A Last Years Blog Post Coming From A Coffee Shop In Canada

I am in Vancouver, Canada. I love it here. This city. It is a really good place. The vibe is good. The energy flows right. It matches me. At least right now, in the summer, when the sun is shining and the streets are full at night with music and life. I could live here. At least right now.

I was also in Whistler. Which is very beautiful. In that too-many-trees-kind-of-way. For me anyway. Now, don't get me wrong. I love trees. And plants. Foliage and fauna. But I need earth, too. If I'm not in a city. In a city I just need cool shops and cobbled streets and sweet music and great coffee. But in nature I need dirt.

And great coffee, too.

I don't have much time this morning, so thought to repost what I wrote a year ago. I do this sometimes. Repost. Either a favorite that seems to resonates and needs to be shared again because I love it so much. Or I look back to what a year ago was bringing up for me and I bring it up again in memorandum.

So a year ago I wrote about dancing with my daughter. I love this writing. I love what it captures about that moment with her but also about the evolution of our relationship as adult women and the beauty that is coming forth in this new dynamic that is being created between us. 

I give her so much credit for the unfolding that is occurring. She, wise in spirit and deep in the knowledge of her own heart, has been the leader in much of what we are becoming together. I trust her in this and meet her as our paths merge together in a truly honest way.

This writing, a reflection on the merging of mother/daughter as sister/sister is a lovely writing for me to read on this trip away. Much shifting took place within the streets of Vancouver and the too many trees of Whistler. I feel into my body and know that my thoughts are aligning more with my truth. The power of my spirit is gaining clarity and there is a knowing of my path. I sit in comfort that the upcoming months will offer rest and resurgence. And I see that the relationships I share, with this dancing daughter, and with my sweet and wise younger daughter and gifted, loving and intuitive son will shift along with me. In ways that mingle the reminders of mother with the honoring of the adults that we all are now. Them, often, more so than me.

And so here, so you, too, can read the dance of mother and daughter, my writing from that Monday in August, 2015.

Resting On My Daughter's Back And Other Transitions Of Heart And Mind.

So dancing yesterday was amazing. Sunday morning Dance Tribe Santa Barbara is always pretty incredible but yesterday, well yesterday was just fantastic. That extra something that heightens the senses was there in the room. The collaboration of body and spirit that exists between the dancers extends outwards and we are all creators. The music is deep and part of the dance - a giving forth. 

And in the midst of this, something sweet and good happened. I rested my body on my daughter's back. And in doing so gave myself over to this next stage of my life in a way that was both new, and familiar, too.

New, in that our roles are shifting. And I am transitioning along with this change that is occurring, a little bit each day. Still a parent but no longer parenting in that way where I need to be aware and invested. 

Because now we are peers. 

Partners in this place where mothers and daughters go as their relationship becomes that powerful connection as women warriors. Familiar because we know each other so well even as we learn each day something new about each other during this juxtaposition of roles.

And though we are truly in this present place, of being equal though not the same, I felt, in resting myself on her back - my weight fully supported by her strong spine and able legs, and full, kind heart - that I was nurtured and cared for. And I could see the future. Many years still to come, when there will be an even bigger shift and I will be cared for still. And cared for more. In that way that happens when we are older and need from our children those things we gave to them when they were young.

This is the vision that I saw. This is the feeling that I have, still.