We Are a Web

My new year's resolution was to read a poem a day. So far I have done so, and enjoyed it thoroughly. It's been easy to include reading a short poem as part of my morning ritual. But alas and alack, with all that's happened of late on this planet of ours, I sometimes feel as if I'm Nero playing the violin while Rome burns. It's hard not to feel useless and unable to help as so many people suffer all around the world. But feeling bad doesn't help anyone, either. So what can I do? What can anyone do? Offering monetary donations is one way to feel as if you're doing something. But the results of that sort of generosity aren't always immediately discernible. Who knows where all the money goes when people donate to worthy causes?
Since I'm not in a position to give enough money that I feel would make a difference, but have done anyway - which is a good thing - I've wondered what else I can do. So I turn to what I always do in such circumstances. I try my best to be a better person. To be grateful for what I have. To be kinder and more compassionate on a daily, work-a-day basis. I don't have to go half way around the world to see people who suffer and toil. They live right next door to me and everybody everywhere. To quote one of my all-time favourite heroes, Mahatma Gandhi, I shall try to be the change I want to see in the world. Doing that engages me all the time, and it makes me feel as if I'm continually helping in some small way, rather than just throwing some money a couple of times into a bucket and then promptly forgetting about it.
Think globally, and act locally. By locally I mean personally as well, treating a stranger or a stray dog the way you would like to be treated. It does matter. Oh yes it does.
Unfortunately, even if the entire world's population suddenly became caring, peaceful, and responsible, we'd still have to cope with things we cannot control, like the weather, or Mother Earth rising up and showing her awesome, terrifying power. We've been trying to subdue the earth for thousands of years now, and she has not taken it lying down. Mother Nature always has the last word, and always will. We can't undo all the damage we've done, but we can stop doing more, and only if everyone gets on board with that. Sadly, I don't think that's going to happen soon. But I pray, and act according to the way I wish the world to be - or at least I try. I also recognize that I can't control everything that happens to me, or to the world around me, but I can control how I respond.
Nature is the greatest teacher of all. I take my lessons from her. When she roars, I listen. We all listen. It's impossible not to. For millenia she has been showing us how utterly impotent we really are when we divide and conquer, and how strong we can be when we act to keep this beautiful, fragile but ultimately sturdy web we call earth whole and healthy. I can help in rebuilding the damaged parts of this great web by taking care of the tiny, but not insignificant, portion of this earth I live on - one moment, one word, and one deed at a time.
-G. P.

Spellbound

Words fascinate me. That's not so strange, of course, because I'm a writer and a storyteller. Words are magical. They make thought something we can hear when spoken, and see when written. A large group of words deliberately strung together communicates a story or a message. When a story is well written, you can be sure a good deal of attention has been paid to the craft of writing. That appeals to me, because the practise of magic is often referred to as The Craft.
Taking an idea and making it a tangible thing - such as the written word - is an awesome feat, though it seems as if it should be such an easy thing to do. Groupings of letters, syllables or words create spells, and spelling out loud is a form of incantation. Witches keep their spells in books called grimoires, which is derived from the Latin grammatica, via the O. French word grammaire, meaning "learning," from which we get our word "grammar." Glamour also comes from the same root. A glamorous woman has the ability to weave a spell around her, to manipulate her reality according to her will. Witches have glamour. So do actors and storytellers - at least the good ones do.
I'm waxing enthusiastic (from the Gr. entheos, inspired by a god) about words right now because my good friend Barbara just informed me that I misspelled hollow when I described my missing necklace in the previous entry. Good call, Barbara!
The strange thing is, my precious harmony ball, which Barbara found at her place - whoopee! - is indeed hallow to me. Spellcheck didn't catch the error because it's a perfectly good word on its own, but not the one I intended. It seems my misspelling was a Freudian slip. Or perhaps calling it a Jungian slip would be more accurate. Whatever the unconscious reason for my spelling error, I couldn't help noticing how my mistake so accurately described my feelings about the necklace. A single letter in a word sent me on this riff about the magic of words. No wonder I find them fascinating. (from the Latin fascinus, meaning "spell, witchcraft.")
But that's enough for now. I just wanted to inform my followers that my necklace was found. Mission accomplished. Now I have to work out some of my cabin fever, so I'm going out for a spell.
- G.P.

Lost and Found

My favourite piece of jewelry is missing. I owned it and kept it safe longer than anything else I've ever owned. It was a necklace made out of black cord with a simple, hollow copper ball adorned with a small, silver, Art Nouveau-ish fairy. There were delicate chimes inside the ball that tinkled gently when I shook it. I think they used to call these necklaces "harmony balls," back in the day when they were popular. I wore it frequently for almost thirty years, and it went with me everywhere. It was the sort of personal item one might give a psychic who gathers information by holding something that belongs to the person they're reading. I don't think there's anything I own that has my imprint on it more than my hippy-dippy harmony ball, wherever it may be. It was my signature piece, and had my "vibes" all over it.
So why am I publicly lamenting the loss of a cherished necklace on my little web? I know I'm the only one who cares, which is at it should be. It was just a thing, after all. It's just stuff. It's just part of the stuff that we collect or hoard as we go through life. It's market value wasn't worth the time spent on e-bay trying to sell it. It's only value was sentimental, and only to me. No big loss.
I've been getting rid of stuff for over 4 years now. A couple of moves from one place to another forced me to reduce what I own so that I could fit into my new digs. The process of throwing stuff out, or giving it away, was long and hard. But it felt great. I was purging myself of a lifetime of junk - stuff that I hadn't used or even looked at in many years. It was just taking up space. It made me feel crowded.
My adventures in moving in the last 4 years have streamlined me. When sifting through the heaps of stuff that was my life, I followed a simple rule, first espoused by John Ruskin (1819 - 1900), art critic and essayist, to keep only what is beautiful or useful. The real trashy stuff, and I couldn't believe how much I had, I threw out. There was a lot that was still in good condition and certainly useful, but if it was redundant, I gave it to charity. Fortunately, there was a lot that was recyclable as well. The result of all this is that now I own less than I have my entire adult life, and can contain it in two medium-size rooms. I love it, and now I love myself more, too.
One of the best habits that I've developed in the last four years is the constant maintenance of keeping what I own to a minimum. If I acquire new stuff because well-meaning friends and relatives give me gifts, I give away at least two items for every one I receive. It's challenging, because I do need a certain amount of "stuff" to live comfortably, and still be able to express my individuality. Some variety is necessary to spice up life, and that includes changes in my appearance and environment.
One of my goals in life is to have no stuff left when I die. I'm slightly facetious about that, of course, but I try to stick to that guideline when making decisions about whether I should acquire something or not. And it works.
So maybe the Universe is testing me with my recent loss. No matter how I measure it, it wasn't a deep loss at all. I am grateful for all that I have, which is much, and includes first and foremost, my health. I was probably too attached to my necklace. But I'm much more attached to my neck, which doesn't need the necklace at all. (Sorry about the bad pun. It just came out that way.)
The mid-winter sun shines brightly outside my window, and I must be going. I'm attached to my legs and feet, too, and look forward to walking and breathing in the crisp, winter air. Losing an article that I thought I would just die if I ever lost, and then I didn't die, has made me appreciate the truest, most real, and enduring things that matter in life. Most of those things aren't "stuff" at all. I won't bother to name them, because you know what they are.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Gaudeamus

The way I begin anything - whether it's an ordinary day or week, a creative project, a journey, a relationship, a story, or any of the myriad other things in life that have a beginning, middle and end - sets the tone for the duration of whatever I've begun.
For the past few weeks I've made a point of being very aware of what I did to mark all the beginnings and endings that make up the end-of-year holiday season. The Winter Solstice and New Year's Eve indicate the beginning of winter and a new year respectively. Significantly, this past New Year's Eve was on a blue moon, which is the second full moon of a calendar month. (The next blue moon on a new year's eve will be in 2028.) It was a special night, for sure. And as if that weren't enough to celebrate, the full moon was shining on the eve of a new decade! There was much reason to make merry that night, and the pull of the full moon only added to the joyous lunacy. So yes, I was very aware of how my first hours and days went for me as the season, year, and decade turned over. So far, so good.
I celebrated Christmas with my family. I spent some of the time with my beloved aunt, Gita Tant, and her daughter Laura (my cousin). There's always something to look at in Gita's home, because her large, rambling country house is filled to the rafters with all kinds of art. My late Uncle Talis (Gita's husband) was an artist, as is his daughter, cousin Laura. So there I was, on Boxing Day, fascinated by several plastic skulls that Laura had bejewelled with beads and sequins in a riot of colours. Instead of sporting the accustomed ghastly leer, each of the fabulous skulls looked as if it were laughing. I would have enjoyed those crazy dead-heads at any time, but I couldn't help revelling in the perfect synchronicity of seeing them as 2009 drew to a close. The festive skulls reminded that when we celebrate the arrival of a new year, we are also marking the passing of the old one. And what a way to celebrate. When Laura creates her installations, she plays with a multitude of colour and texture, and her skulls are no exception. In fact, Laura has named her series of gaudy skulls "For the Love of Gaud."
The word gaudy comes from the Latin gaudeo, gaudere, which means to rejoice, to celebrate. That which is gaudy, by definition, is rejoicing in itself. Laura's skulls were fairly shouting at me to rejoice in the fleeting moment and the passing year. They were a reminder that with death comes rebirth.
A new cycle begins. Celebrate it.
I've never had the joy or privilege to see something designed or created by the Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi, but I certainly enjoy looking at photographs of his magnificent buildings and mosaics. No straight lines or grey concrete for Gaudi, no sir. He plays with space, line, texture, and colour like no other architect I know. (Mind you, I don't know that many.) His creations aren't just visually stunning, they're joyous. They're fun. What else could they be with a name like Gaudi? It literally means rejoice and celebrate.
I've made a good start to the year and decade by focussing on all the big and little things that happened in the beginning, and making them count, making them memorable. I spent some time in quiet reflection, and I spent time in being loud and silly and having fun. I rejoiced alone, and with family and friends. I deliberately began the new decade the way I want it to continue. I created momentum. (from the Latin momentum, meaning "movement, moving power." Also the root of the English word moment.) Now all I have to do is go with it. I know all the days to come this year or decade won't be a party, but I've started well, and celebrated heartily. That's how I want to live my life. And if I want to be gaudy and live out loud, I will.
- G. P.