Colour can be used as a powerful identification tool. Even our personal feelings can be described in colourful ways. If we're feeling melancholy, we're blue; if we're jealous, we're green with envy. But there has been one environment where colour has traditionally been less than useful: medical diagnostics.
I like to tell this story because I feel that our job as yoga instructors is to do what artists, poets, and priests do; to remind us of the great truth that to cling only to sweet as our only form of happiness is a trap. Sorrow teaches us about love and even bliss... if we let it. Ultimately, we can't share the light if we aren't cracked open.
People like me who get excited about poring over the cheapie bins for bargain-priced cult classics should be positively ecstatic about the October programming at the Vancity Theatre. I talked to VIFC programmer Tom Charity about the VIFC's late October schedule -- including the Vancouver-shot porno chic Sexcula; the inspired decision to have Vancouver's Funerary Call do a live score for Häxan: Witchcraft Through The Ages; and the two films paired with Häxan: Ken Russell's The Devils -- a serious favourite of mine -- and Dario Argento's Inferno.
My mother is dying. When it got to be too much at home we put her in hospice. Hospice, for those who are not familiar with the term, is a place where folks go to die. The criteria to enter are you have three-six months left to live with an expectation of no heroic measures. The goal is comfort and dignity in your final days. My brother and I camp out in the room with my mom. Me in the Murphy bed and him on the Lazy Boy. We fall asleep listening to her whisper to herself and hallucinate on the shadows she makes with her hands. My mom had lung cancer and it progressed to her brain, so she is not safe to be alone anymore. She could fall. She could leave and get lost. She could take all her clothes off and run the halls naked. So we move in to the tiny room with her.
What we leave behind will be our legacy; how we want to be remembered at the holiday table when family gets together to reminisce. How do you want to be remembered? I've yet to speak to anyone nearing death regretting not spending more time at work. Regret is always for the hours away from family and friends.
Well another school year has just started and "Bullying Ends Here" is in high demand across North America. I am on a mission to continue telling the world about a boy named Jamie Hubley and hope that his story, along with my own, will show youth that they have support and have someone that they can communicate with through email at any time. I have received over 5000 emails in 6 months and I respond to each and every one of them. That is my commitment to youth. I will help any way that I can.
For almost four decades, I did not talk about the plane crash. Instead, I buried the tragedy and any associated feelings of grief as deep down as possible. That was the way tragedies and death were dealt with in the 70s. I was told, directly and indirectly, that the subject was closed, never to be discussed... the subject of death was unmentionable.
I was shocked when I heard about the death of my friend Carlos Fonseca two weeks ago. He was in Ginnie Springs, Florida about to start exploring a cave system called The Devil's Spring. The following day rumours started to circulate on a couple of diving forums that Carlos had died while inside the system. How he died is not really known.
Many people outside South Africa think Nelson Mandela is an exception; an aberration. Mandela is not like other black people, they say. This misconception lies at the heart of the paranoia among right-wing South Africans, recently repeated in some foreign media, that when Mandela dies, black people will drop the pretense of the last 20 years and start murdering whites.
It is winter in South Africa and inside Pretoria's Mediclinic Heart Hospital the old lion lies dying. Most of all, though, people are waiting for the word. After the tears that will follow Madiba's death, South Africans will still go about their daily business. And they will surely laugh because that's all they know, and that's how they've always endured.
Sticky situation: In our daily lives, from work to the community and even within our very own family, we regularly receive news that may make us uncomfortable and will at times, leave us speechless and paralyzed. To enlighten you, and hopefully prepare you for what to say and do, here are some suggestions.
I am grateful that my husband lived a long and productive life. So, please do not tell me how to grieve. Spare me the euphemisms. My husband did not "pass." He died. I have not "lost" him: I know exactly where his body is, and his spirit is with me. And. Do. Not. Speak. To. Me. Of. Closure. What a hideous word. Bring me acceptance but, never, closure.