Seeing is believing
My beautywalk Photo by Sandra Butel
I am Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk.
beautywalk is my search for truth and insight as I take in the sights and sounds of the world around me, choosing in some moments to hold people, places and ideas close to my heart and in others to let absolutely everything go.
I see
I see stained glass images with purple, red, yellow and blue, two metal chairs; one orange, one grey, sitting silent and alone under a stream of light falling brightly from above. I see repetitive arched shapes that draw my eyes in and in and in until they fall upon a many tiered pipe organ filling up one half of the wall towards the back. I see circles and squares and rectangles; it is as if I have entered a space ship resting in the hillside high and regal so far above the cars, buses and people that rest upon the city streets and sidewalks down below. I see shadow and light and form and function, all drawn together to please the senses.
I see coloured lights reflected on cold stone walls, warming up the head of one of the few female figures who dares to stand tall and proud beside all the males whose glory has been etched in stone throughout all of time. She stands out in the soft touch of pink, purple, pale and dark blue as the day’s light makes its way from out to in, shining through the ornate pieces of glass that rest high above where I am seated.
It is always the women
I sit in this ancient church with Oratory in its name and I summon my mother and my mother‘s mother and my mother‘s mother‘s mother and my mother‘s mother‘s mother‘s mother; all the way back as far as I can go. These are the people who knew sacrifice, who put aside their hopes and dreams to feed us and clothe us and make sure that we were safe.
It is always the women who sacrifice the most.
Side by side with myself… Photo by Sandra Butel
Letting wisdom shine
I hold onto my amethyst necklace that came to me from my mother on her passing. The one that shines so much brighter ever since I stepped into the jewelry store across from my yoga studio in my new neighbourhood of Verdun. My voice gasped when the jeweller handed it to me, not having realized how much tarnish had come to ruin its shine; my fragile heart deeply moved by his offer.
I sit in the same place, in the second pew from the front on the right side, in the seat where my father sat for all those years of forced Catholicism. I remember him. I call upon him, and sense his presence too, but the pull of my Mother and her belief in all that shines around me is stronger. I take a deep breath and summon her once more. I call on her beauty and her love and her faith in things that can not be seen but surely can be felt. The altar, the cross, the pews with wood and sheen.
Calling on my ancestors
Ever since the first moment I learned about my ‘much sooner than had been expected’ hip replacement surgery I have wanted to talk to her about it. To cry a little, to tell her I am scared and to hear the words of comfort she would surely have to share. I call on her and the power of my ancestors, female and fierce one and all, to be with me as I take the steps that are needed to give me more movement after a time of a little less.
Prayers for the women
I open my eyes from my meditation and look around me once again. The light has shifted on the wall to my right, the day outside calling to me to come outside to play. I pause to say a prayer of thanks and wishes for peace and happiness and the end of pain for each of my writing group friends who encouraged me to make this visit. I call each one to mind, see their faces, hear their voices and make a special incantation for each and all. I send a prayer for me too, up to where my Mom lies waiting, that my surgery goes well, that the surgeon has a good sleep the night before, and that his mind is restful and at ease when the day comes to put the scalpel to the test.
Hopes and prayers
I see a line of dust covered ancient crutches all lined up along the wall with stone carved messages in two languages but one sentiment of deep thanks for the healing that a belief in Saint Joseph provided to so many. I see a white haired man kneeling in prayer there, his eyes pressed tightly closed, his hands in prayer; a call for respite in the bend of his head and neck. It’s as if he can barely hold it up anymore; the weight of the thoughts inside being too much to bear.
I see a statue of Mary there to the right, the only woman in a crowd of men, her head bowed and her palms opened up towards the sky. I see hopes and prayers all lined up neatly in a row of rectangles and squares creating a mosaic on the walls. I am filled with a sense that my hurts are our hurts and my hopes are our hopes as well. This is just part of the human condition.
Giving thanks ... Photo by Sandra Butel
I see
I see so many different kinds of trees around me all with their leaves of many colours and their varying states of undress, their beauty opened wide, one last glorious shout before they let it all go and die. I see a single oak leaf, orange and twisting, turning so gracefully and with such abandon to the ground.
I see no clinging here.
Grab on
I see a group full of kids all strung together along a flat blue string, making their way under the watchful eye of their female protectors, down a dirt path that leads to a secret tunnel dug underneath the road. I am up above, looking down on their tiny figures down below.
I wave with a smirk, not to alarm but simply to get their attention, to let them know that I am a child too and to hold their beauty in my eyes as long as I am able; memorizing the sound of their sing song voices and the glimmers of light that sparks and dances with their every step. I see myself in them; especially in the one little boy who takes up the rear, tied tightly to his fellow wanderers, wanting to look around a bit more and afraid of what is to come but feeling the tug of the rope, pulling him gently but firmly ahead to join the group. His serious eyes lock to mine, he waves at me much longer than all the rest and keeps his head turned up towards me to the very last second until our eyes blink synchronistically, one last time before he disappears into the magic of the underground.
A female caretaker’s voice urges them with a SHHH. It is no use as they start yelling as soon as they first hear the deep echo that comes back at them from all sides of the curved archway where the dark rests still and silent; hoping for just one taste of the nectar of their sweet and open joy.
I smile to myself as I hear the children come out the other side of the echoing darkness and back into the sunny autumn day. Their voices rise in excitement, having conquered the shadows and lived to tell the tale. My heart beats a little faster, my resolve having taken root at their childish exuberance. I grab onto the string that ties me to strong women - past, present and future and let love guide me along my way.
the beauty of the fall … Photo by Sandra Butel
It’s time
It is time to make my way slowly and carefully down the hill from St. Joseph’s and hand off the paperwork to the Orthopaedic department at St. Mary’s hospital; the symbolism of going from father Joseph (which happens to have been my Dad’s name) to the patron saint of Mothers is not lost on me today. A flush of emotion rushes to greet me as the receptionist tells me that all is in order and that I will be hearing from the surgeon soon.
I am not religious but as one of my friends so succinctly put it when I told her bits and pieces of my tale, “you can see the signs all the same.”
Now all there is to do is to wait and have faith that my body, mind and soul are in the most loving and capable hands.
This is Sandra Butel and this is my beautywalk. What’s yours?
What figures past, present or future can you call upon to surround you with their strength or inspire you with their beauty?
In whom or in what experiences or images can you take refuge to help you face the challenges in your own life?
Taking refuge Photo Sandra Butel
Resources for Further Study and Personal Growth
I am here with my never-ending search for truth, my human heart and my brand new Professional Coach Certification (PCC) from the International Coaching Federation to be of assistance to you in your own journey of finding your own place of equilibrium. I have over 500 hours of experience working with clients and am sure that the time we spend together will bring immense value to us both.
For a free consultation with me all you have to do is book yourself into my calendar. We will spend some time getting to know one another and by the end of the 75 minutes it will be clear if a coaching relationship with me is what is needed in your life right now. There is no pressure here to buy, simply an offer from someone who has been through a whole lot of challenges and come out the other side. A little stronger, a little more humble, a little more ready to lend an ear.
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