Some time later, the clatter again - louder. My imagination soars. A bear seeing fit to rearrange things on the deck? Wouldn't be the first time one had come to visit.

I rise from my warm cocoon and flip a switch on the wall. The warm glow of a lamp in the loft casts a misty light across the deck, and there before me stands a most beautiful, majestic four-point buck. He stands at alert for a moment, then hooves make the familiar clatter as he makes his way into the security of the dark night.

We've seen him with a doe and fawn often, nesting by the pond at the edge of the woods just outside the front door. He's looking for a warmer nest for the winter, and our deck, nestled inside the south-facing courtyard of our U-shaped home, provides warmth and protection.

I am pleased to see him again, and marvel that he'd feel safe enough to come right up to our home. Heart smiles.

A couple of days later, repeat performance but in mid-afternoon. This time I am working upstairs in the loft when the clatter begins. I make my way down the stairs and come face to face with the buck through sliding glass doors.

Breathtakingly beautiful lines in his face, colours in his fur. A moment of peaceful gratitude in my day.

He's in no hurry to leave. Meanders off, only after he's investigated the scent of apples in the crate just outside the door.

I am thankful for the visit - a reminder to stop now and again and be peaceful.

But I look around - I've been so busy, so occupied, I haven't noticed... my space is not clear nor quiet at the moment. Clutter has dented the typically strong sense of tranquility. What happened?

In the dim hours between nighttime and dawn, candlelight brings glow to my sacred space, renewing a sense of clarity within. It is time for a clearing and cleaning. Re-create my sacred space once again. Return to a sense of gentleness, balance and harmony.

I draw a Spirit Circle card from each deck:

Reclaiming Sacred Space - Yes, of course I'd draw this card. Heart smiles. The Universe knows.

I do not hold grudges. I am releasing anger and resentment. - It doesn't matter in the least how or why the clutter got here, or who put it here. What sense does it make for me to dwell senselessly on what doesn't matter? Instead, I bring my focus to the beauty. Simply invite sacred harmony in to my heart, my space - in this moment.

Yes, the Universe knows.

1) The nature of impermanence. Things will always pass. Good or bad, they'll always pass. Appreciate each moment for the good it brings. (And the good it brings may not always be apparent until much later - just wait.)

2) Live consciously. Don't make a mess in the first place, and you won't have to clean it up later. (Literally and figuratively.)

3) We teach others how to treat us. Don't see yourself as a victim in life; see yourself as a volunteer. In other words, if you're eating a &$#% sandwich, chances are you ordered it.

4) Rule 62. (Don't take yourself so seriously.)

What if we were to embrace life now? What would that look like? Feel like? Taste, sound, smell like?

In the quietness, a fleeting thought - it is not events that have happened that make us the 'walking wounded'; it is our lack of forgiveness of them that keeps us in pain.

Forgiveness does not come from a place of superiority or judgement: "I have seen your actions and judged them. They are not up to my high standards, but I'll let it slide this time."

True forgiveness involves acceptance, understanding and compassion. Connection with another being. Humility and gentle thinking.

Forgiveness... a path of freedom.

Falling backwards requires complete trust. Or the possibility of broken wrists. Facing forward and trusting that whatever is behind us will offer a soft place to land. And knowing that the falling isn't what will harm us; resistance to the fall is what creates injury.

A spiritual Nestea plunge.

Am I trusting enough in those moments of free-fall to notice and observe my reaction, and to accept the fall? Can I enjoy the journey on the way down?

I rise without a word, thankful for the quietness. In meditative moments of mindfulness and solitude, I feed the animals, care for the plants. Mindful walking. Mindful drinking - yin/yang water. Mindful collecting firewood and stoking the morning fire. Mindful of contributing to the stillness, not crashing over it.

I do not speak; morning is a time for silence. My actions are gentle, my steps non-intrusive.

Awareness and thankfulness of BE-ing stillness in the sacred Morning.

Or maybe there are just tears.

Today I cry, and my mind judges me for the tears. Why? What does it matter why I cry today? I feel I need to, so I do. Release = Real Ease. There is no need for judgement. Just to honor that which I have learned so well:

"The body weeps the tears the eyes do not shed."

The tears are a gift, an opportunity to rise above the judgement and just allow things to flow as they should. Whatever is welling in these eyes of mine, may it continue to flow and transform into whatever it needs to be for the good of All.

A few moments of solitude this morning in silence. Well... near silence. Small, twittering birds dance amongst the tiny, cool rain-mist droplets with soft little chirps, while the clock on the kitchen wall takes advantage of the quietness, making itself known with an increasingly louder monotony of tick tocks. The harder I try to not hear it, the louder the ticking seems to be.

What a joy to be able to remove the battery!

Not so with my thoughts, nor with the habitual 'white noise' in my ears from too much time spent with no time for silence. Like the clock, my thoughts and my busy-ness also grow louder as I try to not listen to them. Giving my attention and effort to avoiding them gives them power, because attention is attention, no matter what kind.

So I gently take my attention elsewhere, to the silence, to the heartfull thankfulness for where I am in this moment. Eyes open yet 'resting', I breathe in deep, cleansing breaths. I breathe out affirmation of my trust in the Universe that everything is exactly in the place it needs to be.

I do not try to rid myself of the thoughts nor the busy-ness. I do not try anything. I simple breathe and Be.

Silence.

And finally, I am quiet.

To allow others to see and feel who we truly are, at the risk of judgement against the deepest parts of our souls... that is courage.

"When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly."

That is trust.

How naive can I be to assume that my own perspective, this one human being in a sea of billions, is the only valid viewpoint? Wow. I am thankful for the reality check, returning to a place of peace.

Imagine you and I sitting at a table together. On the table between us is a vase. I could be thinking it's the most beautiful vase in the world; you could be thinking it's the most wretched thing you've ever laid eyes on.

Who's right? Neither one of us... it's just a vase.

So... I begin to consider my perspectives of my own life. Challenges arise and I observe my mind jumping to the worst conclusions, getting carried off with "what if's", making 'problems' out to be bigger and more important than they really are. (Not-so-commonly known as "pole vaulting over mouse sh*t")

I notice there seems to be a need for labelling "good" and "bad". But things just ARE. Looking from that perspective, all is well and managable, and I become thankful for the experience.

This old man, once vibrant and strong and authoritative, now ill and uncertain. It is an honour to give back the care and guidance he has given me in this lifetime.

An article in the newspaper baffles me - a woman leaves her mother to die in her home, while she is out spending mother's money on herself. I am perplexed and dismayed. I do not understand.

I truly do not understand.

Aho, Dad.