(My grandson, J, aged 5, as we await the carrying of the Olympic torch through our town. )
We have just finished the Olympic games held here in British Columbia, where I have witnessed an outpouring of tremendous human spirit. I started thinking about what indelible traces these games will leave on us as a people, secured at the source by a linking sea of jubilant red and white. Collectively we have given birth to a greater awareness of pride, of a new totem of carved teeth marks; the gift it means to be Canadian. We share the journey of this totem. The faces are hidden in our own hearts and hands. We are bound now in a vast becoming.
For me, I hope blogging will be an ebbing of sorts where the core of who I am recedes like the sea, emptying in a kind of elemental grace. It’s ferocious, this desire to write ... vigorous and raw. It’s always been there, but right now I acknowledge that the stories of these past two weeks are bound in my own redemption. Totems are a reminder to remember, and to act.
This is where I begin.
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