Saturday, 22 February 2014


When I was eighteen years of age, I discovered Viktor E. Frankl's, Man's Search for Meaning. At that time, two years after my Father, Theodore, was murdered, I did not have a life-infused connection to meaning. I did not have a connection that meant that my life was worth living. I drank a bottle of tablets, hoping to die. I sit here in Ontario, preparing to give my second talk about Sawbonna, about Resiliency, about Voice, and I am fifty-two years of age. I know that not only do I have a connection to meaning. I know that I have joy, community, freedom to choose the way I answer to life. My choice means that I can break old habits, that I can name my fears, joys, concerns, that I can live with and from and for: Respect. Relationship. Responsibility. Two nights ago, I reread, Viktor's E. Frankl's gift of words. He says that freedom alone is not enough. He says that we have to be responsible. He says that our choice to be responsible is to act for and from the meaning we choose. And our choice is for and from a transcendence of self, wherein we are more than simplistic definitions of the masks we wear, or expectations of who we are supposed to be based on habits of being, based on "crimes" we have committed, and "crimes" committed against us. I am typing this blog from the Central Library in Downtown, Peterborough, Ontario. I continue to search. I continue to find. I continue to learn that to be responsible to my search, to be responsible to the blessings and gifts I find, means that I am not at the mercy of life; but, rather in a powerful co-creative dance of presence and possibility. And joy. Letting my sails unfurl. Sailing. Sailing. Sailing. No matter the weather.

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