A Day in the Sun

A magnificent sunbow graced my view as I sat on the back patio a few days ago. It was a new moon. I was awaiting the arrival of my friend, Doe, to come and help me celebrate my birthday. It was probably the last time I'd be sitting in the back yard this season, because it was an unseasonably mild day for mid-November.
I wasn't doing anything but sitting in the sun and enjoying being still. And breathing, of course. (See previous entry.) It was just past mid-afternoon, but the sun was already low in the sky. Then I saw it, on the right side of the sun - a partial, vivid sunbow, or sun dog, as it is also known. It displayed all the colours of the spectrum. It looked like a rainbow turned on its side. It remained in sight for almost ten minutes. I've seen sunbows before, but seldom as colourful as this one.
I like to think that I appreciate beauty and wonder any time they are present, but if the time happens to be significant as well, I put a magical spin on the whole experience. So what little spin did I put on my most recent encounter with one of nature's wonders? Easy! Rainbows mean hope, rebirth and new beginnings, especially after a storm. New moons signify endings and beginnings as well. And birthdays, unless you're a miserable, life-hating curmudgeon, should be a day to celebrate life - specifically your life. (I get the "I celebrate life everyday" argument a lot from those who moan and groan whenever their birthdays roll around. I have found that those kind of people are usually the last ones who genuinely celebrate life. But I digress...)
Sitting alone, breathing, feeling the remaining rays of sun warm my face, and watching the sunbow shift and shimmer with such subtlety and nuance, was a quiet, soft and solitary experience. Those precious moments would have been memorable at any time, but it wasn't just any time. Timing may not be everything, but it matters. As a result, my pleasure and memory of that incident were enhanced. I'll always remember the time and the place and what happened on that day. And more importantly, I'll remember what it meant to me.
- G.P.

The Spirited Life

Breathing is now on my list of favourite pastimes. That sounds rather absurd, I know; but ever since I hurt my foot and have been forced to curtail my frequent walks, I've had to find another way of enjoying what I have, and what is. The act of breathing, which is part of the autonomic nervous system and therefore involuntary, also works in tandem with the conscious mind. I love that part. Since I'm breathing anyway, and can control it, I might as well enjoy it, right? I find myself more sedentary than I would normally choose to be, and so I am forced to get as much enjoyment out of my indisposition as possible. Apart from the usual stuff like reading and writing etc., I don't want to lose touch with my body. I can't do a lot of calisthenics, but I still breathe.
Getting in touch with the breath is the basis of meditation, which I'm not entirely unfamiliar with. However, I never brought the wonderful lessons and feelings of breathing meditation to ordinary life. Even as I sit here and type out these words, I'm deliberately paying attention to my breath. Talk about multi-tasking! I joke, of course, because my conscious breathing actually makes me feel as if I'm doing less, not more. By slowing down I'm able to focus more. Every time I finish a sentence with a period, I stop and take a deep breath. (Pause to breathe.) It's wonderful. It makes me feel better. It calms me, soothes me. It clears my mind, and makes me appreciate the beauty and wonder of something I do all the time anyway. What's not to like?
If I'm in conversation with friends, I can still breathe consciously while they're talking, and thus listen with more intention and patience, because I'm clear-headed and focussed. Reading, listening to music, or watching a movie have become physically beneficial as well. No more couch potato.
Spiritus is the Latin word for breath, breathing, or life. A spirited person is full of life. Until I discovered the joy of conscious breathing, I was frequently dispirited by my indisposition. And I can't say enough about taking deep breaths when you're upset or losing your cool. The fact is, breathing is good for you. To quote a favourite acting vocal coach of mine, "if you don't breathe, you're dead." One can go for a few weeks without eating, a few days without water, but only minutes without breathing. (Pause now to enjoy a slow, deep breath. Nice, eh?)
It's too bad I had to injure myself in order to appreciate the most basic, automatic act of living. I thought my background in theatre and music had taught me just how important breathing is. I didn't think I took it for granted. And I never thought I could look forward to walking and breathing at the same time as much as I do now. I'll let you know how it goes. I have a feeling it will be truly spiritual.
- G. P.

Everything Matters

A storm was raging within me yesterday. It passed, as all things do, and left a moment of illumination in its wake. I had spent several hours on this web of mine, writing about the up side of being down, because I've been laid up with a bum foot for almost a week now. Despite my injury and incipient ennui, I looked for the good things that came out of being indisposed, and thought to share them with you here. It was not to be.
I am a technopeasant, and my lack of understanding about all the ins and outs of something as basic as my little web can frustrate me to no end. (Please note I am not a Luddite, because I like technology. It's just that I'm clueless about it.) Suffice it to say, after several hours and numerous drafts of recording my not-so-deep thoughts, I was left with nothing on my web to share with the world. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I was not a happy camper.
So-o-o, I shut down the computer, took a deep breath, and hobbled to the mailbox, where I'd been expecting to find a cheque from one of my acting gigs. I knew a little cash would lighten my dark mood. Well hey! Guess what? It wasn't there! Oh for joy for joy. My foot was throbbing, my neck and shoulders in spasm from hunching over a computer for so long, and now a few of the things I rail against every so often, i.e., computers, the postal service, and no $$$, were proving to me just exactly who or what had the power. Clearly not me. Aargh!
Normally I would have taken a long, brisk walk in the chill autumn air to work out and/or walk away from my fury. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Indeed, it was a large part of the problem. Okay, so what else could I do? Drink. That was coming, believe me. But I first wanted to express my rage. After all, I'm an artist, right? That's what we do, express ourselves. Screaming loud and long was the first thing that came to mind. I wanted to run out into the back yard and scream at the top of my lungs. Despite the inner storm that obscured my judgement with big, black clouds, I knew that idea was a bad one. I've got a pretty good set of lungs and I knew neighbours would come running over to assist me and/or be calling the police. So I had no option but to fuss and fume in the kitchen, swearing loudly whilst looking for a corkscrew. I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a loud bang and clatter from the laundry room which adjoins the kitchen. A metal shelf which supported all sorts of laundry room accouterments had collapsed. The shelf had given way because the screws that held it in place couldn't bear the weight anymore. It had obviously been ready to collapse at any time for quite a while. However, I found it curious that it collapsed just exactly when it did. It could have fallen last week, or tomorrow, but it fell just when Hurricane Penwyche stormed through.
Strangely, this little accident made me feel better. Instead of raging even more as I put everything back in order, I mused about the timing of a seemingly random domestic mishap. I had been so angry I was shaking. I definitely had very strong "bad vibes." If a butterfly can flutter its wings on one side of the planet, ultimately creating a tornado somewhere else, then maybe my palpable rage could make a shelf collapse. With this realization I suddenly felt I had some power again. I no longer felt out of control.
Eventually I put everything back in its place, including my mood (although the shelf still needs fixing), and settled down to a glass of wine. (Okay okay, three glasses.) But my sense of connection to the Universe was back. A minor domestic upset had restored my faith.
The beauty of this little yarn is, that for now at least, I don't feel like some new age flake who writes blurbs on a hokey blog. I experienced first hand that what I think and feel matter, that energy effects matter. One of my favourite aphorisms happens to be the motto of the distinguished Eindhoven University of Technology in the Netherlands, Mens agitat molem. Translated from Latin it means the mind moves matter. If a bunch of geeks use that pithy little maxim as their motto, then it's good enough for me.
-G.P.