the years fly by
marked by flames
atop woven pillars
so many
so fast
so soon
while I ponder
the aches
and stiffness
and forgetfulness
and at the same time
rejoice for I am here
to see the candles
atop woven pillars

© June Maffin
Photo: Free stock photo from Pexel.com



Songs have been written about it.
Parents teach their children about it.
People expect it.

But what is it – what does it involve – exactly?

How about “regard for the feelings, wishes, rights, or traditions of others”?

Bishop Greg Rickel (8th bishop of the Diocese of Olympia, WA), listed his “Ten Rules for Respect.”

From what I understand, he really does follow these rules.
Wouldn’t our world be a much kinder and safer place if everyone followed them

If all leaders (be they Bishops, CEO’s, politicians, office managers, store owners, parents, etc.), showed respect using Bishop Rickel’s rules, people would feel supported, encouraged, trusted.

The cycle of respect in the businesses, constituencies, congregations they serve, and families, would keep flowing.

Here are Bishop Rickel’s Ten Rules for Respect which are a model of behavior for us all in our interactions with others. All that’s needed is to put our own name in place of “Greg”.

1. If you have a problem with me, come to me (privately).

2. If I have a problem with you, I will come to you (privately).

3. If someone has a problem with me and comes to you, send them to me (I’ll do the same for you.)

4. If someone consistently will not come to me, say “Let’s go to Greg together. I am sure he will see us about this.” (I will do the same for you).

5. Be careful how you interpret me. I’d rather do that. On matters that are unclear, do not feel pressured to interpret my feelings or thoughts. It is easy to misinterpret intentions.

6. I will be careful how I interpret you.

7. If it’s confidential, don’t tell. If you or anyone comes to me in confidence, I won’t tell unless a) the person is going to harm himself/herself b) the person is going to physically harm someone else, c) a child has been physically or sexually abused. I expect the same from you.

8. I do not read unsigned letters or notes.

9. I do not manipulate; I will not be manipulated; do not let others manipulate you. Do not let others manipulate me through you. I will not preach “at you.” I will leave conviction to the Holy Spirit (she does it better anyway).

10. When in doubt, just say it. The only dumb questions are those that don’t get asked. Our relationships with one another, at the end of the day, are the most important things, so if you have a concern, pray, and then (if led), speak up. If I can answer it without misrepresenting something, someone or breaking a confidence, I will.

Thank you, Bishop Rickel


© June Maffin



It was near the beginning of the pandemic … most people were social distancing and mask-wearing.

Standing in line outside the health food store, the woman ahead of me were social distancing and wearing masks when a fellow appeared … no social distancing … no mask and kept getting closer and closer to me. I asked him to please step back to the place marked on the ground so we could be social distancing. And that’s when it began.

“Oh, you want me to step back because of COVID19? That’s all ridiculous stuff.”
He was adamant that there was nothing to be concerned about. “Even if COVID19 is real – there’s Hydroxychloroquine.” He was belligerent. He began shouting that the tv station he watched and the medical doctor in the US who had been interviewed on one of their recent shows, had since been silenced because they were telling the truth

He shouted “Who to believe?” That was the Million Dollar Question then – and now.

“I’m not afraid” he said. “I don’t believe this COVID19 is real.”

When it was my turn to enter the store, I noticed that he entered shortly after and overheard him say “What do you have that will increase my immune system? I don’t want to get sick.”

So much for thinking COVID19 is “ridiculous stuff” and disbelieving COVID19 is real.
He doesn’t want to get sick.
He doesn’t want to die.

But, he’s not going to wear a mask.
He doesn’t observe social distancing.
But he was in a health store looking for “something” that will keep him healthy and increase his immune system.

How about wearing a mask and observing social distancing, sir?
That will keep you healthy.

© June Maffin

Photo is a free photo from Pexels.com This is not a photo of the fellow I encountered



It was a simple, informal, unexpected conversation with the check-out gal at the local grocery store.

She was wearing an “Every Child Matters” bright orange shirt. I commented on it and said that I was sorry I wasn’t able to get to the rally on the weekend. She said she couldn’t get there either. And then she said “I’ll never forget the children and am grateful for my mom.”

I asked what, in particular, brought her that feeling of gratitude and she said … “She made us go outdoors every day and shout as loud as we could.”

Neighbours would ask the children why they were shouting and their reply was always the same “Mom told us to.”

The grocery story clerk never understood ‘why’.
She just did it.
And then she continued …
“Mom also made us run as fast as we could to the corner store and back and said she was timing us. Each time, we had to at least do it as fast as we did it the day before and try to beat our own record.”

Again, she never understood ‘why’. She just did it.

When the store clerks’s mother died, she never had the opportunity to ask her mother ‘why’ and didn’t think about either of those incidents again … until the first group of unmarked graves of Residential School children was discovered.

And then she realized … her mother was teaching her and her siblings what to do if the government came to take them to the Residential School.

Stories that are emerging from the students of the Residential Schools speak of children who disappeared and were never heard of again. Many of those children were quiet and didn’t run away.

Most residential children who shouted and tried to run away were punished. But they didn’t disappear.

The grocery store clerk wishes she could speak with her mother and thank her for the lessons of shouting and running. But she can’t. Her mother died.

So instead, she often wears something with the colour orange on it.

Today, it was the orange “Every Child Matters” t shirt featuring four sets of hands encircling the words ‘Every Child Matters’ against an orange back drop, created by Andy Everson of the K’ómoks First Nation in British Columbia, Canada and that tshirt sparked a conversation about “Lessons Mothers Teach Their Children” that I will never forget.

© June Maffin

T shirt design artist: Andy Everson of the K’ómoks First Nation, British Columbia, Canada


I remember the day before the pandemic.
She was in her mid-80’s, was wearing beige slacks, beige top and black jacket
with a black purse and black shoes
and looking at summer tops and slacks.

The clothing she was looking at?
Black sweater, beige slacks, black top.
I could “see” her in lovely pastels, but all she was looking at was
… more of the same black and beige.

I quietly asked “What do you think of this colour?”
Her reply – “So lovely for you, dear. But not for me.”
She had given me an opening – and so I gently asked – “Why not?”
Her reply – “I’m old.”

I picked up two pastel tops – a lilac and a peach and asked her to come with me to the mirror.
I think she thought I was going to try them on and wanted her opinion.
She was half right.
I wanted her opinion.
Not for me
– but for her.

I tucked the tops under her chin and she smiled. Then she looked at me and said “I’m too old.” And then she looked again. And smiled.

We chatted a bit. She confided that she hated wearing black and beige, but those were what old people wore and she didn’t want to have people think she was trying to be young again. And then, after she held up the coloured shirts a few more times and could see they brought colour to her face (maybe it was my imagination, but she stood straighter when they were under her chin), before I knew it, she had purchased them both.

As she went out the store with a lovely, big smile on her face wearing the peach-coloured shirt, she said “A difference – you have made a difference.”

Nawww, it wasn’t me – it was her.
In the moment she decided to wear colour, she decided to enjoy her life.

Those colours really suited her.
And yes, I’m *sure* she was walking straighter as she walked out of the store.

What limitations do we put on ourselves that stop us from living life to the fullest?
Are we self-critical … of our self? … our art? … our … ?
Do we compare ourselves to another?
Have we said or thought “I can’t do this because …”?
I know I have.

And each time I catch myself placing limits on myself, I think of this wonderful octogenarian and imagine her, living her life in full colour. Literally. 🙂

Those others put on us.
Those we put on others.
Those we put on ourselves.

Something to consider?

© June Maffin



Today is Canada Day in this country.  I honour and pay respect to the privilege and reality that I live on unceded aboriginal land – meaning that Aboriginal Title has neither been surrendered nor acquired by the Crown / government.  On July 1, 1867, Canada became a self-governing Dominion. That’s only 154 years. The People of the Land have been here for over 15,000 years.

Our history with the People of the Land was not good long ago. It is not good now.  Many in our land continue to reel at recent news of discoveries of over a thousand unmarked graves of children on properties of former Residential Schools and the ongoing reality of missing and murdered indigeneous women.

Can we “celebrate” this Canada Day? If the word “celebrate” means to ‘honour, especially by solemn ceremonies’ then I can. If the word “celebrate” means to ‘participate in a festive social gathering’, I cannot. What I can do is remember the gentle word “Mamawi” which is Cree for “All together” … a word which holds before me a hope that reconciliation can happen and that this country can heal.

It will take time. It will take sacrifice. It will take work. But it is possible.

The combination of this “O Canada” video

(shared by Revv53, a Calgary-based performance ensemble of over 50 singers representing a wide variety of walks of life in Canada) offers a powerful “prelude” read by Richard Harrison, reminds us of exquisite scenes of this country, from coast to coast, and reinforces the powerful words of our national anthem “God keep our land, glorious and free”

… and this Readers Digest listing of Canadian heroes (https://www.readersdigest.ca/travel/canada/can-you-name-these-canadian-heroes/?fbclid=IwAR3A0KnQVJca0xEUuk-AbybSBHTylZ_XUwSj_wwwmjTL1ynXr9e5oN_qKQ4 

may help us find some way to acknowledge the hurt in our country’s history; in some way, express gratitude for the good that has emerged from our history; and offer a glimpse of hope.

As we move into the next year of the history of this country of Canada, may we respect the traditions of the First People of this land.  May we honour their love of and care for the land, waters around it, the animals and life that live on that land and in those waters. May we stop pointing fingers at “those people” and recognize our role in their sense of helplessness, anger and fear by the colonization and racism.

May this be a hope-filled Canada Day.

© June Maffin



It’s not something I experience very often. When I do, I try to work with it and not let it capture my mind, my soul, my body because when it isn’t dealt with, when I’m not willing to let it go, when it escalates, relationships suffer, people can be physically and emotionally abused, political unrest can happen, wars can erupt.

What is “it”?
“It” is anger.
Anger can be a brief feeling.
Anger can stay for weeks or months or years.
Anger can be generational.

Anger can arise for a variety of reasons — systemic racism … betrayal … corruption … abuse … injustice … illness … death … financial instability … and so much more. We have all experienced the emotion of anger at some time and will experience it in the future. Anger is a natural response to pain of some kind (be that physical or emotional). It’s a human response as this little tale recounts.

“You have no right teaching others,” shouted the very angry young man to the Buddha. “You are nothing but a fake!”

The followers of Buddha tried to overpower the man, but the Buddha stopped them and said,
“It is not always necessary to counter anger by anger” Then he turned to the young man and with a smile, asked, “Tell me, if you buy a gift for someone, and that person does not take it, to whom does the gift belong?”

The young man was surprised to be asked such a strange question and answered, “It would belong to me, because I bought the gift.”

The Buddha smiled and said, “That is correct. And it is exactly the same with your anger. If you become angry with me and I do not feel insulted, then the anger falls back on you. You are then the only one who becomes unhappy, not me. All you have done is hurt yourself.”

When the Buddha continued, “No matter what the situation is, if you fully surrender yourself to anger, the anger will always take your life away from you,” the young man understood.

The issue isn’t the anger. The issue is what we do with it.
Do we experience it? Do we bury it? Do we let it fester? Grow?
Do we let it motivate us into action that would bring about positive change?

Over the years, I have learned to ‘name’ my anger – admit its presence. I’ve not ignored it. I’ve worked at it. And ‘worked’ is descriptive, because I find that dealing with anger is ‘work’ because it takes focus … energy … intention … time.

I choose to work at dealing with anger when I feel angry so that it doesn’t possess me – so that it doesn’t take over my life – so that it doesn’t lead me to decisions I otherwise would not have made – and so that I can be motivated into action that would bring about positive change in some small way.

Simply acknowledging the anger in and of itself is a step in the road when it no longer has its lethal grasp. In the acknowledgement that we are not ‘fully surrendering’ to the anger, anger can dissipate. As the Buddha is reputed to have “No matter what the situation is, if you fully surrender yourself to anger, the anger will always take your life away from you.”

Ultimately, fully surrendering to anger robs us of life. Fully surrendering to anger can bring results of bitterness, dysfunctional relationships, and/or illness, and possibly cause us to make decisions that will be anything but positive or healing. It’s much easier to react, rather than respond. But when we “fully surrender” to anger, it becomes something we can pass anger on to others … a spouse/partner, a child, future generations.

As for the situation that raised this post and my immediate sense of anger – it was the recent discoveries of the remains/unmarked of over a thousand indigenous children – students at Roman Catholic Residential Schools in Canada. Politicians are involved. Canadians are signing petitions. Requests have been made to the Pope to offer a formal apology, as the leaders of both the Anglican Church and United Church (who also ran residential schools in Canada) have done. To date, the Pope has not responded. And if the discovery of these unmarked graves wasn’t painful enough, there is a growing sense that the discovery is only the tip of the iceberg. Anger has already resulted in the burning of some churches. If (when) more graves are discovered, what then? More anger. And then what? And then what? And then what?

We cannot “fully surrender” to anger – let it overtake our life so that we cannot be part of the solution of reconciliation, be that with another or within ourself.

When anger envelopes me in its snare, I try to remember to ask myself if I am willing to work with it.
Sometimes I am.
Sometimes I am not.

Then I ask myself if I am willing … to be willing.
Somehow, that seems to open a door.
I hope I will always be willing-to-be-willing to open a door to possibility – to healing – to learning – to personal growth.

© June Maffin
(Photo taken at Yellow Point Lodge on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada)



A hot summer’s day and hummingbirds abound!

How can I not be fascinated by them? Their grace, beauty, agility … and oh yes, their symbolism.
Reflection emerges.

For the indigenous peoples of the Pacific Coast, the hummingbird is a messenger of joy. But not just joy – also intelligence, beauty, devotion, love, protectors and defender of their territory.

Yesterday and today, this particular hummingbird has returned over and over again. In each visit, a cloud of sadness, began to lift. And through that cloud of sadness on this, the fifth anniversary of my husband’s unexpected death, love shines.

Long before I knew him, our paths began to intersect. Some call it “fate”. Some call it “co-incidence.” We called it “Divine Love.”

In Montreal, he and his family lived about three blocks away from my family. In North Vancouver, he and his family lived a few miles away from me. On the Sunshine Coast, his family had a summer cottage in the community I worked. We never met in any of those places. We met by happenstance at a Christmas Fair, three years after his wife died. It wasn’t “love” or “sparks.” It was simply a meeting of two people who shared common interests and who began a friendship.

And then ‘love’ entered the scene … not between the two of us (just yet) … but through a rescue dog – Hans’ little King Charles spaniel named Shandy. As the years passed and the friendship Hans and I shared grew, ‘love’ entered the spaces that had been empty for far-too-long. He asked me to marry him. I said “No, not yet.” He asked again and again and again and each time my response was “not yet.”

Then one day, he phoned and invited me for an afternoon drive. We often did that so when he came by with the four-legged canine blessing called Shandy, off we went for a drive to Qualicum Beach – one of our favourite drives on Vancouver Island. On a bench overlooking the ocean, he asked me to marry him. This time, I knew that the obstacles we had talked about were nothing if we faced them together. I realized that his love for me was so deep, as was mine for him, that spending the rest of our lives together, no matter how long or how short, was Divine Love.

Six weeks later, he had sold his rancher, I had sold mine, a new home was purchased that we both loved, and we married, October 17, 2009. Even though it was a day marked by ‘clouds’ for a number of reasons, we knew that we would face any and all clouds together. And, we did.

We were the love of each other’s lives. Laughter filled our home. Deep conversations filled our home. Joy and peace and hope filled our home. Divine Love filled our home. While he unexpectedly took leave of this Planet Earth on June 26th, 2016, he has never taken leave of my heart. In that lovely voice of his, perhaps he is calligraphically-rendering the six words of his reality … “It is well with my soul.”

Through a cloud of sadness, love still shines. Thank you little hummingbird. I am grateful.

The next time you see a hummingbird, may it bring comfort your way and in some way, be a sign of Divine Love in your life.

May you continue to rest in peace, my beloved Hans. Rest in peace.

© June Maffin



This past week, I completed the training, added three new initials after my name (CZT) and am now a Certified Zentangle® Teacher. It was four exhausting days of tangling … and fun! If you’re not familiar with the term Zentangle®, once you Google it, you’ll discover a method of teaching for an easy-to-do art form. And I do mean “easy”! If you can write your name, you can tangle <g>. It is fun to do and you as you put one line on a piece of paper (or ’tile’), you’ll quickly discover and engage with yourself as ‘artist’ for each of us is creative in some way … and has an ‘artist-within’.

You don’t need a lot of “tools” to zentangle®. A pen (permanent ink), a piece of paper/your Journal and the side of your finger (or something called a tortillon) to help “shade” your piece is all you need. You don’t need to know how to draw or sketch or paint. Really! It’s simply putting down one line at a time. One stroke leads to another stroke and another stroke and before you know it, you’ve completed a ‘tangle’ and … art emerges.

If you’ve connected with Soulistry in some way over the years, read/subscribed to the blog, taken a workshop or retreat, read the Soulistry book, you’ll know that the Soulistry philosophy is to encourage a connection between spirituality, creativity and life, acknowledging or beginning to acknowledge that each of us, in some way, is an artist.

Back to the certification training … one of the projects was to encounter the tangle ‘Mooka’ (part of the fun of zentangling is learning a new vocabulary) in a new and fun way. When I realized what we were about to do, I gave the piece a name: Mooka Critter. At the very beginning, I had difficulty with the Mooka tangle in its placement. I’d drawn it before – it’s simple and easy to do – but for some reason, placing it the way we were invited to place it, became a problem for my brain and eye/hand co-ordination issues. Mooka Critter didn’t look right – at all. I called it quits and went to bed. When I woke in the morning, I was curious and wondered: “What would Mooka Critter look like if I added another tangle (called Tipple), a wee snail (called Bijou) and put a simple one-line-frame around the whole thing?”

So, I added them all. I looked at it … close up … far away. It still didn’t look right to me. I remembered the Zentangle® theory of “no mistakes” and set it aside. Again. To be truthful, I actually turned it over so I wouldn’t be tempted to throw it in the recycling bin. <sigh> When the day ended, I went to bed. The next morning, I looked at Mooka Critter. And I smiled.

She was unique – not like the way others had created theirs, but she was unique – and I had created her.

Within a second or two, a life lesson surfaced. Before making a decision – fully “engage” … consider possibilities … give the decision “time” to emerge. It took days before I looked at the tile and made the decision that not only was I pleased with it – but I was pleased with myself for not jumping to conclusions and throwing it into the recycling bin.

When looking at life and its decisions, I’ve learned that it’s helpful to ‘engage’ the decision.

In the case of Mooka Critter … fully engage her, or any Zentangle® tile … before making a judgement about its completion or quality.

In the case of daily living, fully engage in the situation before jumping to any conclusions and making a decision.

That word “engage” became important to me because of Mooka Critter and is partly why ‘engage’ is part of the the title of a new Facebook group under the SOULISTRY umbrella, about tangling. I’ve called the new group ZENGAGE … which is a neologism of two words: ZEN + ENGAGE (not surprising as SOULISTRY is a neologism (two words put together to form a new word: SOUL + artISTRY).

You’re welcome to come and explore the ZENGAGE group (www.facebook.com/groups/zengage). Its purpose is to share photos of, and information about, zentangle® classes (especially if there’s no cost to participate) … support CZT’s who offer classes so that we can all benefit from them … encourage newcomers to begin zentangling … further the conversation about the Soulistry (www.facebook.com/groups/soulistry) connection between spirituality, creativity and life … and to play.

If you’d like to join either of the aforementioned groups, there are security questions to be answered. Just mention that you learned about the group through the “Soulistry-Artistry of the Soul” blog and you’ll be subscribed.

And as for Mooka Critter – well, she may not be ‘pretty’ … she may not be a great example of zentangling … she may not be any of those, but to me, she’s unique.

And, as a reminder of the lesson she taught me, she has found a permanent place in a frame on my wall in my home. 🙂

© June Maffin CZT37

© June Maffin, CZT



It’s been well over a year since most of us have travelled beyond our own town, city let alone our own Country.

I’ve missed travelling.
I’ve missed seeing places I’d only read about in books.
I’ve missed connecting with family and friends.
I’ve missed exploring beyond where I live.
I’ve missed the anticipation, the excitement, the adventure, the learning.
I’ve missed the making of memories of it all.

My last ‘trip’ was to the Netherlands to visit family of my late husband, Hans van der Werff.
It was a bittersweet trip where my camera captured images of windmills, tulips, cobblestone streets, picturesque villages, family birthday parties, historic buildings and oh, so much more.
And where my heart captured images of previous visits, grief, beauty and healing.

This past year, travel has continued – in spite of the pandemic.
Travel happened in front of my computer on ZOOM.
I’ve zoom-travelled to India and Japan, Croatia and China, Russia and Australia, Singapore as well as many provinces in Canada and states in the United States.
I’ve zoom-travelled with one or two others and zoom-travelled with many others – taking classes, visiting museums, experiencing European cities.
I’ve zoom-travelled to listen to speeches, to exercise, to take classes and workshops.
It’s been quite the year of travel!

And the cost?
That’s it.
Just ‘time’.

I’ve not filled the gas tank – haven’t stood in lines at the airport – didn’t need to go through security – wasn’t frustrated when travel arrangements were changed.

I slept in my own bed – ate my own food – got up from the computer and made a hot cuppa.
I’ve learned a lot.
Seen a lot.
Made new friends.
Developed new interests.
Uncovered hidden dreams of exploring the streets of Paris and Venice becoming real.
I’ve become familiar with different time zones – discovered accents I didn’t know existed – gone on a safari and oh, so much more.

Medieval scholar, writer and traveler (travelled more than any other explorer in pre-modern history), Ibn Battuta wrote: “Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then it turns you into a storyteller.”

When I have travelled to and worked in Sri Lanka, the Philippines, Uganda, as well as various parts of Canada, the United States and Europe, I was left ‘speechless” and the memories of the experiences of those trips continue to bring blessings my way.
Stories – oh the stories I could tell. 🙂

The same thing has happened since I’ve been zoom-travelling … blessing upon blessing, making memories.
And yes, stories – oh the stories I could tell.

Until I find it safe to travel beyond my own province/country, I’ll be very grateful for and content with, zoom-travel. This week, I am travelling to a four day international conference – via zoom.
I suspect that when it is all over, I will have stories to tell. 🙂

Ibn Battuta was right
… when we travel, we are left speechless
… and we have stories to tell. 🙂

© June Maffin