Dear Traveler,

Well, you know, I keep hearing about the "glass-half-full" people and the "glass-half-empty" people, so I just had to pipe up. I think there's at least one other category, and probably there are scads of them, really. I'm not sure what to call this one... maybe you can help name it. It's the category that says:

"Look - a glass... and it has water in it. Beautiful, transparent water that's just as clear as the glass itself, but so soft and fluid where the glass is brittle and static... how can that be ?? It's amazing! What happens if I hold the glass in the sunlight... oh.. the water sparkles and dances, and the glass, it has rainbows in it. And the light pours right through all of it. And I can *drink* that light-water!! Then it'll become part of me with all its brilliance and fluidity and humble-ness and then the glass can be filled AGAIN!    *sigh*    Life is just one miracle piled on another, as far as the eye can see."

OK, so I'm a little bit crazy. But I'm happy no matter how full - or empty - my glass is.

With love - rosemary

Today we walk in bright awe through silent woodland cathedral, Sanjee and I.  A deep cobalt sky sends sunlight to ignite sparks in fresh snow. Bare oaks rise, black latticework against the vaulted arch of heaven ringed with dark, green  spires.  All is hallowed.

Snow, everywhere snow.  How many flakes in this meadow, in that stand of poplars? And each one unique, this we have been taught, and indeed it has been studied and proven.  The thought is mind-boggling; it’s a concept that can only be processed by the heart.

Each snowflake is unique, this we know. Yet we also know that every single perfect crystal begins life looking exactly the same as all the others – exactly. It is the journey that changes them. No two crystals will follow precisely the same path from clouds to earth, be met by the very same winds and   obstacles, have the same speed of descent. Each will be shaped by its journey, to end unique among snowflakes.  And the consummation of all this traveling is a seamless interlocking with numberless, distinctly different others in a radiant winter blanket, insulating, and later, melting to nourish the greening earth.

By the end of its fall to earth, each snowflake will have attained a new kind of perfection. From the original blueprint of its creation (and in keeping with its inherent symmetry), it will have forged an exquisite new design that can never be duplicated. Singular beauty and purposeful function are equally present; wonder and practicality walking hand in hand.

Snow.  Another roadmap in nature’s travel guide, for those times when we lose our way.

With love - rosemary

Dear Traveler,

Some of you are well-acquainted with our health care system's well-oiled (or in some cases, not so much) cancer care machine. If you become a patient, it goes like this: symptoms -> tests -> diagnosis -> plan -> treatment -> follow-up -> follow-up -> follow-up. Once you're plugged in and on the conveyor, if you're at a large medical centre you may meet a dozen people who will be involved in your care. Most of them will be excellent at their jobs (if a bit tired from overwork) but rely heavily on the rote method of dealing with your "intake" and "processing"  through all the phases of your care. With true respect and sincere gratitude for how hard these people work: there are very few original thinkers in the above-described  scenario, and even fewer true healers. No matter how well-intended, the system does not allow for any deviation. If you're fortunate, you'll feel a real confidence in your oncologist as a good diagnostician and excellent technician, and have a crackerjack nurse you can direct all your questions to. This is a wonderful thing, a great privilege in this world, and the best we can hope for. Yet there are rare individuals working in the system who manage, by some grace, to bring a bit of something special to the table. In all my years as a nurse I'm reasonably sure I can count the ones I've met on two hands. I met one of those, an oncologist, the other day.

I accompanied my friends Andy and Helen to their first clinic visit on the road to Andy's healing from colon cancer. We attended a beautifully appointed free-standing cancer care centre and it was a confidence-inspiring setting to be in, if a bit impersonal. We awaited Andy's care team-to-be in a small examination room, and eventually the junior surgeon appeared and stayed for a lengthy visit. I can say without a doubt he was, as surgeons go, the best teacher I have ever met (and I've been to scores of these first appointments). I was grateful for his communication skills and transparency; I had to ask very few of the hardball questions I was there to ask, as he explained things so beautifully. And, I was thrilled for my friend Andy to find himself in such good care. But the best was yet to come. Dr. A eventually left us to make some inquiries about Andy's case, and he returned with the chief of surgery for this division, and the rest of the team. The primary nurse/case manager made a huge impression on Andy (rightfully so - she is a gem) and he developed an immediate rapport with his new medical muse. But I was struck by the chief oncologist. His presence - and he was SO VERY present - was outside the box in some way. I studied him as he spoke with Andy and Helen. He was relaxed. He was all there. He was not dragged down by the system and its overwork, though he was an older man, and a professor as well as chief surgeon (and who knows - maybe a family man as well). Then he said some things that were very much not part of the usual script. He said he doesn't believe in predictions; he is very much a one-step-at-a-time kind of guy. He said he isn't fussy about certain things (and mentioned a few things that other docs are typically very fussy about). He radiated a peaceful confidence and authority that came from the wisdom of experience. But there was more there: love. As unlikely as it seemed, this man was anchored in it, unshakeable. As he wrote up his paperwork he asked me about the nature of my relationship with Andy and Helen, and we responded that I am a friend. Still looking down at his papers, he said gently "oh? then you're not in the medical field in any way?"  Busted. (How do they always know?) I responded that I'm a nurse, but was there as a friend and fellow cancer survivor, ovarian, to be specific. He asked kindly who had cared for me and I told him; it was someone he knew. Moments later the session wrapped up, and the team all shook hands with each of us. As Dr. S, chief of surgery, left the room, he stopped ever so briefly beside my chair and laid his hand on my shoulder. Acknowledgement and compassion poured from his hand and into my being. I was stunned to recognize the touch of a true healer. A healer who is surviving as such in a system that seems designed to make such a feat impossible. It was a bright, unforgettable moment, filled with hope.

For the next day and a half, I was a bit undone. I cried easily, with no clue as to why. Then I realized: it was that compassionate touch by a knowing stranger, that acknowledgement of what I had been through, delivered with love and understanding. After such a long spell of being strong, of steering the bow straight into the waves in the storm, I cried over the immensity of it all. And I cried for joy that this was the man who would be looking after my friend Andy.

Dr. S has, I'm sure, no clue of his effect upon me, and probably upon others far too numerous to count. He was just being himself. That's the power we have. A good reminder to me to *always* be my best self, 'cause you never know what the ripple effect might be. Thanks, doc.

With love - rosemary

Dear Traveler,

It's been a while... here we are, poised on the threshold of a shiny new year. I believe it will be a year unlike any we have ever seen, filled with hope, progress, new vision, and greater understanding. We live in wondrous times.


Last summer, I was extremely honoured to be asked to contribute a feature piece for publication in Ars Medica: a Journal for Medicine, the Arts, and Humanites. The piece was published in the Fall issue, and I just received my copy a week or so ago. Many of you have asked to read the article, and since Ars Medica doesn't currently publish an online version, I thought I would post it here for you (just click on the file below to read the word.doc.)

Thank you for all your lovely emails and kind support during 2011. May your road this year be more "wild honey", and less "hardscrabble."    :) 

With love and a deeply felt wish for many blessings in 2012 ~  rosemary

cure [kyoor], noun: successful remedial treatment; restoration to health.

remission  [ri-mish-uhn], noun: abatement or diminution, as of… intensity, etc.

Dear Traveler,

The medical community does not use the word “cure” in relation to cancer, but prefers the term “remission”. Why is this?

Dr. Ed Zimney, M.D. tell us: “… even when a person is in remission, there may be microscopic collections of cancer cells that cannot be identified by current techniques. This means that even if a person is in remission, they may, at some future time, experience a recurrence of their cancer.” (Bold letters mine).

Hm. By this logic, it would seem we should all consider ourselves “in remission” from chickenpox (which may later re-emerge as shingles), TB (which bacteria nearly all of us carry in a dormant state), and for that matter, the common cold. After all, if these theoretical "microscopic collections" of cancer cells are so microscopic, our bodies have a very good chance of cleaning them up (and the more we can do to help facilitate this, the better).

The word remission conveys the notion of a temporary lull, and hints at inevitable recurrence. Here lies great danger; the danger of inciting chronic fear, dread, hopelessness – and so, at the very worst, self-fulfilling prophesy.

As unpleasant as it is to realize, there is a “cancer economy”, and given that fact, it follows that there are certain parties with a vested interest in keeping tabs on the “cancer population”; keeping them “in the system” if you will.  But I won’t digress into that discussion here, and I'm not suggesting that those with a history of cancer shouldn't maintain vigilance in monitoring their health. I only wish to point out that it is not the patients who decide the terminology by which they are described and identified – sometimes for life.  Labeled (even by well-meaning physicians) as “cancer patients in remission”, we are never free of the taint of illness even if we have overcome it. How can this be good for our health?

Though the medical community may (for various reasons) find it too risky, there is no one to stop us – patients, families, friends, and loved ones – from exercising the right to use positive, life-affirming words to describe the successful recovery from one of the 21st century’s most complicated and insidious  illnesses.

Healed.    Recovered.    Healthy.    Whole.    Well.    Cured.

Let’s take back the power. Who knows… it just might lead to fewer recurrences.

With love ~  rosemary

Dear Traveler,

During the first six months of my recovery from surgery and chemo, I read twenty or so very good books. A number of them related to the healing journey I found myself on, and of those, a few were truly noteworthy. By request, here is a list of some of the books I found extremely helpful in dealing with major, life-altering illness. I hope it’s of some value to you and yours.

With love,
rosemary

1)  Anti-Cancer: A New Way of Life
       David Servan-Schreiber, M.D.

This book is an excellent primer for anyone living with cancer. Dr. Servan-Schreiber is the voice of experience, having survived brain cancer in the 1990’s to go on and create a practical, wise, holistic paradigm for managing the illness that straddles both sides of the medical / natural healing fence. Though not against chemo and radiation when the severity of the situation demands it, he is strong on a natural, easily achievable approach. The DVD is also excellent. Paraphrasing my favourite passage from the live lecture: “Some people believe that I am spreading false hope by teaching that cancer can be managed, and sometimes even prevented, by natural means. I say the evidence for this is so strong that to NOT tell you about it is to spread false hopelessness.” 

2)   Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow
       Elizabeth Lesser

Truth be told, I’m not much of a self-help literature enthusiast; I typically derive my inspiration from other sources. But sudden, serious illness requires a fancy quick-step of internal reorganization, and this book came highly recommended by a wise friend. When we first fall ill, it’s truly helpful if we can get our thoughts and emotions organized without delay, and find some inner direction that feels constructive and positive. The stories in this book are the kind that can spark the reflection process and help you find meaning amidst the madness.

3)  The 22 Non-Negotiable Laws of Wellness  
       Greg Anderson

Although the title sounds self-help-ish, this is no new-age manifesto, but a beautifully moving treatise on twenty-two timeless values that, when understood, can transform an ordinary life into a magnificent one. Greg Anderson had advanced lung cancer, had already lost one lung, and finally was told he had about a month to live. While lying in his bed those final days, he undertook some inner work that eventually led to a full recovery. He wrote this book eleven years later, in 1995, and continues to write and teach to this day. That says it all; if someone who has done THAT wants to tell me how he achieved it, I’m all ears. It’s a truly meaningful book.

4)   The Gift: Creativity and the Artist in the Modern   World  - Lewis Hyde

If you are an artist of any kind, this book is very life-and-purpose- affirming (and all things life-affirming are  extremely valuable if you’re literally fighting for your life). It clearly expresses the true role and meaning of artists in society, and the struggles they encounter trying to exist in a market economy. Hyde speaks of the “gift economy” that all true art is inherently anchored in, and how we can bring this to life. Part anthropology, part story, part sociology, I found it a deeply worthwhile read.

5)  Letters to a Young Artist
       Julia Cameron

The device is based on Rilke’s “Letters to a Young Poet” and personally I would have been just as happy for a straightforward sharing of the life wisdom it contains. Just the same, this book is a good kick in the pants – actually many good kicks in the pants – to just get up and do. This was important for me when I was feeling physically wretched. Every line written, every colourful stitch taken, every sketch finished is a victory, and a statement that you are alive and moving forward. These small acts of doing are immensely healing, and we can do a little something every day even if we’re a physical and emotional wreck. Keep doing, and we keep moving toward wellness of spirit, and hopefully, body.

6)   Earthing
       Stephen Sinatra, M.D., Martin Zucker, Clinton Ober

This book kicked around our house for weeks before I could get past the title enough to pick it up (“Earth-ing? Really?) I’m glad I finally did, because I believe it’s a really important book. Earthing refers to grounding; being physically connected to the earth (just like your Rogers cable.) Basically the book relates a wisdom possessed by our grandmothers, with the support of reams of modern, empirical data to back it up: you can’t grow a decent cabbage indoors, never mind a healthy human being. The free exchange of electrons between the earth and our bodies balances us electrically and waylays the chain of events that leads to inflammation (which in turn leads to most modern illnesses.) In industrialized nations, humans (and often pets) have become so disconnected from the earth that this natural exchange no longer has an opportunity to take place, with dire consequences. The information is sensible, the data believable, and the stories of healing ring true. Well worth getting past the title, I believe this book holds some very important keys to health and healing in the age of condo-living and office towers.

Dear Traveler,

I hope you are reveling in the beauty of almost-summer!

This is just a quick note to let you (and your friends and loved ones0 know that I am once again offering my services as a health consultant. In-person visits are lovely when possible, but this service can also be provided over the phone when distance dictates.

If you would like to know more, please have a look at the "Health Consultant" page on this site.  Thank you!

With love ~  rosemary

Dear Traveler,

One of the great things about a serious health scare is that it gets you thinking about topics you might’ve been better off thinking about all along. Just the other day, I found myself pondering how to begin passing on some of the skills I’ve picked up during my time here on this lovely planet. Mind, I have no illusions of grandeur; I’m often reminded I haven’t made a perceptible dent in all there is to learn. Yet there are a few areas where I’ve put in considerable effort, experienced failures and successes, and gained some hard-earned insight. So who knows, I just might be able to save one or two folks some precious time or a few worry lines.

To this end, I have several health and arts-related projects lined up that I’d like to pursue. One of the latter is doing some vocal coaching. Ah, and here’s where I suppose I need to shine a bit of light on the secrets of my past (the music-related ones, anyway).

Music has coursed through my life on a Plutonian trajectory, beginning with many hours spent "playing" a true-to-scale miniature piano I received when I was 2. From these roots came several kinds of fruit: school choirs and acoustic guitar in my mid teens; bluegrass banjo, dance calling, and ola belle reed songs a couple of years later; fretless bass, smoky bars, and Motown in my early twenties. Then, suddenly, a deep immersion into other, non-musical aspects of life for about ten years. In my thirties, gasping for creative breath, I landed in the audition room of the Royal Conservatory. Three years later, having attained grade 8 in piano and grade 10 in vocal studies (with sights set on an A.R.C.T.) I left, knowing with certainty it was not my best path. Still, little was forfeited by being lost in the light of Mozart and Part for a while, except my rich alto voice. I had walked into the venerable institution an alto who could easily sing tenor parts, and been re-shaped as a lyric soprano (something about my facial bones). Nothing to do after that except take a few years off to recover, and wait for my head to stop ringing. Thus began what I fondly call my “Conservatory Remediation” period, which is ongoing.

While a student at the Conservatory I did what so many earnest, financially challenged students do; I taught. At one point I had 35 vocal students whom I saw weekly or bi-weekly. After leaving the Conservatory (and except for a brief foray into Celtic music) I once again entered into a non-musical phase, which lasted until around 1999. That was when I began traveling to the US to learn about music as an aid for pain management and end-of-life care (which dovetailed nicely with my work as an R.N.) I took up Celtic harp for that purpose, and for three years studied medieval repertoire, Taize chant, and how to improvise freely. When a much longed-for  opportunity to use this training in a large burn centre fell through due to insurance concerns (the hospital's, not mine), I set the harp aside for the moment. Shortly after that, the tide inexplicably turned. Suddenly, every thought and experience demanded to be reborn as a song, and in 2006, Rosemary Phelan the singer-songwriter came into being. I hadn’t yet fully recovered, or “found myself” vocally, but in the interest of answering the call I mustered up my courage, began performing, and followed that with two recordings. Along the way, it’s been an honour to keep company with some of the finest musicians in Canada. And so we arrive at this present moment in time.

If someone’s going to consider visiting me for some coaching, I think it’s only fair they know a bit about where I’ve come from as a singer. I hope this little musical autobiography was helpful. Anyone is welcome  to go and have a listen to my voice on line, but my personal choices around vocal expression and what’s appropriate for the songs I sing are not the limit of my experience or ability; I tend to keep it simple. So the only thing left is to examine what I might have to offer as a coach.

In a nutshell, let’s say this: if someone

• is in a vocal rut or feels undermined by habit
• feels disconnected from or bored with their voice
• seems unable to reach their full potential on their own
• does not feel elevated and joyful when singing
• hasn’t uncovered their innate unique-ness vocally

I can most likely be of service.

Although I can also help you learn to be comfortable with a mic, performance is not my specialty; the art and innocence of singing from your core is. Once you've experienced that, the sharing of it - or performance, as we like to call it - becomes a natural extension. It doesn’t matter whether we’re well-known, respected artists or just beginning to perform; we can be “in the pocket” vocally and still nowhere near it emotionally, and vice-versa. Connecting the two equals sheer joy!

On another note, this whole line of thought reminds me of my experience with Celsius the horse. You can read his story here:

Celsius’ weakness led to his greatest joy and success. What a delightful metaphor for, well, everything. We can all be champions. Let’s get on with those figure-eights, shall we… who’s first?

~  rosemary

PS: just email me through the contact page here if you’d like more info about vocal coaching, or see the "lessons / workshops" page on this site.  Thanks!

Dear Traveler,

As so many already know, major illness has a way of winnowing away the chaff of life to reveal what's truly important.  At the request of several audience members who heard me perform this for the first time last month, here is a spoken word piece I wrote down shortly after being diagnosed.  

Wishing you all many spring blessings!
                 with love - rosemary

ps - Imagine occasional soft punctuation from a bell-toned glockenspiel, and jason's delicately dynamic guitar improv in the background...


call your spirit back

in the pale, hopeful light
after a night devoid of stars
the voice of my dis–ease whispered to me.
it said: listen!

there’s a song everyone’s born with
not the same song, but everybody’s got one
some people pop right out yelling their song
they hear it from the very beginning and they know it’s wrong if
someone tries to shut them up from singing it

other people
it takes them time to find their song
maybe they realize it was there all along
but by then it’s too far gone and they have to call it back
say they’re sorry and promise with clear and starry eyes never
to forget      their song    belongs     to them

some people sing their song but not for long
‘cause some one steals it and deals it for cheap protection or some other warped thing

and it ceases to ring

and when your song’s been taken you’re shaken and you can’t feel
nothing’s real

the world is full of the walking dead
hearts with no songs,     
heads    full    of wants
don’t be one of the haunted

call back your song
it’s too high a price to pay
it’s your voice, it’s your spirit
call it back and DON’T EVER let the darkness near it

it’s yours!    it lives to be shared
it’s a light, it’s a flare for the direst emergencies
it’s a bright shield against life’s dangerous insurgencies
it’s the promise in the sunrise
it’s the realness on the inside  
of you    and of everything.

call your spirit back.
call your spirit back
call your spirit back

and never, please, never,
go outside without it again.

Dear Traveler,

Greetings! The new year is underway, and I hope all is well for you.

Last evening, a gifted fellow songwriter whom I’m also privileged to call my friend surprised me with a new song, saying “I wrote it for you.” I sat beside her as she sang, bathed in the warmth and beauty of her voice and guitar. To say I felt honoured can’t begin to capture the breadth of my experience of her gift. The words and music, permeated with loving intent, reverberated in the deep places of my heart, and I felt healing take place. Inner wounds I was not even aware of seemed to spontaneously close, leaving no mark.

American writer Madeleine L’Engle calls this experience being "named.” When we are unkind or deceitful to another person, we un-name them; we steal a piece of their identity and self worth from them, which they must then labour to get back. Most of us struggle daily, trying to avoid allowing ourselves to be un-named  because sadly, it happens so frequently in many areas of our lives.

But when we offer a gift to someone, whether it be a thoughtful physical gift, or a gift of help, or of kindness, we are naming  them. We are acknowledging their worth and showing them new facets of their identity in a meaningful way, through our benevolent vision of them. This is the most powerful thing one human being can do for another. It is especially important for the recipient in times of illness, loss, or other difficulty, when the sense of wellbeing and wholeness is compromised.

Each of us has this power to heal. Each of us has the power to name. 

Thank you, Eve, for naming me last night; for helping me to re-collect my true self, for healing some lingering wounds I didn’t know were there.

Thank you to everyone who has ever named me.

Below (with her permission) are the lyrics to Eve’s wonderful song; hopefully some day I will have the audio version to post for you; it’s a real beauty.

Be well.
With love,
rosemary
                                 *  *  *  *  * * * * * * * * *


mighty wren                   (eve goldberg)

well I heard a little wren
calling down from glen to glen
her song was sweet, her notes rang true
as from branch to branch she flew

she said we don’t have long to stay
we’re passing through, we’re on our way
yes, you and I are traveling souls
trying to make what’s broken whole

oh little wren, you’re a tiny thing
we knock you down, and still you sing
how can you carry on your song
how do you keep your spirit strong

traveler you have strength as well
deep inside is where it dwells
if you but seek, you shall find
the tools to mend the traveling kind

           She said the wild heart is a fragile thing
            It feels the world and its bitter sting
            So we send a prayer into the great unknown
            And a song returns – we’re not alone

she sang of water, trees and sky
i listened well and i learned why
whatever trials tomorrow brings
the wild heart will always sing

           She said the wild heart is a fragile thing
            It feels the world and its bitter sting
            So we send a prayer into the great unknown
            And a song returns – we’re not alone

well I heard a mighty wren
calling down from glen to glen
her song was sweet, her notes rang true
as from branch to branch she flew