My Eyes Are Opened

 

Copyright 2015 Rick J. Walsh

 

Love fills my heart. My eyes and my mind have been opened to endless possibilities. The angels have brought sunshine to a place where only clouds of uncertainty once existed. Hope and prayer have been replaced with peace and gratitude.

The past is gone and the veil of darkness has been lifted. The hurt, the pain, the loneliness, are forever a part of that past. Those all-consuming emotions, once buried and stored as searing reminders of failure, are freed from my soul, now only serving as shadowy signposts along a winding, forked road.

The angels opened my eyes and I saw a warm, friendly smile. I saw beautiful brown eyes that shone like a beacon of truth and felt a touch that warmed my once-frozen heart. I looked and saw, for the very first time, love in all its manifest glory.

When I let go of my past, I tore down the wall and opened my heart. The fear of failure was gone. There were no mistakes, only moments of learning. The fear of being hurt and rejected were removed. The fear of commitment was no more.

My gift from heaven keeps me in the now. With a giving heart, she fills the room with compassion and the love that emanates from her soul is soothing to all who surround her. Like a daily dose of happiness, she lifts my spirit and reminds me of the precious offerings I receive daily, once taken for granted.

Like a magnet she pulls me in, drawing me to her warmth, encouraging me to be just that – me. A flirting glance and the touch of her hand send me cascading into an ocean of endless love and I realize that nothing else really matters. All that I have is all that I need.

I picture us together, curled up in a lovers’ embrace, and think about a future – our future – growing old, still hand-in-hand, still smitten like high school sweethearts. And while time is just an illusion and the only real thing is the present, it feels like I have loved her forever.

I asked the Universe for help. I asked the Creator for happiness. I opened my eyes and there, standing in the sunlight, was the answer. Love is the answer – and she is beautiful.

Rick J. Walsh

November 5, 2015

 

Listen to your Heart

 

Copyright 2015, Rick J. Walsh

The stones sit in silence but the message is loud and clear - reach for your higher self, reach for enlightenment, while also striving to remain grounded and in touch with Mother Earth. And there, in the middle, find the ability to strike a balance between the two objectives.

If it was easy to do, we'd all be perfect souls, in harmony with one another, extending compassion and love to everyone. Yet for some reason, we are not in sync. We are not one.

St. Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthians, of the need for all people to come together, to care for one and all, in spite of our differences. He likened these differences to our own bodies, one entity, yet made up of separate parts.

The foot could not care only about the foot, nor could the hand or the head only care about themselves. For if selfish thoughts prevailed and other parts withered, surely the whole body would die. Compassion understanding and love are therefore necessary for the survival of our own species, the life and continuation of our very Universe.

Science has proven that we indeed are all one. From mineral and gas discoveries on other planets that match our own geological makeup, to similar DNA codes that link every living creature, we are the Universe - and the Universe is us. By destroying or endangering other species, polluting and exploiting our planet in efforts to get ahead, mankind is actually destroying himself. The irony is almost laughable, if it wasn't so scary.

There is a major shift in thought and attitude that is now taking place around the world. The power of greed, exploitation, hate and domination are now outweighed by compassion, sharing, sustainability and love. That tipping point, the critical mass, has been achieved, demonstrated by world-wide events such as the concern and care for the Syrian refugees and the fall of dictatorial, non-democratic governments across the globe.

Let's be clear - the dark forces at work that spawned the original evil are still at work, but humanity, with its ability for free will, has learned from generations of atrocities and has chosen a new, brighter path.

The battle between good and evil, light and dark, still remains a constant here on Earth, for how long yet we do not know. Fortunately the tide has turned and the light has succeeded in overpowering the dark.

Earth is a learning planet and while many of us have used past tragedies to gain insight and move forward, still others remain lost, resentful and bitter about their own life situations. They have not seen the light yet, but they will.

Being aware, or enlightened, is not just about using our five senses, but using our sixth sense, our intuition as well. It's time that we all take the time to journey inward, to discover who we really are and to love the person that is you.

Take a walk, sit in a park or drift down a river in your canoe. Whatever it is, just stop, even for a few moments, and listen. Listen to the song of a bird in a tree, the wind rustling through the leaves, the waves on the lake as they crash on the beach. Listen to your heart. Listen to your soul. Like me, you might even hear the rocks and stones calling your name.

Rick J. Walsh

November 9, 2015

Excerpt from "My Serendipity"

© Copyright 2011, Rick Walsh

I have two major projects on the go right now, the first an autobiography - of sorts - with the working title "My Serendipity". Here is an excerpt from those manuscripts, recounting my solo train trip to Calgary, Alberta in the summer of 1978. It was certainly a journey of self-discovery!

We were laid over for four hours in Winnipeg, while the train took on more fuel and passengers for the remaining trip to Calgary and points beyond. Many of my new-found friends were considered “minors” at the time and like me, under the legal drinking age. It obviously didn’t stop us as someone in the group picked up the leadership baton and led us in a parade to the hotel by the train station.

This group of half-dozen teenagers, male and female, entered the lobby bar and was soon approached by a middle-aged waitress. She asked for our order and then proceeded to look around the table, waiting for someone to speak up. The fellow next to me, Greg I believe, cautiously spoke up and said, “I’ll have an Export!” Dead silence fell upon the group as we waited in anticipation for the waitress to say, “Can I see some I.D.?” But those words never came and instead her response was, “OK, and who’s next?” A silent, yet very visible sigh of relief came from all of those around the table. “I’ll have a Blue,” I said and so the party began.

There was a great deal of laughter and cajoling emanating from our table and the energy seemed to spread to the rest of the bar. We traded stories about our homes, as varied as the map of Canada itself, while explaining our reasons for travel, exploration and self-discovery. All of my new-found friends seemed to share the same common goal, the same driving force that led them on this journey – the need to feel connected.

By this time, the liquor was flowing freely and so was the ugly truth in many of my friends’ stories, life-changing events that explained their reasons for running, for hiding, for longing and seeking. I could have written a book from the stories we shared that night – and perhaps one day I’ll write one – but these tidbits of information, so long hidden from other people, became my “raison d’etre” for starting this journey.

The reasons seemed all too familiar – divorce, drugs, alcohol abuse, violence, a sexually-abusive relative, the shame of poverty, the loneliness of orphanage, the constant moving of a military family – and the result too was the same in every case. Like me, they needed to escape, to find a place of comfort, acceptance and most important, love.

We were abruptly shaken from our “therapy session” by the sound of the train whistle. The refueling was finished, the new passengers had boarded and we were being summoned back to our vehicle of discovery. The need to continue our discussion outweighed the logic of stopping our alcohol intake, so it was suggested that we grab some beer “to go” from the bar and smuggle it back onto the train. The practice of “off sales” was a new one to me, never having experienced this perk of Western hospitality in the morally-staid province of Ontario. We quickly lined up at the bar to pay our bill and purchase whatever amount of alcohol we could fit into our pockets, boots, jackets and purses for the “Mission: Impossible” task of getting it back on the train.

With liquid courage in hand, we stumbled down the hill from the hotel to the train station. We approached our train car and the porter greeted us with his never-changing chant. “All aboard,” he said. The giggles and laughter I heard somewhat muffled the clinking of the beer bottles in our jackets, but I was sure we would be caught and have our liquor confiscated. Perhaps if it had been daylight and the porter had seen the unusually-shaped bulges in our pants or the girls’ now extra-large bosoms where once was none, he may have stopped us. Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. We had made it safely back onto the train.

I followed the crowd, led by our self-appointed leader Greg, to the doorway between train cars. He opened the door and we all at once tried to fit through the narrow entrance to the next car. Like a scene from a Laurel and Hardy movie, we stumbled and crashed into one another, the clinking of bottles rousing people from their slumber. Many just shook their heads, while others mumbled “crazy kids” beneath their breath. A few of us said “sorry” and apologized for the noise, but quickly carried on to the staircase that led us to the top of the Dome Car. Ahhhh…the Dome Car!

Boardsailing: The Fever Grows!

© Copyright 1983, Rick Walsh

First published in September of 1983, this article was indicative of the feature writing I did for GAM On Yachting mgazine. A little dated today, but still an enjoyable read.

“Everybody’s gone surfin’, Surfin’ U.S…,” well, you know where. If those lyrics tug on your nostalgic heartstrings, making you wish you were back in the early ‘60s watching Frankie Avalon ride the surf in “Beach Blanket Bingo,” fear not. The return of the surfboard is upon us – only now there’s a sail attached to it.

Gone are the crew cuts and the Brylcreem, but the fever-pitch excitement remains, proliferating even faster than the original surfboard rage because of the product’s adaptability to various climates, wind and water conditions.

Boardsailing, the correct generic term for this flourishing sport, is simply a combination of sailing and surfing. Developed and introduced in 1969 by surfing enthusiast Hoyle Schweitzer of California, the sailboard soon began springing up on beaches across the United States’ West Coast. The major factor behind the sailboard’s initial success was its advantage over the surfboard – there was no need to wait for that famous war cry, “Surf’s up!”

Like the common cold in its swift and unsuspecting attack, the not-so-common sailboard quickly infected other surfers, who in turn spread the fever eastward and beyond. Was there no end to the delirium?

Obviously not, as the fever broke down the defences of a money-conscious society bent on climbing the ladder to success. While people dreamed of living the good life, owning a sailboat and seeing the Toronto Argonauts win the Grey Cup, the sailboard cast its lure – small investment cost, ease of care and little instruction time required. The result was an epidemic, as thousands of people became the skippers of their own vessels. The lack of a cockpit and only 12 feet of “vessel” beneath them may have turned off many “old salts” of the sea, but the sailboard fever continued undaunted.

Spurred on by contagious enthusiasm, many boat manufacturers began producing sailboards of varying size and design, which in turn spawned a new fever of rivalry. With so many boards on the market at this point, it was only natural that a competitive sport would soon evolve, just to satisfy the ego of the human being.

There was no cure for this now-international infatuation with boardsailing. Television coverage of major races and events introduced thousands more to the sport, increasing unit sales dramatically each year.

Avoiding your T.V., if it was at all possible, would also have been to no avail as the fever grew, spilling over into the hands of advertising agencies, which used boardsailing as their new promotional tool. Why even McDonald’s is giving away sailboards as a promotion for their new products! (Yes sir, would you like to use your McBoard here, or is that to go?)

The spectacular jumps and tricks performed by free-stylists has captured the imagination of the consumer, lifting boardsailing from the ranks of a regular sport to that of an international pastime.

In fact, boardsailing has become so widely publicized and accepted that the government is getting involved as well. Heaven forbid, you say? It’s not as bad as it sounds. Wintario, the provincially-operated lottery, will be making grants available for one competitor in each weight class for the World Open Class Championships in Guadeloupe, December 1 to 10, as well as the North American Open Class Championships in Chicago, September 17 to 21. (And you thought only hockey teams received grants!)

The boardsailing fever has now made a complete circle, from manufacturer to consumer to business to government and back. The money flow has also gone this way, which suggests a healthy and prosperous future for the industry. The fever is strong and you can stay out of the circle if you wish, but if you do jump in and catch the fever, you’ll probably be happy you did.

Mike Who? My Favourite Maple Leaf

© Copyright 2011, Rick Walsh

To someone growing up outside of Toronto, or perhaps Washington, D.C., the name Mike Palmateer might not evoke any memories of an all-star athlete. In fact, the name might not mean anything to many people. Palmateer never won a Stanley Cup and never won a Vezina Trophy for best goaltender, but to me, he epitomized the struggle of the “little guy” to make it in the big leagues!

I grew up in Toronto in the 1960’s and 1970’s. I actually DO remember the Maple Leafs’ last Stanley Cup Championship back in 1967! My mother was an avid Leafs fan and we would watch Hockey Night In Canada together on Saturday nights to follow the exploits of our beloved boys in blue. When television broadcasts weren’t available for out-of-town games, we would listen to the play-by-play call on radio. Many nights I went to bed and dreamed of one day playing for the Leafs. Well, I never did play for the Leafs, but that didn’t deter my enthusiasm.

Enter the 1970’s and a new “youth-movement” was enveloping the Toronto Maple Leafs. Gone were the veterans like Larry Hillman and Allan Stanley. Joining the “big team” were fresh faces like Lanny McDonald, Darryl Sittler, Errol Thompson and a young goaltender from the Toronto Marlboros junior team, Mike Palmateer.

Now a teenager myself – and considered pretty “fresh-faced” too – I was a Marlie fan as well. As a member of the Marlboro fan club, I received player pictures, information and special ticket pricing for the Sunday afternoon games at Maple Leaf Gardens. The Marlies were great back then – Bill Daily and the Howe brothers on defence, Dave Gardiner, Billy Harris and Steve Shutt were the top line in the O.H.L. and of course, Mike Palmateer was their goaltender!

After playing for the Young Nationals – a team I also followed, who often played out of my home arena, North Toronto Memorial Gardens – Palmateer made it to Junior A! Not a very big guy and a little on the chunky side, he reminded me of, well me! He may have been small in stature, but boy could he stop a puck! His acrobatics were reminiscent of another N.H.L. favourite – Roger Crozier. I was vicariously living the life of Mike Palmateer, so when he made it to the big leagues, I felt like I had made it too.

It was at this time that the painting of goalie masks became an acceptable form of expression. Some say it was done to intimidate or distract the shooters, while others thought it was merely an artistic representation of the goaltenders’ lives or ambitions. The practice caught on with the fans though and at 16-years of age, I began designing and painting my artwork on local goalie masks. For the princely sum of $20.00, I would consult with the goalie, create three or four designs for the prospective client to choose from and then paint the chosen artwork on his mask.

When Mike finally made it to the Leafs, I felt that his rather well-worn mask had seen better days. If I – check that, he – was going to play in the N.H.L., he needed to wear something new, fresh and exciting on his face. Without direct consultation (who knew Mike better than me?), I feverishly sketched out six different designs for Palmateer’s mask and mailed them off to Maple Leaf Gardens. Who would have guessed that within a couple of weeks, I would receive a personally-written letter from Mike Palmateer himself, thanking me for my drawings and saying that he had chosen one of them to adorn his mask! WOW – I was blown away! From that moment on, Mike Palmateer became my all-time, all-sports living legend and idol!

We actually kept in touch for awhile, mostly by letter. Mike would always send me his latest individual Maple Leaf picture, autographed of course, a brief note and pictures of the entire team as well. These items I still have and cherish to this day. It was heartbreaking when Palmateer was traded to the Washington Capitals, but in my heart he will always be a Maple Leaf – my favourite Maple Leaf!