do the impossible: The Lights of Shangri-La funny at times, heartfelt and mysterious until everything underneath the surface is revealed. It manages to tap into very real emotion that everyone can relate to in some way; and yet it is never sacharine, never over the top, never mundane. Instead, he’s written a play that taps into the depth of emotion and it left me breathless.

This is mainly due to the actors. Sean Toohey as Crocket is a firecracker of an actor. He taps into hilarity, despair and nostalgia in equal measure. He’s taken what could have been played as an over the top character and given Crocket an incredible amount of heart. More than that, Toohey made Crocket real for me.

I was in awe while watching Cathy Nobleman’s performance as Pen. She has an incredible range of emotions to portray and did so with aplomb. She taps into every nuance of Pen’s character. More than any of the other characters, she spoke to me the most. Again, Nobleman could have played the role very over the top or sympathetic to the extreme. The fact that she didn’t and I came away loving Pen is a tribute to the amazing performance that Nobleman gave.

The supporting cast was also stellar. Nisha Toomey as Maddy was lovely and a treat to watch on the stage. She owned that role, every word of it. However, it was Lucas Kenny as Ilya Petrov that really wowed me. As the character with the least amount to say, Kenny has a lot to work to do. He has to convey many emotions, from frustration to remorse with very few words.

I’ve known quite a few men like Ilya, men who made every word they said count. Kenny played him perfectly. Again, he could have done an over the top performance, full of anger and angst. Instead, he chose to play Ilya soft and quiet. You listen when he speaks. You ache for him. Without saying a lot, Lucas Kenny brings Ilya Petrov to life. Ilya is the perfect flip side to Crocket, who’s more flamboyant and flippant.

Sarah Hearn has directed one hell of a play. In a less capable directors hands, The Lights of Shangri-La could have been all camp and no substance. Instead, she has brought out the depth and soul of each of the characters. From the moment the play begins to it’s glorious ending, she has handled the helm of a show that left me spellbound. Everything in the play worked, from the gorgeous set (designed by David Magladry) to the music (an original score by Mike Heffernan) the entire show is a delight.

By the end of The Lights of Shangri-La,  I was emotionally spent, I was in awe at how powerful it was. More than that, I knew these people. They had stopped being actors or characters on the stage and instead became real people.

I loved every minute of this beautifully executed play. There are only four more performances left and I urge you to go and see it. To watch The Lights of Shangri-La is to be transported to another place and I didn’t ever want to leave.

Get your tickets here: http://www.tototoo.ca/tickets.html

And watch the trailer below!

The Huff Stuff!

Hey Everyone!

How cool is this? An article I wrote on weight loss and it’s been published in The Huffington Post!

I don’t like writing about myself, but it’s a challenge that I engage in regularly. Readers of my blog dealing with having Cerebral Palsy and Multiple Sclerosis will know this. You can read Two Steps at a Time here: http://www.two-steps.org

This is the first time I’ve written about my weight loss. When I wrote it, I called it Rebuilding the Temple. I’ve lost 140 pounds on the path to find myself. It took five years to do it, but I did it!

You can read it here:

http://www.huffingtonpost.ca/2014/09/09/weight-lost_n_5790924.html

I hope you enjoy it!

Candlelight and Three Simple Words – A Poem

You have lit

a candle inside

of me. With

every touch, each

caress, each brush

of your lips

against mine,

the flame grows.

I had thought

the flame to

be extinguished, only

a mere finger

of smoke that

moved and undulated

inside me. Now,

the tiny tongue

of flame is

a light all

its own inside

of me. Every

time you tell

me those three

simple words with

a precious magic

all their own,

(I love you)

each word like

a caress along

my heart, the

flame grows brighter

still until I

am filled to

the brim with

love and light

for you.

 

Poker Symptoms – A Poem

The room was

filled with smoke

when I came

in. They all

looked up at

me: Frank Fatigue,

Bob Balance, Steven

Speech. Travis Tremors,

Brian Brain Fog.

Sergio Spasm was

there too as

well as two

other shadowy shapes.

I looked at

all of them

and wished all

of them away.

Seven could see

the look of

distaste I wore.

“Come on, don’t be that way. Take a seat. We’re playing poker.”

I grumbled something

about needing a

cup of tea,

but Brian waved

a hand at

me. He let

out a laugh.

“Come on, it won’t take long. We’ll make it a short game. What’s the harm?”

The harm was

that I didn’t

like any of

them, that I

wanted all of

them to go

away and leave

me as I

was, as I

had been. Brian

was especially perceptive,

and I knew

he could read

my mind, having

shared so much

of it with

me. He nodded.

“We don’t like it much either. You’ll have to take that up with Max Shadow.”

One of the

shadow shapes moved

into the light

and I saw

Max Shadow for

the first time.

He was thin

with pallid skin

and long greasy

hair. He looked

like what I

imagined Flagg from

the Stand would

look like. He

smiled at me.

“Did someone say my name?”

He said, his

voice as oily

as his hair.

The other shadow

moved into sight

and I saw Cedric

Paulson for the

first time. He

looked like me

from a younger

age, but stretched

into adulthood, as

if he was

not fully in

control of his

thin limbs. He

looked as if

a stiff wind

would knock him

over and his

hands were shaking.

“Well, if you’re playing, so am I.”

He said. His

voice sounded unsure

of itself, as

if he was

not used to

standing up for

himself. He sighed

and his shoulders

dropped, though the

rest of him

still shook slightly.

“That is, if there’s room.”

“Of course there’s room.”

Travis said. His

voice was cheerful,

even though it

shook. He gave

me a smile.

“Come on, we saved a seat just for you.”

Sergio motioned with

his hand, also

smiling at me.

“Come on, it’s a good seat. Look, I have a cup of tea right here.”

He reached for

a cup on the

table, but back

chose that moment

to seize up

and when he

spoke next, it

was with obvious

pain. I motioned

to Sergio flippantly.

“Will he be all right?”

Max Shadow gave

me an oily

smile and a

small mirthless laugh.

“Of course he will. You’re okay, aren’t you?”

I didn’t know

how to answer

that question, so

moved through the

fog of smoke

and took my

seat. They watched

me as if

afraid I would

bolt from my

chair and run

from the room.

They all puffed

smoke out of

their mouths. I

did not, but

watched as the

smoke formed animals,

like each one

of them had

a Patronus of

some kind, an

animal that represented

their force. I

coughed and waved

my hand through

the smoke. Cedric

let out a

laugh and passed

me the deck

of cards. He

motioned to me.

“It’s your turn to deal.”

I took the

cards in my

hand and went

to shuffle them.

It was then

that I saw

they weren’t playing

cards. They were

tarot cards. I

looked up at

all of them,

not understanding. They

looked back at

me. Finally, from

inside a cloud

of smoke, Max

Shadow spoke softly.

“The game is simple, really. Draw five cards and see what they have to say.”

“What kind of poker is this?”

“Well, the stakes are a little high, I’m afraid.”

He smiled, his

teeth shining through

the smoke, and

held out his

hands to the

side, as if

to say mea

culpa. He motioned

to the cards.

“You just have to see what they say. We’ll all be playing along with you.”

“How is that possible?”

“We’re part of you and anything is possible. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

I blinked my

eyes and they

were gone from

the room. However,

I could feel

them in me:

Frank, Bob, Steven,

Travis, Brian, Sergio.

Max and Cedric

were there too.

They were all

looking through my

eyes. I sighed

and shuffled the

cards, thinking my

question silently. I

closed my eyes,

just for a

moment. Then I

drew three card

and looked down

at what the

cards had to

say.