Not the Bluebird of Happiness

And the karma just keeps cabbage-rolling along. (ref. October 24) I've been very busy lately, which is why I haven't written a blurb for quite some time now. However, I haven't been busy enough to stay out of trouble. Mind you, it hasn't been all bad. I took an actor's scene study class and played a woman I would consider a real loser had I met her in real life. It was fun. Unfortunately, for the five weeks I was getting to know my character, she started to bleed into my real life and I found myself feeling bitter over things long passed. That's a normal part of the actor's craft - drawing on personal experience to flesh out a character. It's also the sort of stuff that makes art and most forms of self-expression therapeutic. That's good, too, of course - Aristotilean catharsis and all that - the purging of negative emotions, etc. Most of the time I like that. After all, I'm an actress. I like drama, preferably on stage. But when I'm not working on a gig, which is almost all the time, I compensate by creating heavy scenes in my personal life. And that really sucks.
I'm a real drama queen. The heavier the scene, the more weighty the crown I bear. That's why I wish I were a working actress for at least some of the time, rather than almost never. Maybe that way I could put all that drama to good use. Instead, the bitter, angry character I played around with for a few weeks infected me. I was grinding my teeth in my sleep much more than usual - thank goddess I wear a mouth guard at night or I wouldn't have any enamel left - and walked around hunching my shoulders, clenching my fists and craving a lot of stuff that is bad for my health. The worst part was that I stopped thinking independently for a while. I stopped paying attention. Like, you know, it was all about how I was feeling. I kept making one thoughtless mistake after another. I should have been taking those risks in a safe environment like scene class, not delicate territory like my relationships. My impulsive words and actions got me into trouble with one friend and complicated a usually easy-going relationship with another. Aargh! I was obviously not paying attention to the advice and warning I got from my totem for the fall season - the Vulture. (see October 24 entry) As much as I respect those carrion- eating birds for their necessary place in the fine balance of nature, I want my totem to fly away now. So I've resolved to stop making road-kill out of my personal life.
These thoughts were rolling around in my head this morning as I went for a brisk, chilly walk in my neighbourhood. Nothing like a blast of Arctic air to wipe out the smell of decay. While walking and brooding I had decided to send my Vulture flying south. I was ready to start afresh. I figured with all the karma that's been biting me in the butt lately, surely my debt had been paid. No sooner had I determined I was debt-free when I felt a plop on my pate. It was bird shit. Thank goddess I was wearing a hat.
Prone as I am to signs and omens, I've decided to interpret that messy little incident as good luck. At least that's what my Mum used to tell me. Yeah. I'm going to stick with that. And another good thing - I'm glad that bird wasn't a vulture.
- G.P.

Not the Chicken of Depression

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do, are in perfect harmony.
- Mahatma Gandhi

I quoted one of my heroes and included a beautiful picture of a bluebird so that my most recent blurb is full of happy thoughts and things. (Okay - so it`s only one thought and one thing - but they`re good ones.) The yarn I wove before this one was a little too depressing to let it sit there as my most recent entry. So that`s why I`m including this useless little bit of fluff.
Enjoy.
- G.P.

Cabbage Roll Karma

Karma is so real it can be scary. I'm still recovering from a knock-out punch it gave me a couple of weeks ago and now I am the proverbial "sadder but wiser" woman.

A couple of days before I visited my family for Thanksgiving in the expansive, beautiful part of the world in which they live, I had a doctor's appointment - with my shrink, to be exact. I'd made the appointment a couple of weeks earlier, but on the very afternoon I was supposed to see her, I was having a good day and just didn't feel like going. I cancelled my appointment just hours before I was supposed to go. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't really a big deal, but I was momentarily irresponsible and harboured a little guilt over it. My shrink is a busy lady and deserves more respect than that. But I very quickly put aside any guilt and managed to enjoy myself for the rest of the day anyway. Okay. So far, so good. But not for long.

The very next day I was preparing to go up north to visit my family and buying this and that for the weekend ahead. I needed a couple of pumpkin pies because I was also invited to a friend's place after Thanksgiving with my family. I rushed about, distracted and overwhelmed with all the last minute arrangements. I purchased the pies at a local bakery and noticed that they also had home-made cabbage rolls for sale. This was a good thing, because a number of weeks earlier I had promised my beloved Gita Tant (one of the family members I was about to visit) that I'd get her some cabbage rolls. A while ago she'd visited me in the city where I live and raved about how wonderful they were. Gita Tant had been feeling quite ill and eating the cabbage rolls had lifted her spirits, so I'd promised her I'd bring some of them up to her next time I visited. So ... there I am in the bakery, rushing around doing last minute bits of business and considering the cabbage rolls. I was so bogged down with all my errands that I just didn't feel like adding one more thing to the list. I figured since Gita Tant and I hadn't spoken for a month she probably wouldn't remember the cabbage rolls anyway, so I thought I'd just skip them. Big mistake.

Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's went well. Everything was warm and fuzzy, the food was delicious and plentiful, and Gita Tant was there, as I knew she would be. After dinner, as family and friends sat around talking and digesting dinner, Gita Tant asked me about the cabbage rolls. Sheesh. I felt like a heel. And then I compounded my sin even more with a lie, because I told her it had just completely slipped my mind. To make matters worse, she'd really been looking forward to those cabbage rolls. Although she's a marvellous cook, cabbage rolls are so labour intensive that her indisposition made it difficult for her to prepare them. So she dreamt of the cabbage rolls I'd promised to bring. Aargh!

The next day was warm and sunny. The rolling hills were ablaze with the fiery colours of fall. I went for a walk on a country road and watched a dozen or so turkey vultures spiralling around on thermal updrafts, searching for carrion as they made their way southward to their winter home. The birds were magnificent. One of them left the others and seemed to be following me as I walked down the road. Watching these wonderful creatures would have been exciting at any time, but it's especially significant these days because the vulture is my totem for this autumn. On the full moon of the autumn equinox I had drawn the vulture from my totem/tarot deck. I do that particular little bit of divination every solstice and equinox to determine what animal will have the most to teach me in the following three months. Although vultures are ugly birds, I still admire their grace and beauty as they soar through the air, and appreciate the vital role they play in maintaining the fragile balance of nature. They dispose of carrion. They gobble up death so that they may live. The vulture is the what does not destroy me makes me stronger totem.

My purpose for using the tarot designed by Ted Andrews was to divine my seasonal totem only. However, it just so happens that Mr. Andrews designated the vulture to the tarot card called The Tower, which is my least favourite card of the entire deck. It is about revelation that strikes like lightning and sends a person tumbling and crumbling to rubble before she emerges smarter than she was before. Despite the dreadful significance of the tarot meaning, I wasn't concerned. I was looking for my totem, and chose to ignore the corresponding meaning in the tarot. I'd been on the lookout for vultures for weeks since the equinox, and lo and behold they appeared to me on Thanksgiving. I was thrilled, and felt certain that something momentous was afoot. Boy oh boy I was sure right about that.

Only a couple of hours later I was back at my sister's and unintentionally upset my brother-in-law. It was a minor, insignificant incident, but his irritation was palpable. I was chastened and upset for the rest of my stay. A perfectly good weekend was ruined.

That was only the beginning of karma in action. By the end of the week I was witness to and unwilling participant in several blow-ups and blow-outs that seemed to erupt out of nowhere and land squarely on me. Because of the incident at my sister's, I'd made a point of being quiet and stayed out of other people's way all week, but karma found me anyway and used a dump-truck to make its unwelcome deliveries. It was a horrible, horrible time. The peaceful life I am always seeking was nowhere to be found.

It's now a couple of weeks later and I've one less friend in my life. (That's my choice, and not an easy one.) I've paid dearly for my selfish, thoughtless actions in the days before all this karmic justice began. Although my behaviour following my mistakes was humble and unobtrusive, it didn't matter. The damage was done, and the Universe let me know it.

I'm not entirely sorry it happened now. I've learned a profound lesson, and believe that it's changed me forever. Now that the whole business is safely in the past, I'm actually glad it happened. I clearly needed to be reminded about something I've long believed - and if you've been reading my blurbs for a while, you know what it is - that what goes around, comes around.

So there it is - a happy ending to a sad tale. It's a happy ending because it's reaffirmed what I believe. It proves my faith is true, and that's not bad at all.

- G. P.

Groovy Love

The sixties (2oth century) was a time when lots of young people wore sandals, flowers in their hair and said "peace" and "love" a lot. I ought to know. I was there. I remember some of the more cynical types would decry the widespread use of the word love. It undermines the meaning of the word, they said. It means nothing when it's used so often. You can't love everybody all the time. I heard those sentiments expressed almost as much as I heard "groovy, man." At the time, I was young and stupid, and was influenced by people whom I didn't think were as young as stupid as I, so I believed them when they opined about the overuse of the word Love. Well, I'm sure not young anymore, and I'm not as stupid, either, and
couldn't disagree with those nay-sayers more. So when I hear people make the same complaint now, I have something to say about it.
Expressing love to each other happens a lot more than it did in those days. It must have been some sort of generational thing, but parents didn't verbally express love to their children as much as they do now. So am I supposed to believe that the words of love spoken these days are meaningless because people say them more than they did in previous generations? I don't think so.
What's more, even in the days when it was groovy to say "I love ya, man" (even if you were a woman), the speakers weren't as disingenuous as all the criticism would suggest. There was a cultural revolution going on, and a lot of pot-smoking, draft dodging, free-loving, flower-powered citizens were also actively involved in creating genuine change for the better. It was all about making love and not war.
There are many kinds and degrees of love. If I smile at a stranger in the street - and I do, frequently - I'm spreading a little love. When I say "I love you" to my precious Lulu (the best, most beautiful kitty in the whole wide Universe and beyond) it's not the same as saying it to a human friend or member of the family. But it's still love. Even a sincere, well-timed "thank you" is love. It's love because it's courteous, grateful, thoughtful and compassionate.
There have been occasions when I've shed tears for perfect strangers I've passed in the street. These strangers are obviously sad, lost or infirm in some way, and evoke feelings of compassion in me. That's love. And for sure it's not the same as the love I feel for "loved ones," but it's love nonetheless. Arguing that saying "I love you" frequently and to a lot of people renders it meaningless is like saying that love can be quantified and categorized. Bullshit.
Yesterday I watched a couple of chubby, little sparrows feeding outside the restaurant where I was eating. They were so beautiful and endearing that I felt a surge of - dare I say it? - Love. Yes, it's true. I felt love for a couple of little brown jobs pecking away on the restaurant patio. My eyes moistened, my heart softened, a little smile crossed my face, and a little"ah" escaped my lips as I watched their silly antics. Okay, it's not deep, all-consuming, possessive, I'll-die-if-you-die kind of love, but it's love in my books. When I think of all the times in my life I thought I really loved someone, and was miserable about it, I can honestly say I prefer the love I felt yesterday for my avian friends. In fact, I think it's a much truer form of love, because what I felt was healthy, honest, uncomplicated and restorative.
I'm a spinster. I don't have children. These are choices I've made, and I don't regret them. But that doesn't mean I don't feel or need love. It also means I may not have loved as deeply had I been a mother or a life partner, but I don't regret that either. Whatever love I've felt has been spread around pretty evenly over my life - at least the good, healthy kind of love. I don't have a "best" friend, but I do have friends - quite a few, in fact - and I love them according to whatever role or place they have in my life at any one time. Of those that are nearest and dearest to me, I'm reluctant to say I love one more than the other. Love is not heirarchy or favouritism. Love should break those barriers down, not build them. Love is not finite. A mother will always find more love for her newborn baby, even if she already has children. In the limitless storehouse of love that abides in a mother's soul, there'll always be enough love to go around, no matter how many children she may have. (I realize I'm opening a can of worms here, but I'm not talking about poverty, homelessness, or overpopulation.)
All kinds of love matter. No one kind of love is better than another. It's quite simple, really. Love - the kind of love that is true and inclusive, is enough.
- G. P.

All the Stars in Heaven

Musing and gazing on the heavenly bodies of the night sky inspires me. It was never more evident than this past autumnal equinox. This year the harvest moon and the first day of fall happened at the same time. Oh for joy for joy. And if that weren't enough to gladden this nature-worshipper's heart, it also coincided with Jupiter being in conjunction with the full moon. Any one of these events would give me reason to celebrate, but all three at once set me to thinking about what it all portends. I'm pleased to report that it bodes good things.
The full moon occurring on the first day of fall signifies abundance and a plentiful harvest. That's a no-brainer. Even magically-challenged people can figure that one out, if they bothered or cared to do so. But adding Jupiter into the mix makes me even more optimistic about what's in store for the next three months or so. Jupiter signifies success, money, expansion and power. I know many other people looked at the same moon and planet that I did, but far fewer people would have translated that scene into a sign or portent. Attaching significance to this uncommon astronomical event makes it a lot more interesting for me, although goddess knows, even if I weren't a magical thinker, I'd have been rapt anyway.
Ancient peoples didn't have our current scientific expertise, of course, but they were quite savvy when it came to following and charting the movements of the heavenly bodies. They also tried to understand creation by ascribing myth and legend to what they saw. Well, I'm still doing that, despite my elementary schooling in astronomy. I admit that I may be completely wrong about how things will transpire for me in the next little while, and then I'll feel foolish and blame magical thinking and superstitious bilge for failed expectations, but it won't diminish the time I spent in awe of a wondrous sight. Besides, by the time I realize that my interpretation of yet another sign was bogus, I'll have regarded many more natural phenomena with the same enthusiasm and metaphysical bias, and not care about past failures.
There are so many things out there that stir my imagination. When they happen in clusters or in synchrony, I can't help noticing and wonder why? There are books, websites and videos aplenty to explain how these things happen, but answering why is a different subject. It's philosophy, religion and cosmology, not hard science. So I leave the science, the how of it all, to the experts, and try to keep apace with current discoveries and knowledge in my own science 101 style. But it's the unanswered questions, the why of it all, that sets my imagination on fire.
So far nothing in my nascent understanding of the Universe has been proven to be wrong. And my beliefs hurt no one, except maybe me in a minor, this-disappointment-will-be-soon-forgotten kind of way. When something I believe is proven to be bunk, I change my mind and learn more about the subject. (Although I honestly can't think of any belief I've held that runs counter to verifiable information - like a flat earth or the sun being the centre of the solar system. But if something I thought were proven to be false, I'm sure I'd change my mind. I still don't understand how Christian fundamentalists deny evolution. Aargh! But that's another blurb for another day...)
The wonders of creation are infinite - at least relative to what we know for sure - and will no doubt continue to send my thoughts to places that inspire and impassion me, places that are full of unanswered questions and things we have yet to discover. My personal answers to some of those questions aren't always rational; they're mostly intuitive. My intuition has served me well in solving personal problems, so I don't see any reason to completely dismiss it when it comes to the bigger picture - the biggest picture of all, in fact. All it takes for me to travel to uncharted territory - even if it's only in my imagination - is to witness an infinitesimally small, but stunning part of this magnificent and infinite Universe.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

The Butterfly Effect

Swarms of magnificent monarch butterflies gather every September in my part of the world before they migrate southward to Mexico. If you know where to look, you can see hundreds of them gathering and feeding before they fly, in great swarms, across the narrowest part of Lake Ontario to begin the migration.
I have the good fortune to live in a house with a colourful garden. Monarchs have been visiting my home a great deal these days, and I've been watching them. My friend Barbara and I spent a sunny afternoon in the garden this past week and watched dozens of monarchs flit and float among the flowers. We sat silently for several minutes at a time just watching these beautiful creatures prepare themselves for a long, arduous journey to their winter habitat.
The summer is almost over (heavy sigh), and I've not really done anything or been anywhere, but it's still been one of the best summers ever. I've spent most of my time writing, going to yoga classes and playing with my friends. If someone asks me how my summer's been, I don't have a riveting story to tell. Mostly, I don't care. I say "mostly" because I'm still living a smaller and less adventurous life than I've always imagined for myself. This can be difficult when I'm listening to people go on and on about where they've been, what they've done and who they've met. It's not just upsetting for me, it can also be oh-so-boring. But when I find myself bored, as opposed to the less desirable feelings of bitter and unhappy, I know I'm feeling stronger and more secure about myself. It means I'm not comparing myself to other people as much, which is one of the things that causes me unnecessary sorrow.
Thank goddess for monarch butterflies. My quiet, contemplative afternoon with a friend and flutters of butterflies in my own backyard was a reminder that I can be completely at peace with myself and who I am - as long as I'm grateful and enjoy what I have, which is plenty. Unfortunately, this fine state of affairs can also make me feel superior, especially when I'm with boring people. And there it is again - more of that odious comparison to other people which is deeply distressing to me. At least I'm aware of it and working on fixing it.
This past week I spent some time with a woman who can't carry on a conversation without dropping names of people, places and things. I know her quite well and believe she does this as a way to bolster her ego and impress others. I'm pleased to say I'm not impressed, nor am I drawn into feeling envious. It's nice to be just plain bored and not bitter. I must be making progress.
My biggest problem with my yappy friend is to keep my cool and not say something rude or unkind when I have to listen to her run on for minutes at a time. She actually makes me choose to not listen, and drift off into my own thoughts whilst looking as if I'm paying attention. That can be a problem for me because I consider listening one of the most important things I can do for my spiritual development. However, the other personal attribute I'm cultivating is patience, and my time with Ms. Yappity-Yap required all the patience I could muster. When our visit was over, she was happy, and so was I. She got to talk about herself, and I got to listen - or at least look as if I were -as well as practise being patient and polite.
My time with Ms. Yappity-Yap was made easier for me because of the monarch butterflies that visit me these days. When Ms. Y.Y dropped another name or mentioned another place she'd been and how many times she's been there, I just thought about my monarchs. And indeed they are my monarchs. The thought of their beauty gracing the back garden where I live soothes and pacifies me. Thinking about them when I should have been listening to her helped me feel better about myself. Somehow I was able to feel just as happy with the monarch butterflies in my head as she was listing her privileges and accomplishments. Although Ms. Yappity-Yap's outer life is by far "richer" than mine, my time with her gave me an opportunity to tap into the inner riches of my own life.
Day-to-day life is mostly minutiae. Most of us aren't living big adventures all the time. But it doesn't mean we can't live a full and meaningful life, because there is beauty and wonder everywhere. Ordinary miracles surround us everyday. If I find myself in a situation that seems devoid of these things, I can call them up from within me. Being able to see and appreciate them allows me to heal, and rid myself of petty concerns. That's why I'm grateful for monarch butterflies. Long may they migrate.
-G.P.

Dancing Fool

I've been dancing in the street a lot lately. I mean that literally. A couple of months ago when the summer started to swing into high gear, I pulled out the ipod shuffle that had been sitting in my desk drawer for several years and downloaded or uploaded music, or whatever it's called that one does with those things. (For those who don't know - I'm a technopeasant.) Anyway, I didn't pull out my ipod to start listening to music, I did it because I wanted to re-learn the aforementioned business of moving music from one computer thingy to another.
I won my ipod a few years ago at a staff party, and used it perhaps three times before I stuffed it in my drawer, because I prefer to hear what's going on around me. But because I'd retrained myself on the basics of shuffling music around, I figured I might as well listen to what I'd put there. At least for a while.
Well, it's been a humid, hot, summery summer in this part of the world, and that's made a lot of people happy, including me. I've enjoyed wearing fewer clothes and walking in the sun. But if I'm plugged into my ipod, I'm not just walking. I'm dancing. The music I listen to when I'm out and about tends to be bouncy, happy, let's-dance-kind-of-music. It's meant to get me movin' and groovin'. And it does.
I can't not move with the music. I'll begin by simply stepping in time with what I'm hearing, but if the music's got a solid, rockin' bass line and a catchy tune, it's hard to stop myself from dancing. My arms swing around a lot, my hips sway back and forth, and my feet will do strange things like skip and jump or even a step-ball-change as I ramble along. Of course I'm aware that people look at me, but I do it anyway. I can also honestly say I don't do it to get attention, I do it because it's fun. I'm a drama queen from way, way back and know all about how to attract attention to myself, but my dancing as if no one's looking isn't about that. It's about dancing. That's all. I feel like jumping, leaping and spinning for the sheer joy of it.
Blame it on the ipod. And the rock 'n roll summer weather.
When I see people looking at me, and they're usually smiling, I smile back. I even smile back when the occasional person laughs at me, rather than with me. (I still have a sense of humour about what I'm doing.) The few people who laugh at me tend to be adolescent males - of course! - so I don't worry about it. It's nice to feel so secure. Living longer has its perks.
I won't be wearing my ipod much longer. Despite the fun I've been having, I ultimately prefer to be completely aware of what's going on around me all the time. Not being able to hear ambient sound can make me feel vulnerable, even more vulnerable than when I'm a dancing fool. When I'm dancing I'm living mostly inside my head, which has been artificially wired with music. That's probably still better than if I were dancing to music in my head that got there without the help of an ipod. Or maybe not.
I dance out of joy. I could never engage in such an attention-grabbing exercise if I weren't completely comfortable in my skin. I've had a lot to celebrate this summer. That's why I don't care if people laugh, because I'm laughing, too.
- G. P.

Alone in the Real World

I like who I am when I'm alone. Most of the time, as long as I'm feeling well and don't have any immediate problems, I'm exactly who I want to be when there's no one else around. Under these circumstances I tend to be quiet (let's hope!), take my time and move more slowly, breathe more consciously, notice details and yet appreciate big and small things equally, and am generally less judgemental. So if I'm spending time with myself and everything is tickety-boo, I start to feel as if I'm part of the solution and not the problem - globally speaking - which is a very nice way to feel. But then I go and blow my cover when I get out there and meet people.
In order to keep things running as smoothly as possible, a lot of negotiating and compromise is required. That's part of my problem right there. Instead of thinking that being with people is a game that requires negotiation and compromise, I should be thinking in terms of compassion and patience. Getting along with people shouldn't be a business, for heavens sake. That's an attitude I should apply to my career rather than my personal life. Maybe I'd be a lot further ahead. Aye me.
So what's the problem? The more people there are to deal with, whether in the workplace or a social situation, the more chances there are for conflict. Business tends to be based on competition, and feeling that being with people is a "business" engenders a sense of competition in me. Someone wins and someone loses. No wonder I prefer who I am when I'm by myself. I'm not competing with or comparing myself to anyone.
The more people there are gathered in one place, the less control I have over the big picture. Okay, that's fair. I'm not queen of the world, nor do I want to be. The only things I can control all the time are the way I think, the way I comport myself, and especially the way I react. Reacting in a civil, humane manner to whatever is happening is obviously what I must do to avoid the conflict I so fear. And that may mean not reacting at all. The point is, the only thing I can really ever control is me. That's why I tend to like myself better when I'm alone. When I'm alone I demonstrate to myself one of the qualities I wish I could maintain all the time - being self-contained. Other people have a way of knocking me off-balance.
So here I go again with the same solution I have for just about any problem - talk less, listen more. It makes me look wiser, even if I'm not. But at least choosing to do that is wise. That's because I almost always learn something when I listen.
The solution to my problem about being a better person in public is to learn how to be "alone" when I'm surrounded by people. It's being private in public. And I don't mean sitting in a cafe or pub by myself whilst writing in my journal. I'm talking about engaging with others and yet maintaining the sense aloneness, of being self-contained.
I don't think I'm necessarily anti-social by wanting to be alone in public and detaching myself from all the business that's going on around me. I'm simply trying to transfer that person I rather like when I'm by myself into a public forum. I need to be quiet for that. If I'm in a noisy place, then I'll do what any self-contained person would do - pull that quietude out of the fully-stocked storehouse of their soul. Being alone has shown me that I have it, too. So maybe it's time I spread the wealth, and then it'd be win/win for everyone.
- G. P.

Magic Happens

My rather ordinary days of late are not without moments of magic. Sometimes the magic visits me unexpectedly, like a butterfly landing on my billowing skirt and taking a short ride with me as I walk in the breeze. These happy little surprises are always welcome. But for a while now my days have been routine - albeit a nice routine, but routine nonetheless - so now I have to deliberately create my own magic.
Yesterday was another one of those ho-hum days that I spiced up with a dash of magic. I was taking a walk in my neighbourhood and noticed a late middle-aged woman a few metres ahead of me. She was walking in the same direction as I, so I saw her from the back. She was colourfully dressed - lots of flounces, flowers and scarves. I thought she looked fabulous. I suppose she could have been described as slightly eccentric, but that's why I enjoyed her so much. I was walking more quickly than she was, so I eventually caught up to her and passed her.
"You look lovely," I said, "even from the back."
She stopped and looked puzzled for a moment. "I'm sorry. What was that?"
I didn't mind repeating myself.
The woman gasped with pleasant surprise. Her hand shot up to her mouth to cover her sudden, brief overflow of emotion. She was so overwhelmed that it was hard for her to speak, although she was clearly touched and grateful. She quickly recovered from her astonishment and broke into a broad, beautiful smile of thanks just before I turned my head and walked away.
Her pleasure and gratitude were contagious. Immediately after seeing her respond to my "random act of kindness," I smiled too, and confess that I felt a tear or two welling in my eyes. I'm certain her reaction to me made me feel every bit as good as I had made her feel. That's the ripple effect I'm always going on about. It's instant and it's real. And if you're lucky enough, as I was in this case, you'll be around to see the results. (There are, of course, much more subtle, long range effects.) It's also called karma. Or what goes around comes around etc. etc. and so forth. You get the picture.
That small gesture on my part made my day a little less mundane. I suspect it made that lovely lady's day more special, too. I'm not sure what my motives were to just blurt out something to a perfect stranger like that. I do it quite often and don't give it much thought. But my intentions were good, even though I wasn't really intending anything. Although that sort of behaviour can get me into trouble - and it has - I've done it enough now that I almost always get good results, or at the very least, don't get bad ones. Practise makes perfect, and living well requires practise.
Magic is defined as creating one's reality according to one's will. I created a better day for myself because I spread a little cheer and good will. It was so easy to do, and it makes me wonder why I don't do it all the time. When the day comes that I do, I'll truly be living a magical life.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

The School of Hard Knocks

For the last two days my yoga classes have been punctuated with constant, heavy banging above the ceiling. They're re-roofing the building where I take my classes, so the serenity of a typical yoga class is hard to maintain. The banging is so loud I can feel the vibrations of every thud all through my body, especially when I'm doing the beginning and end of class meditations. No matter. I'm pleased to say that the noisy distractions which I could feel as well as hear were rendered null and void by being forced to go deeper into myself so that I could find some stillness and quiet. It's great to discover that I'm able to feel so calm amidst such chaos. When the class was over I felt even looser and more relaxed than I usually do after yoga.
I'll be glad when the roofers are gone, but in the meantime I've learned a valuable lesson. I learned that there's no point in trying to simply ignore something, especially when I don't have any control over it. To "ignore" something so in-your-face is almost impossible. It's much easier to put your attention elsewhere with equal intensity. And I do have control over my mind and my body, so that's what I focussed on more than ever. I listened hard to my insides. I dwelt within myself with such clear intention that I swear I could hear the blood flow through my veins. It was awesome. The clanging and banging on the roof were no longer in my sphere of attention. William James, the father of modern psychology (and brother to Henry James) said that your experience is what you attend to. So I attended to my breath and my body, which is the whole point of yoga, and the rest of the world fell away.
I will take that lesson with me out into the world for the rest of my life. Next time something or someone loud and annoying is paying me an unwelcome visit, I shall close my eyes, breathe deeply and slowly, and visit my inner self. I trust her.
- G. P.

Silence Rocks

"I want time to notice sheep's feet." Taken out of context, the preceding sentence seems absurd. However, when I read these words in Sara Maitland's profound and beautifully written memoir A Book of Silence, they struck a chord within me and made me laugh, which is why I'm sharing them with you here. Maitland is referring to living in the kind of silence and solitude that allows her to focus on the simple, precious details that make up our lives. (She lives a solitary life in rural Scotland and gets to watch a lot of sheep.)
I live in a city and spend a fair amount of time with friends. That does not leave me a lot of time for complete peace and quiet. I confess that when I find moments of stillness, and I'm fortunate that I find them daily (I make a point of it) I'll even begin to feel restless and bored until I realize that I'm forgetting to breathe. (It requires constant effort to stay conscious all the time. I still have a lot of work to do.) When I focus on my body and my breath, which is meditation plain and simple and can be done almost anywhere and any time, any incipient ennui is nipped in the bud. This pleasant state of affairs is more easily achieved when I'm alone and quiet.
Silence and solitude go well with less stuff, so I'm trying to rid myself of more of my belongings. Since moving over a year ago, much of what I own is still stored away in boxes. I obviously don't need or use that stuff, but it's still taking up space in my life. Time for another purge. Silence is so much deeper when there's more space to enjoy it. I don't know how Celtic Christian monks, nuns and other hermits lived in those tiny beehive huts without suffering from claustrophobia. I don't have the discipline or desire to live such an ascetic life. But I certainly want a simpler life.
It's only been very recently that I've stopped dreaming about being worldly and successful, and discovered that I can find happiness other ways, simpler ways. My definition of happiness has changed. If I were asked to define it, words such as peace, wisdom, solitude and silence would be included. But I'm not about to engrave any of that in stone yet.
I have the house entirely to myself right now. My housemate is away for a few days, and even though we live separate lives and can spend hours in the house working quietly in our separate rooms, unaware of each other, there's an intangible something that renders my quiet time even more quiet when I'm home alone. Without another person sharing the house, there are no boundaries that define the quality of silence within that space. I don't hear any difference in the customary level of sound, but I can perceive a subtle difference in the silence.
- G. P.

Magic Now and Then

I want to live a magical life, and by magical I don't mean exciting or fabulous. What I do mean is that I want to feel as if every moment truly matters. Living like that would indeed seem magical, especially because it's very hard to do, and takes a lot of practise to achieve. Real mages and sages practise their respective disciplines for their entire lives.

Some people might also say that I'm trivializing spiritual disciplines such as Zen by comparing them to magic. But magic is a spiritual discipline. It's not trickery or sleight-of-hand; that's stage magic, and not the same thing at all. Magic is about creating reality according to your will. That requires focus, awareness and sensitivity to one's physical and emotional environment.

When I feel "in tune" with my environment, I notice details without losing sight of the big picture. My physical senses are heightened. If I am genuinely attuned to all that's around me, my sixth sense kicks in and I open myself up to the unseen world. And though it may seem incongruous, these are the times when I feel as if I'm living fully in the present, in the Now.

When actors are described as "on," they are completely engaged in the moment. They exhibit a powerful "presence." It's the same characteristic demonstrated by enlightened individuals, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Although I've never had the honour to meet the Dalai Lama, I've read and seen interviews of people who have, and without exception they will comment on the extraordinary presence of this great man.

Enlightened people live in the light. They are able to see everything clearly, including the tiniest details within the vastness of the Cosmos. They are able to see unity amid diversity, and find, or create, order out of chaos. (Cosmos is derived from the Greek word kosmos, meaning "order.")

The most profound and beautiful moments I experience are on those uncommon occasions, which happen more often as I mature, when I'm completely at peace with myself in whatever circumstances I may be. If someone were to ask me to describe these sacred moments in my life, the first word that comes to mind, whether it's right or wrong, is magical.

- G. P.

Clarity

It came to me in a flash of simple brilliance - a little "ping" in my mind. I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not filling every moment with busy-ness. If I'm not engaged in some activity or project that moves my life forward, helps me to achieve my goals or improves me in some way, whether it be my health, happiness, or career, I start to think that I'm wasting time.
Modern, western society decries wasting time, or doing nothing. Since there's been a fair amount of time when I haven't really been doing anything, and even feeling bored (which I'm ashamed to admit), by the aforementioned standards I'm a real loser. Fortunately, I haven't been feeling like a loser at all (so much for western values), but the sense of time wasted still creeps in every so often - at least it did until just before I started spinning this thread into my little web.
My life has been a whole lot simpler since I began my leave of absence from work a few weeks ago. I don't have a rigid schedule I must adhere to, and don't have as many time constraints or commitments to keep. I write and read when I want. I feel good if I've "accomplished" something during the day. But if I haven't, I feel guilty. However, I'm also healthier, more fit, more relaxed, and in better spirits than I've been for many months.
That's precisely because I'm not filling every moment of my waking life with being a busy, productive person. Nor am I being lazy. It's just that my life is simpler. That's all.
I have enough money to live comfortably for a while, but not enough to do the sort of things I dream about in my "ideal" life - which would include travelling and going out more. But the penny dropped just now when I realized that I'm more balanced these days. My inner life is more in keeping with my exterior existence. It's simpler, more streamlined.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll learn to like exactly what I have, because I have plenty - health, a nice home, a sweet animal companion, friends and family. Maybe I'll stop comparing myself to people who have more or have experienced more. Experienced is the operative word here. Since my sabbatical began, I'm "experiencing" even less than I have in a while. I have less to talk about at the end of the day. People's eyes would glaze over if I went on about the process and progress of my writing. And I can't talk about how hooked I am on yoga any more. I love it and that's that. What more to say?
I'm finally learning that people who live according to simple, minimal requirements and desires, whether by choice or need, aren't necessarily boring, inexperienced people. Okay, so my life isn't exciting. It doesn't vary much from day to day. And it's been like that for a long time, especially when I was working full-time and making a steady, albeit minimal income.
Now I'm "doing" even less, and have fewer experiences to relate. Makes for rather boring conversation, and for a storyteller that can be deadly. But I haven't felt this good about myself in a long, long time. That's the "ping."
- G.P.

Ordinary

I had my astrological chart done once. It was a long time ago. I was hoping to find out how things would be in the future, which is now.

My glass was half-full then. Some of the substance has evaporated, and what's left isn't as fresh. Physical decline, left untended, poisons the stuff inside.

I knew that even when I was young. But I still needed to know my fate - as if I had nothing to do with it.

I listened to the astrologer. He was wrong about almost everything, about the past and the present. So I didn't hold much faith for what he said about the future, which is now.

I muttered little curses to myself.
What a waste of time.
What a waste of money.
What a waste.

I can tell you what you're afraid of, he said.
Oh yeah? I thought.
Enlighten me.
I dare you.

You're afraid of being ordinary.

For a moment the glass was full.
It made a good story, too.
My story.
A story of ordinary.

Tell your story, they say.
Tell your story.
So I take the classes, learn the lessons, obey the rules or not, and trace a life on paper.

Does a story well told make ordinary go away?
Will they listen when I speak?
Is it the same as seeing Karnak?
Surviving an earthquake?
Winning Olympic gold?

Does it deepen me?
Strengthen me?
Heal me?

What's a story for?
To flash wit and charm at parties?
To look good and hold half-empty glasses of wine amid a lot of been-there-done-that?
Better I say nothing. Hide in silence. Talk less. Listen more.
I'm unilingual and never been to Rome.

I know a woman who shook Hitler's hand.
She's not really my friend. Not really.
It's a story she can't tell.
So I tell it instead.
How do you like me now?

I get up in the morning, brush my teeth, wash my face, go to work, come home, pat the cat and watch t.v.
I use cliches and hoard the riches of my inner life.
I love breathing and walking, especially at the same time.
I do it every day. Always have.
And I bet I like it more than you.

My glass is still half-empty.
But sometimes I stir the contents.

- G. P.

It's All About Me

Sometimes I can be so full of myself. Despite present appearances to the contrary, this isn't one of those times. I posted this picture and wrote the title simply because I can't decide what I should write about next. I'm hoping that if I just sit here and type random, nonsensical words and thoughts, some vaguely meaningful ideas will eventually emerge.
Oh well, since I'm on the topic of me me me, I'll mention to you, oh my faithful, fanatical followers, that I'm on a brief sabbatical from the bookstore where I've been working for lo-these-many-years. I'll be writing a one-woman play about none other than yours truly. Yes, it's true, I'm going to add yet another self-important, self-centred vanity piece to the great canon of one person plays, about people real and fictional, great and small. Although I'm real enough, I can say without a moment's hesitation or a hint of hubris that I also belong in the "small" people category. (If I said "little people," it would suggest I'm some sort of an otherworldly spirit. That would be nice, but not true.)
Anyway, who the hell wants to sit and listen to some obscure, unknown actor/writer go on for 75 minutes about their not-so-interesting life? But I'm doing it anyway. If I can't get hired to perform on stage, or in a movie, or even in a commercial for goddess' sake, then I'll write my own damn play. I suspect that that's probably how a lot of those things got written in the first place. At least I hope so. I hate to think I'm the only failed-but-not-dead-yet-actor who's gone that route.
So why am I telling you this? Because if I announce my plans to my legion of followers it'll force me to work through whatever ennui, writer's block, laziness or any other manifestations of page fright that will no doubt assail me in the following weeks. After all, I don't want to make a public fool of myself, which may very well be happening right now, because I really am blathering on about nothing but me me me and what I want to do.
I know for sure I'm not alone in my need to tell my story. That's part of the reason I have this little web of mine. Every person who has lived a little while or a great long time has many stories, and most people would like to tell some of them in one way or another. Even the most seemingly uneventful lives can be transcribed into good stories if they are expressed with conviction and a modicum of passion. I've listened, completely rapt, to friends and strangers, who neither write nor act, describe some of their fascinating experiences. They don't consider themselves storytellers, but when they talk about their experiences so sincerely, they most surely are storytellers. And then there are humble, supposedly ordinary people, not normally given to talking about themselves, who have shared small moments of their lives with me. If I listen well enough, I always learn something. I like to think I've helped a person just by allowing him or her to be heard.
We all want to be heard and seen; not necessarily in a centre-stage, under-the-spotlight kind of way, but in a way that acknowledges our existence, and that we matter.
Good goddess, this entry really is a blathering blurb, because I've been writing for a while now and still haven't figured out what my point is. Hmm ... So what have I got so far? I've 1) declared my intention to write a one-woman show in the next couple of months, and 2) I've waxed enthusiastic about how everyone has stories, and 3) I've made brief mention of the art of listening. And it truly is an art. In fact, I find it more difficult to do well than telling stories. Having said that, I realize now that I've said all that I want to say right now, even though it didn't make a complete or cohesive narrative in this rambling, what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-write-about-today discussion.
Enough said. I'm going to go outside and listen to birds singing and trees rustling in the wind. Maybe if I listen hard enough, I'll understand what they're saying. But even I don't, I'll listen anyway.
- G. P.

My Body, My Country

My body is my first home, country and temple. It has an uncanny way of telling me what's going on in my mind and soul. I'm finally recovering from an onslaught of different kinds of angry, sore blisters and rashes on different parts of my body. In the space of three weeks I've had a nasty cold sore on my mouth, poison oak on my left arm, and poison ivy on my left leg.

I've been subject to cold sores all my life, so I wasn't too alarmed when a cold sore developed on my mouth. But it was quickly followed by poison oak rash I'd contracted a week and a half earlier suddenly flaring up again. A couple of days after the poison oak resurfaced, I developed a case of poison ivy. I've been walking in the same woods and lake district all my life and have never been a victim of these pernicious plants. Then all of a sudden I'm attacked twice in three weeks.
The blisters on my mouth, arm and leg are subsiding now, but I still have to be careful not to aggravate them. And calm. I must be calm, because I sure haven't been. In fact, I've been very angry and upset about certain conditions in my life and trying rather unsuccessfully to keep my anger to myself. I haven't fooled anybody with my feeble attempts at appearing to be okay - least of all my body, my self.

The body knows and the body talks. Lately it's been shouting at me, forcing me to listen. I heard it loud and clear (impossible not to), but I needed to listen to what it was saying. My body's been expressing what I've been feeling but trying to ignore. I should have been expressing my negative emotions in creative, constructive ways, instead of waiting until I couldn't suppress them anymore. So that's what I'm doing right here and now.
The mandate for this little web of mine is to be positive and cheerful and write about my metaphysical interpretations of everything I experience. Okay, so this particular yarn I'm weaving into my web isn't all that light and cheerful, but it's a good lesson in the body/mind connection. Although I've learned it the hard way, it's ultimately a good thing.
I've also observed that I sometimes reflect what's going on outside of me, and not just within me. In my part of the world we've just recently been through "interesting times," the kind referred to in the ancient Chinese curse - May you live in interesting times. I watched the shenanigans with what I thought was an objective, dispassionate eye, but I was actually very angry with my fellow human beings, and despaired for how stupid we can be. It wasn't the first time I noticed a correlation between my personal life and the world around me. Materialists scoff at this notion. But you know where I stand on that.
I'm writing these words to help me finish healing from the anger that has manifested on my body. It's a good day for it. It's July 1st. The first day of the month and the rest of my life. As this day goes, so do I. So I'm expressing myself creatively, and then going out into the world with cheerful greetings to friends and strangers alike to observe this special day in the country I call home. (I've tried to be "universal" and non-specific in my blurbs, but I know it's rather obvious where I live. Whatever. It's fun to keep up the charade.)
So there it is. For just today and all the moments it contains, I'm doing what I can to heal, move forward, and set the tone for the rest of my life. Blessed be.
- G.P.

Eat, Pray, Breathe

Eating has always been one of my favourite pastimes. Even though I've been doing it all my life with great gusto, I've only recently started to do it properly. When I say properly, I don't mean healthily. I'm referring to the actual act of consuming the food.
I've always eaten way too fast. I just scarf that food down as if I were starving, which of course I'm not. As long as I've been living and eating people have observed this unattractive, unhealthy habit of mine, and making jokes about it, or asking me if I came from a large family, which I did not. No, I've simply always been a super-fast, voracious eater, and I don't really know why.

Eating is one of the most basic and obvious forms of consumption that humans do. It's not only a necessity, it's pleasurable. Depending on what you're eating, it can be sensuously and joyously so. Ramming food down your throat before you've had a chance to taste it defeats the whole purpose of eating fine food. Yet that's what I've been doing all my life, even when I'm partaking of gourmet cuisine. Kinda stupid, really.
Well, that's all changing now, and not just because I've been missing out on the subtleties and refinements of good food. Fast eating, like fast food (which I don't eat) reminds me of all the things that I most hate about what's wrong with the world - greed, gluttony, and the consumption of more more more. It's the-person-with-the-most-stuff wins mentality. Aargh!
Since I'm always going on about leaving as small a carbon footprint as possible, eating slowly will certainly help this particular human eating-machine do that. I'll eat less because I'll be giving my stomach and brain time to figure out that I've eaten enough. (It takes about twenty minutes to do that, and in those first twenty minutes I sure can pack it in.) That's a win/win situation for both me and the planet. It means I'll lose weight and take up less space, as well as pollute less.
There was a time when I had such a low opinion of myself that I figured all I was doing on this earth was consuming, polluting and taking up space. A friend of mine had to point out to me that we all do that. But we should all be doing less of it, and that includes eating slowly and mindfully. As strange as it seems, eating has become a spiritual disicpline for me. After eating so quickly and unconsciously all my life, slowing down, masticating and tasting my food isn't as easy as it sounds. At this point I'm still diving right into the food as soon as it's laid down before me. (Old habits are hard to break.) It usually takes me several mouthloads before I remember to slow down and chew. To heighten my awareness of zen eating habits, I also say grace to myself before I eat. Or at least I've been trying to. When I forget to say grace before I eat, I'll pause momentarily for a silent prayer of thanks during the meal. Better late than never. It still serves to slow me down while I'm being grateful.
The beauty of all this is that I also get to to indulge in another favourite pastime of mine - breathing. Deep breathing and slow eating go very well together. Really. Slowing down helps me to actually taste the food, and taking long, leisurely breaths every so often makes the food taste better, because it clears out and freshens the olfactory pathways. It also helps with digestion. What's not to like?
Best of all, my new-found discipline in better living suits my sensibilities concerning the evils of a consumer-based society. I want to consume less because it's not just better for me, it's better for the environment. You don't see herds or packs of fat animals in the wild. They live according to need and not greed.
I enjoy eating more than ever these days. I'm eating less and with more grace. It's a great way to apply the human gift of reason to a basic necessity of life. Yum.
-G. P.

Earth and Me

Everything that happens on this planet, even if it's on the other side of the earth and I'll never know about it, affects me. Sometimes I feel as if my body is the earth, or at least a micro-version of it. If I sustain an injury, or am bitten by a spider, I tend to wonder why it happened, rather than how, because the longer I live the more I'm convinced that there are no accidents or coincidences. I'm always certain that there is a message being conveyed to me, and that I should be paying attention to my body, which is the vehicle communicating the message. Most of the time the information I'm getting is about me specifically, of course. But sometimes I feel that the things I think about, which seem to have nothing to do with me and where I live, end up affecting my health and well-being.
I apologize if this particular ramble of mine seems rather obscure, but I don't wish to be specific right now. If I go into detail, it will probably send me into a tailspin. So I'm keeping this blurb very general. (I know that this opens me up to the sort of criticism that flaky, airy-fairy, pie-in-the-sky, new-agey types are subject to when they blether about inter-connection and the unity of all life. Well too effing bad. I don't want to go there, and since this is my little web I can bloody well make unsubstantiated arguments if I want to. And use run on sentences, or end them in prepositions, or go off on tangents without ever coming back to my original thesis.)
But I digress.
Back to my body, my self, as a microcosm of Earth ...
I can't control everything that happens to me or around me or around the world. But I can control the way I react to them. I frequently feel as if my body is reacting before I have a chance to consciously respond. If that's true, then I should be able to somehow, in a teeny-weeny, nonetheless significant way (see previous entry), affect that which affects me. When I'm functioning at my best, and have all the crap that's bothering me under control, I feel powerful enough to exert some influence somewhere - preferably in the areas of my life and the planet that I believe need care. So that's what I've begun to do.
I've started to dedicate all the best of me to the life of this Earth I revere. It's my religion. It's my faith. Earth doesn't need my personal crap. She has enough to deal with. So I'm sacrificing my addiction to struggle and pain for the sake of Mother Earth. And it's one hell of a tough addiction to give up. But every time I choose to breathe deeply, slow down and take the moral high road in difficult situations, I experience some sort of immediate and positive result, usually on the side of peace and accord. That often comes with personal sacrifice - such as suppressing spontaneous, uncensored self-expression, which can be really hard for a drama queen like me. It means listening more than talking. Or turning the other cheek when fighting back seems so much more satisfying. It means focussing on what's right and good and beautiful when I'm overwhelmed with so much that isn't.
I've often wondered how I'm supposed to help others when I feel as if I can barely help myself. Now that I've discovered a way to actively worship Earth on a daily basis, i.e., keeping one infinitesimal part of the planet - me - the way I would like the entire planet to be, I don't feel so helpless and useless. Taking care of myself has become tantamount to taking care of everything that matters to me. I'll quote Gandhi again as I've done before - Be the change you wish to see. I've been using that quote as a moral guideline for quite some time, but now it's become a matter of faith. It makes me feel that even my personal, selfish needs and actions are somehow still serving the bigger picture. Okay, so that won't make me a saint. But I feel more closely connected to my deity, Mother Earth. And that empowers me.
- G.P.

Earth First

My heart is breaking. That's not s great way to begin this entry on my little web, but there is a huge tear in the great web we call Earth, and I'm breaking my promise to myself that I would only write about good or happy things, or how to help myself and others feel well and happy. Given the scope of the horrendous oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico, I simply can't ignore the tragedy in my little web.
Like many people I've spoken to, I feel helpless to do anything. Most of the people who care about the tragedy that is still unfolding in the gulf waters, whether they are directly affected or not, can only wait and watch as BP works on plugging up the leak, something they should have begun with greater diligence as soon as the rig exploded. But no, greed ruled out any common sense and foresight. Spending serious money on implementing safety measures and plans for such contingencies is not profitable. Greed is short-sighted and short term. The patriarchal paradigm of big money and corporate power is slowly but surely killing this magnificent planet and all her beautiful, innocent creatures.
I get very little satisfaction knowing that BP is no doubt done for as a company. Their profits are being permanently and forever eaten up by the same oil that has made them filthy rich. Once again, Mother Earth is showing us, tragically and literally, just how filthy money-mongering is. But enough of the rant. My anger does not appease me, nor does it help the suffering of the wildlife along the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic coasts.
I avert my eyes and turn away from pictures of pelicans covered in suffocating, slimy goo. I'm not burying my head in the sand. I know what's going on, so having my heart seize up with grief and anxiety does nothing to ease the situation. But the tragedy in the Gulf of Mexico has made me more caring and careful of my individual impact on this planet. I do my best to leave as small a carbon footprint as I can, but now I guess this Earth that I worship wants me to make even more sacrifices. Of course, my personal sacrifices such as not driving a car may seem inconsequential and fruitless, but that's because I'm only one person. But when more people care more, a ripple effect is created, and another strand in this great web is strengthened, so that one day, if it's not too late, every individual's actions will be shown to matter.
I once read a parable about a bird and a squirrel who sat together on a slender branch of a tree. It began to snow. After a little while the bird warned the squirrel that he should probably get off the branch because it might break if the snow got too heavy.
"It's just a few flakes," replied the squirrel, "what can they do?" The squirrel thought he was being funny when he began to count the snowflakes as they landed on the branch.
"Hey, here comes snowflake #3,042. " He laughed as the flake landed on the snow that was piling up.
"And here comes snowflake #3,043, " he said, mocking his feathered friend, "Well would you look at that? Nothing happened - again!"
The bird just sat there, saying nothing, when snowflake #3,044 fell from the sky. It landed ever so gently and quietly on the snow-laden branch, when all of a sudden the branch snapped, and down fell the squirrel. The bird just up and flew away.
This little story shows just exactly how much we matter as individuals when we all work together towards a common goal. Sure, often one person's efforts don't make a noticeable difference. But with patience and perseverance, all our individual efforts will prove worthwhile when we are joined by others. Sooner or later the scales will tip. That is why I shall not stop thinking, speaking, behaving and acting in ways that make things better. I admit that I weaken from time to time and do things that are convenient and fast, and not good for me or the planet. But every failure makes me more determined to stick to my beliefs and live out the big picture.
I pray for my fellow creatures all over the world, but especially in the Gulf of Mexico right now. I send them light, love and healing prayers. I know that there many other people out there who are doing the same. We are creating a ripple that may, if enough people join us, help to heal the tear in the web. And I pray that a web built out of such individual fibres will prevent such a disaster from happening again. Please.
- G.P.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

Mother Earth always has the last word. She always will. Earth will be around for a long time yet to come, because she won't go until the sun does with a great super nova blast. But what kind of shape will earth be in when that happens? Will any humans be left? Humanity has to take some responsibility for that. The
earth does not sit idly by as we do whatever we please to her. She responds in kind. And what people don't seem to understand is that she is ultimately greater and stronger than we are, despite all our advanced technology.
The Icelandic volcano with the polysyllabic, unpronounceable name has brought much of the western world to a standstill. Jets and airplanes have been grounded for a week now. People have been stranded at airports far away from their homes or their vacation and business destinations. The airline industry is losing millions of dollars a day. All this because of a magnifcent, potentially deadly manifestation of Mother Nature. I love it.
Don't get me wrong. I certainly don't want any horrifying accidents, deaths or illnesses to happen as a result of the spectacular show Mother Earth is putting on. It's just that I'm in complete awe of how she can stop us in our tracks with a single display of her power.
I'm not personally or immediately affected by the volcano. I'm not travelling anywhere by air, and by the time the ashes reach my part of the world on the jet stream, they will be rendered relatively harmless. So I'm just enjoying the show and appreciating a fascinating, dramatic chapter in the grand and mythic story of this magnificent planet.
Mother Nature rules. She's not always gentle or benign, but she is completely impartial, and her latest display of power is a reminder of that. That is why she is my deity, and why the book she writes is my bible.
- G.P.

The Best Spring of All

It's been several months since I wrote anything on my little web. I've missed it, but I've been very busy writing other things, and my public musings have been neglected. The crazy thing is, even as I write this now, I still have no idea where this column will take me. So here goes ...
I've sat here for a couple of minutes roaming around in my head, trying to come up with a topic worthy of your time and mine. I've included a picture of a lily-of-the-valley to adorn this entry. Why did I choose it when I didn't even know the topic of my ruminations? Because it's spring and I love lily-of-the-valley. Those sweet, fragrant little flowers remind me of the happiest times of my childhood, playing in the backyard created by my mother, who was an avid gardener. As a perfume the scent is a little too sickly sweet and spinsterly, but when dozens of them proliferate a shady nook, the fragrance reminds me of heaven. And whilst we're on the topic - now that I seemed to have found one - lily of the valley is the flower I want to smell when I die. For a long time I've harboured the strange notion that I will pass on in the springtime, perhaps because I was born in mid-November. I've fantasized about wafting away to wherever it is we go when we die on a fragrant, invisible cloud of lily of the valley, accompanied by the sound of birdsong. I want to have lots and lots of birds singing raucously and joyously. (In fact, I'm being accompanied by birdsong at this very moment. I'm listening to birdsongradio.com, recommended by my friend Shauna, gifted songstress and artist, who designed my little web.)
It may seem morbid to ponder my death and how I want to experience it while describing my appreciation for the way in which spring, my favourite season, arouses my senses. Spring is the most life affirming season of all. Everything is so seminal and new, emerging out of darkness and growing into the light. I was born when the cycle of the seasons was turning the other way.
It doesn't matter to me if there aren't any lily-of-the-valley nearby when I die, I just want to be smelling them as I go. As for birdsong, I'd like a few real birds, as opposed to the virtual ones created by my imagination, to sing some happy notes to mark the occasion. Birdsong makes me feel safe. When birds suddenly stop singing it means there is a predator lurking about. So bring on the birds, say I.
There. That wasn't so hard, after all - finding something to write about, I mean. Now I have a better understanding of why I want to leave this beautiful world in the springtime, accompanied by the cheerful sound of birds, and breathing in the sweet scent of lily-of-the-valley. That's not a downer at all. But maybe I feel that way because I'm a Scorpio. Or maybe it's because I'm an actress and and want my final exit to be staged with grace and beauty.
One more thing, lest you think I'm wretched and miserable. I won't stop thinking about these things, because they amuse and mollify me, but I hope to do so for many years to come.
- G. P.

Revealing Thoughts

A friend of mine recently told me she doesn't bother using glasses for a mild case of myopia because she doesn't need to see into the distance. I thought it was a very odd thing to say, and also very telling. Although she was referring to practical uses for glasses, such as driving, I couldn't help interpreting this seemingly innocuous statement as a personal philosophy. Another friend once told me that she"doesn't look up" when I wondered how she hadn't noticed that the house she's lived in for twenty years is situated under one of the flight paths of our city's busy international airport. Apart from the fact that I marvelled how such a thing could have escaped her notice for so long, whether she looks up or not, once again I observed how this comment reflected so much about her views on life. She's by no means a negative person, in fact, just the opposite, but such statements still circumscribe a person's outlook.
My friend who doesn't care about looking into the distance is an elder, in the best and deepest sense of the word. Usually I would consider her comment, as well as that of my ground-level oriented friend, as an indication that they fear what they choose not to see. Both women are well-travelled and worldly. They've been far away, and way up in the sky, many times. So why am I so fascinated by their casual, seemingly insignificant comments? I realize I'm dwelling on language again - something I love to do - and how its use reflects what a person thinks and feels.
A person's choice of words reveals volumes about themselves. Just ask Henry Higgins. (That's not possible, of course, he's a fictional character. And you can't ask G.B. Shaw, his creator, either, because he's dead.) The point is, much more than we probably care to share is revealed by the way we speak. Language is a human construct, and it's not just our conscious thoughts that go into the making of our personal philosophies. Our unconscious is always lurking in the background, rising up in the form of dreams when we sleep, or making an appearance when we perform certain waking, habitual behaviours - when we're on "automatic pilot." We take language so much for granted, so that we often slip into saying what we truly think, without really thinking at all.
I once knew a very pretty, insecure, and shy young woman, whom I suspected was still suffering from some sort of childhood trauma. She told me she didn't like looking in the mirror. When I asked her why, she replied that she didn't like "looking at herself." She genuinely believed she was unattractive. The mirror revealed her outward appearance, but her choice of words exposed what was going on inside her head, and as a consequence, that's what she saw in the mirror. It was as if she were looking deep within herself, and what she saw frightened her.
If what we say reveals how we think and feel, then maybe if we changed the way we spoke, we could change the way we feel. The physical senses send messages to the brain immediately and automatically. Most of these sense messages we can't control, but the things we purposely say and do can be controlled, and those messages are just as powerful. If we consciously practise saying things we'd like to be feeling and thinking, eventually the brain will get the message, and the subtle and gradual process of rewiring our neural network will have begun.
It's hard to be positive all the time. Nor should we have to be. But actually choosing to be hurtful or negative to yourself or others isn't necessary, either. I find that if I'm honestly not feeling kindly disposed towards a person or situation and have nothing good to say, I prefer to say nothing. It gets me into less trouble that way. I try to follow the Buddhist philosophy of simply doing no harm. Ultimately, I feel as if I'm a stronger and better person when I take the path of least resistance, which usually means just walking away, rather than engaging in conflict.
Language is a tool. It can build and destroy. Sometimes I slip up and show a side of myself that I'd prefer other people not to see just by letting go of a careless word or bit of profanity, although even that has its place. Words can paint vivid pictures, and what's being said describes the speaker as much as the subject.
Speaker beware.
- G.P.