Home is Everywhere

It's good to be home, and I don't just mean where I live, but right here on my little web. I returned two weeks ago from 18 days in Peru, the most mystical land in the world. Okay, I haven't been in every land in the world, but when the time comes for me to go abroad again, wherever I go will have to be pretty effing magical to top my experience in Peru. I have many stories from my brief, intense time there, and some of them will no doubt end up on this little web of mine, while others I've already told to a few friends, and there are at least a couple that will stay safely stored in my heart and soul. They are all a part of me now, and I've learned a little more about myself and this earth to which I belong.
By now regular readers of this space will know of my obsession with signs and synchronicities - messages from the Universe. I tend to measure the magical content of any experience by the number of synchronicities that occur, and my time in Peru was one big, fat billboard of a message, scribbled from top to bottom and side to side with sign after sign, each one more potent and meaningful than the last.
Although I did my best not to expect anything, I still wanted and hoped for magic. I was not disappointed. Magic was everywhere, mostly disguised as signs and portents, big and small, light and dark. The first most memorable "coincidence" was on my way to the airport. I was sitting at the back of a city bus that drives non-stop to the airport, when I noticed an abandoned book on an empty seat at the front. Although the book was lying face down, I recognized it right away, because I work in a bookstore and it's a long-time best-seller. It was The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield. I'd read some of it over 20 years ago, but I wasn't able to finish it because I thought it was New Age piffle, and rather poorly written to boot. The last laugh's on me, of course, because that book has made Mr. Redfield a very wealthy and successful writer. All the more power to him. Nonetheless, I didn't give the book much more thought for many years, except to notice, rather ruefully, that it was a perennial best-seller.
Flash forward many years to yours truly sitting on an airport-bound bus and spotting the book on an empty seat, just waiting to be claimed by the right person. Well, wouldn't you know, that person was me. I recalled quite clearly that the main premise of the book was about the importance of paying attention to signs and synchronicities. It's a great premise, but it obviously wasn't enough to hold my attention all those years ago.
I confess to being a little bit of a book-snob, and wondered if I should give the book another try, despite less-than-stellar writing. I vaguely remembered that the story took place somewhere in South America, maybe even Peru. So I told myself to walk over and find out just where the story happens, and if it's Peru, then it's an obvious sign this book is meant for you, so pick it up and read it, for Goddess' sake. Some of you readers probably know what comes next, because yes, the story is set in Peru.
So began my own Peruvian journey, filled with meaningful coincidence and happenstance. I read the entire book on the flight to Lima, and still didn't glean much more than I did the first time, except to note the significant way I came upon it. But the message was clear - pay attention. And pay attention I did.
Making note of details in an exotic land isn't hard. After all, that's part of the reason people travel, to see and experience new things. Peru kept me vigilant and on my toes all the time. There was an abundance of strange and wondrous landscape, flora, and fauna. I probably wasted precious minutes trying to take a well-composed photograph when I should have been just enjoying the view. After all, I can google Machu Picchu anytime and get far better pictures. So when I finally learned to slow down, breathe, and relax about taking everything in, there was room for magic.
***
Peru is a land of butterflies and hummingbirds. The blue morpho, probably one of the most photographed, painted, depicted and marketed of all butterfly species, is native to the Amazon basin. Every time I saw one I stopped breathing for a moment, lest the spell it cast be broken. I also saw at least a dozen glass-wing butterflies fluttering in dense foliage beneath a rainforest cascade. I'd anticipated seeing a few blue morphoes, but I'd completely forgotten about the glass-wings, which I'd first read about only a few years ago. Their thinly-outlined, transparent wings are truly otherworldly, and render them virtually invisible to predators. It's no wonder that butterflies are fabled to be fairies in disguise. The same goes for hummingbirds. And oh my Pachamama were there hummingbirds! Hummingbirds are a very special totem for me, and will always remind me of my mother. (Yet another story for another time.) So in a land where I reconnected with Mother Earth (Pachamama to the native Peruvians), the plethora of hummingbirds that darted all around me kept me thinking of my mother specifically, and all mothers in general, and the biggest mother of all, Earth herself.
I was very near the end of my stay in Peru when I spotted what was to be the last hummingbird I would see there. (Sorry, I can't tell you what kind, there's a wide variety of hummingbirds in Peru.) Anyway, I was enjoying the dance the little bird was doing around a flower, and musing on the fact that I'd been graced with so many visits in Peru from two of my favourite creatures, when I suddenly realized that these two significant totems were also tattooed on my body! There are many animals and insects that have meaning for me, but the two that visited me the most in Peru are not-so-coincidently my tattoos. I have a butterfly tattooed on my arm, as well as a hummingbird on my ankle, and I got them long before I ever knew that I'd be going to Peru.
I've always known that we write our own stories as we live out our lives. Every choice we make, everything we say or do is part of our narrative. And like any story, there's usually some foreshadowing somewhere. Of course the images I permanently etched into my skin are meaningful to me, and are stories unto themselves, but my trip to Peru has shown just how deep, prescient, and multi-layered in meaning those symbols really are. (That's why I marvel at how some people deliberately put unpleasant, negative images on their bodies. Don't they realize the kind of karma they're attracting?)
Not all messages were joyous, however. On my first full day in the Sacred Valley of the Andes, I stumbled upon a dead kitten at the gate to Apu Lodge, the hostel where I was staying in Ollantaytambo. (Apu is the Quechua word for spirit or god, and many of the mountains are homes to gods and spirits.) I had gone on a short walk in town, and when I returned barely thirty minutes later, I found the kitten sprawled out on the cobblestones, just feet from the gate. She was still warm to the touch. I didn't want to leave her there, so I picked up her inert body and brought her into the garden. She was so tiny she fit into the palm of my hand.
I informed the owner and staff of my discovery, weeping all the while. They were most understanding, and promised to give her a proper burial. A lovely young woman from England, who worked at the lodge, performed a native smudging ceremony on me, cleansing my soul and thanking the spirit of the kitten for sacrificing herself so that I could learn and grow. And indeed, my time in Peru turned out to be powerful and life-altering - a symbolic death and rebirth.
After finding the lifeless kitten, my journey was filled with many butterflies and hummingbirds, totems that signify transformation and resurrection respectively. (In the high Andes of South America the hummingbird is taken to be a symbol of resurrection, because it goes into a state of suspended animation on cold nights - a small death of sorts - but comes back to life again with the warmth of the morning sun.)
So there it is. One small, but deeply significant part of my journey in Peru. It's not the sort of story I can tell everyone, or publish as travel writing, because what I'm describing is really my inner journey, and not about where I went or what I did. Materialists and prosaic, type A personalities don't understand, but they don't spend time here, where I write freely about the things that matter to me. This is my place to spin and weave tales of minor miracles and magic.
Yes. It really is good to be home.
- G. P.

Amor Vincit Omnia

My anger is gone. Until six days ago, I had been very angry for several weeks, and what's worse, I didn't know why. Despite my good health, recent good fortune, and a dream coming true, I was carrying a load of resentment that no amount of yoga, meditation, and visualization could expunge. But now it's gone. It disappeared quite spontaneously at a funeral for the husband of my friend, Kathryn.
Although I'd never met Andy, I went to his memorial service out of respect for Kathryn. I hadn't seen Kathryn in a long while, but I'll always cherish the many hours of song and laughter we shared when we sang in a women's choir together, where I first met her many years ago.
Anger was still sticking to me like a prickly burr when I arrived at the church for the funeral. At least I was able to put aside my dark feelings once I entered the church and met some former fellow choristers.
The minister and numerous friends and family spoke of Andy as a loving, deeply spiritual person. It was obvious he was deeply loved in return. The memorial service was very well attended, and whenever anyone spoke of him, the word love was used frequently. Tears flowed freely, of course, and laughter was shared, too.
He died after a long, terrible illness, but I learned at his funeral that he never complained, and if anyone had reason to complain, he most surely did. Since attending the funeral I think twice before I open my mouth to voice some petty concern.
Kathryn spoke as well. She's a gifted speaker, songstress, and writer. It was inspiring to listen to her speak so eloquently about her beloved husband's last months on this earth. I shall never forget her words as she described how Andy, as he drew nearer to death, was gradually and inexorably stripped away, until there was nothing left but love. As I listened to Kathryn speak I couldn't help feeling slightly envious. (If you've read the last two posts, you'll know about my recent anger, as well as my long-time issues with envy.) Anyway, there I was, listening to a lovely lady who's lost her soul mate; who's experienced a depth of loss I probably never will, and yet I felt envy. Hello? How could I possibly be envious of such sadness, such bereavement?
I quickly realised that it wasn't her pain I envied, but all the love she has given and received, and still does, in spite of her grievous loss. I could almost hear Andy whisper in my ear, bursting with pride for his gracious widow, "So you think you know envy, lady? Well, envy this!" And I yes, I felt envious, but it was okay. I was fine with it. The spirit of a man I'd never met showed me that feeling envy doesn't have to be full of bitterness and resentment. Not at all. It can also come out of genuine respect and admiration, and that is exactly what I felt for Kathryn.
The love all around me was palpable. It wasn't directed at me, because it wasn't about me. But it didn't matter. The love that swirled and vibrated all around me and through me was for Andy and Kathryn and their family, friends and loved ones. It filled the church and the hearts of everyone there. The effect was so tangible that I felt as if I was being massaged with love.
After the funeral I felt lighter, softer, and looser, as if I'd been to a spa or yoga class. I know I go on a lot about this stuff on my little web, but I still never cease to be wonder-struck when something happens that proves to me that the line between the physical and the metaphysical is such a fine one; that unseen things like thought and emotion have a reality on a quantum level. We know that every physical thing vibrates, but surely thought and emotion do, too, because the vibrations in that church penetrated me on a physical and emotional level. Something inside me had changed. The inexplicable anger I'd been feeling for weeks was completely gone, and hasn't returned since. A mother-load of free-flowing, freely-shared, tearful, joyous, sad and beautiful love has washed all my resentment away.
Even though I never met Andy, I now feel as if I had. The part of Andy I got to know, however briefly, isn't physical; it isn't matter. But while I was with his family and friends, I most definitely felt, on a deep and abiding level, his large and loving Spirit. And that does matter.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

oh dear

This morning I washed my shower stall. And then I had a long, hot, soapy shower myself. So what? you may ask. Well, my response to that, whether you asked the question or not, is that this morning's ablutions weren't just your run-of-the-mill morning rituals. I washed away a lot of anger as I scrubbed down the walls of the shower stall with my environmentally-friendly, all-purpose, bathroom cleaner. This happy, psychological by-product wasn't just a result of working out undesirable emotions with good, old-fashioned hard work, because I really put some muscle power into it; it was my intention to wash away my anger. Even though I have a lot going for me these days, I found myself waking up angry because that's how I went to bed last night. So I marched into the shower and scrubbed it all away. Right now I'm writing what's left of my anger out of my system. And I do, indeed, feel better.
Skeptics may say that it was the exercise and hot water that drained my negativity, and had nothing to do with what I was thinking. Sure, those things are very effective for soothing the savage breast, and I used them to good effect, but I made them even more effective by imagining my anger going down the drain with the hot, soapy water. One of my gifts is a vivid imagination, and I used it this morning as I watched the angry scum - or was it scummy anger? - dissolve with each hard scrub of the brush. I killed my angry thoughts with imagination. It was one kind of thought overpowering another.

This blurb isn't over. I'll finish it later. I could, of course, put it in my draft folder, but it's my little web and I'll publish an unfinished blurb if I want to...

Okay. It's several days later, and I'm back to finish what I started. So where was I?
I was ruminating on the power of thought, the power of imagination. My imagination has sometimes saved my life. Although that's not literally true, (but it might be, how would I know for sure?) it's certainly helped me through some pretty rough times. So if I have to imagine my anger going down the drain in order to purge myself, then that's what I'll do. That's how actors make a living, and I'm an actor. That very same use of the imagination also applies to life off-stage as well. The same tools that help me create a flesh and blood character on stage can be used to create who I am in real life, too.
Anyway, I was pretty much out of steam for this particular little blurb when I logged back on just now. But I wanted to finish it, so I came back to it. I've observed that the way I do one thing is pretty much the way I do everything, not necessarily with the degree of skill, but with the application of commitment and focus. So as lame as this ending is, I'm stopping now.
See you soon.
- G.P.

Green-Eyed Monster

Feeling envious really sucks. Take my word for it, because it's an emotion with which I'm quite familiar, at least until recently in my life. I've had wonderful, enviable experiences of late, so my acquaintance with that dreadful feeling has lessened considerably. In fact, when I tell people of my upcoming dream-come-true adventure, I hear "I'm so jealous," or "I envy you," a lot. As soon as someone says that, especially if they're a good friend, I feel bad for having shared my good news, because I really don't want someone I care for to feel that way.
I've been consumed with longing and yearning for much of my adult life. Constant, long-time yearning can turn into envy and bitterness, which are poison to the soul. I'm sure I've said "I envy you" before, but I can't recall when. I've felt envy so often and so deeply that I just won't say so aloud to the recipient of those feelings. I keep such dark, bitter thoughts to myself. I know that when my friends say those things to me, they don't taste the bitter bile of jealousy as I do, and that it's just their way of saying how lucky I am. I also know that they are genuinely happy for me. Still, due to my experience with that unhealthy emotion, I don't want them to feel that way on my account.
I confess, however, that on one occasion when I told a certain someone my good news, I was secretly hoping to illicit some jealousy on their part. Needless to say, this person isn't really a friend, just someone I'm forced to see more often than I'd like. On another occasion I relayed the news more as if I were boasting, rather than bursting, with happy news. I immediately felt remorse, because I know what's it's like to be on the receiving end of news delivered in an insensitive, oh-so-full-of-yourself manner.
I hope my forthcoming adventure heals some of these issues for me, and makes me a better person. Isn't that why we like to go to different places and experience different things? I'm sure for many people it is.
But what if circumstances prevent you from spreading your wings? I've written many blurbs about how a truly good and interesting person doesn't need to explore the world to broaden their mind. We were given minds so that we can expand them just sitting quietly by ourselves, or walking mindfully in a crowd. I keep forgetting that a lot of the people I've envied for where they've been or what they've done aren't particularly interesting or enlightened, just full of themselves. Indeed, people I truly respect and admire seldom make me envious. They inspire me instead, or even fill me with awe. These far preferable reactions uplift and motivate me; they don't bring me down.
Envy comes out of feeling a lack of something. That lack or need is nobody's fault but by own. I shouldn't have to fill that need by going somewhere outside of myself, especially if I'm unable to do so. All I need to improve myself is myself. If I'm healthy and my mind is in tact I've got all I need to make myself a better person. But now I have the opportunity for self-improvement by experiencing something grand. Lucky me. I realize that's a fortunate shortcut to self-fulfillment, and for that I'm truly grateful. It's a lot harder to be the envy-free person I want to be without all the things that make me envious. But for now, my cup is more than half-full, and I appreciate that. But even when I see my cup as half-empty, I've found that genuine gratitude takes some of the sting out of being bitter.
I'm only envious when I compare myself to others. So maybe I should stop doing that. After all, everyone's going to die one day, right? I find that rather comforting. And even if I found out there was some super-human out there who will never die, I wouldn't be envious in the least. I like that we're all a part of the cycle of birth and death on this fabulous, cyclical planet of ours. So next time time I'm feeling envious, I'll just remind myself that one day I'm going to die, just like the person I envy.
Death is the great leveller. It's something we all share, sooner or later. Knowledge of our inevitable death puts things into perspective, and that curtails odious, self-destructive comparison to others. It's strange how my current obsession with death, which I've alluded to in recent blurbs, has supplanted the feelings of envy I've harboured for many years. It's also strange that I feel much more stable preoccupied with death than when I was living with the wobblies and making myself sick with envy.
No doubt it's my age, the time of year, and recent turn of fortune that has killed envy and turned my thoughts to a seemingly darker mode. It's like the Death card in the tarot. When it turns up in a reading, it rarely signifies physical death. Death XIII in the tarot tells of the passing of an old way of life, a clearing out of the past, and the birth, albeit sometimes painful, of the fresh and new. The tarot Death card is about rebirth, and purging the unwanted and unnecessary.
Well, I've no need or desire for envy. So for now, at least, good riddance to bad rubbish.
So mote it be.
- G. P.

A Thousand Words

The picture here is not a pretty one. It's a photograph of the house where I used to live over 6 years ago. I didn't own the house; I rented the flat on the 2nd floor, but I called it home for 24 years. The big, gaping hole on the upper level used to be the living room. The burnt out window to the right is where my bedroom used to be.
My home of almost a quarter of a century burnt down this past June, after being abandoned and boarded up for over 6 years. I was evicted, along with the other tenants in the house, and everyone else in the five century homes on the same side of the street. Most of the tenants on that side of the street were various artists and other low-income persons. After we were evicted by the landlord/developers - nice development, eh? - they boarded up all the houses and left them derelict for squatters to regularly invade and occupy. The squatters would be booted out on a regular basis, the doors were boarded up again, and then the desperate folk looking for shelter would come back, knock down the doors and start the whole cycle over again. It went on like this until somebody, looking to warm themselves one chilly night, lit a fire in my former home and shut it down for good.
I tell this sorry little story because it's a perfect metaphor for my life right now; at least it was at the time of the fire. There have been profound changes in my life this past year, most of them good, or at least resulting in something good. When I was evicted from my home, it was a death of sorts - a death of a way of life I had known for half my life at the time. There was sadness and struggle, and a lot of purging. I rid myself of more than half of what I'd accumulated in all those years living there, and have been purging a little all the time ever since. But along with this highly significant "death" in my life, there was also renewal.
Fast forward more than 6 years to the present, when my life and circumstances have changed again, and the house I was so unceremoniously kicked out of burns down. I found out about what had happened to my house upon my return from my brief and joyous sojourn abroad. And of course I don't think it's simply a random event in my life that my old digs should burn down when and how they did. In the years following my eviction, I sometimes returned to see how my long-time, former home was doing. It was falling apart rapidly, of course, and signs of the cyclical coming and going of squatters was clearly evident. I suppose that's not so surprising; the abandoned houses were practically calling out to homeless people to come and try them out.
My former home was only one of five, large, once-beautiful houses all abandoned and boarded up at the same time. I couldn't help noticing that the only house that was ever crashed into by squatters was mine. And no matter how many times the illegal tenants got shut out of there, they always came back to my place, even though the other homes were as accessible as mine. Go figure.
Of course I apply significance to that fact. I like to think that a certain sense of a happy home still surrounded the place more than the others. You know - good vibes. There was a certain magic to the house and its surroundings. Sometimes people even commented on it. So maybe even homeless folks looking for a good place to crash sensed it as well. I watched all this going on over the subsequent years following my eviction, moving twice in the interim and ending up in my current abode. Things didn't really get much easier and "luckier" for me (whatever that is) until this year, and then wouldn't you know, when I finally felt the struggle and yearning abate, and a brand new life begin, my former home goes up in flames. It became a symbol of my former life being over for good. I couldn't go back even if I wanted to.
I'm dwelling on this right now because of the time of year, and time of life - I have a significant birthday ending in a zero coming up. I've been pondering my upcoming birthday ever since my last birthday, and these symbolic events don't let me forget it. The Zen saying - while you are living know that you are dying - is about living your life while being aware of your own mortality. That isn't morbid. It makes a person aware of what is truly important in this life.
But I'm tired now. I'm aware that my neck and shoulders ache from sitting at the computer for too long, and that it's important for me to recognize that and stop hurting myself more, despite the pleasure I get from writing another little blurb on my little web. I'm also aware that it's mid-afternoon and the rain and clouds that have been around all day are departing, and are leaving behind a fresh, moist, not-quite-fiery-red-and-gold autumn day. I shall go walking and breathing and thence to a closing shift at the bookstore where I work.
Everything happens for a reason (well - most things - the Universe includes randomness, of course), and the messages, signs and symbols the Universe sends me do not go unnoticed. Some of those signs aren't pretty, but they're often the ones that pack the biggest punch. So I'm off to look for more signs - nice, happy signs - on what's turning out to be a lovely day. And I'll leave you with a nice, happy sign, too. Enjoy.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Another First Day

Happy Autumnal Equinox!
I could not let this day go by without writing on my little web and wishing any well-wishers an auspicious first day of fall.
It's truly a first day of fall for me. It's a little bit sad due to some personal things in my life, but it's mostly good. Still, I'd be in denial to ignore the sad things that happen or pass through life. That makes it a perfect metaphor for the first day of this happy-kind-of-sad season, at least for yours truly.
I have much to look forward to, as one does on the first day of anything. But there are also things that I worry and wonder about, things I know are inevitable and not necessarily welcome. Death is one of those things. This is the time of year that heralds the arrival of death. But with death, I'm glad to say, renewal will come, sooner or later, in one form or anther.
It's really piss-pouring rain outside as I write this. It's a not-so-gentle reminder that tears must fall. But it's still very beautiful. There are trees turning colour in a safe, peaceful, familiar scene just outside my window. It's a contemplative moment that I'm daring to share with others.
Not all peaceful moments are without sadness. This day reminds me of that very clearly. But there is beauty in sadness, too. (And please, I'm not talking about shock or grief, at least not on an immediate, personal level.) I associate sadness with quietude, and that's where I am right now. Some of this time I have right now is sad, but not so bad. It is what it is etc etc and all that.
So here's to the Autumnal Equinox. It's a First Day, and I'm into first days big time. I have a lot to look forward to, as well as my share of things that must come even if I don't want them to. That pretty much describes this season for me. I'm learning to embrace that fact of life. That's good, too, because it will always come and I can't change that.
So my wish for any good souls who come by this way is to have a glorious fall, and a good and peaceful life, and death in its own, good time.
So mote it be.
- G. P.

Pregnant

Anticipation is part of the joy - a large part - of knowing when something you've wanted or wished for will happen. Studies have shown that when people are given a choice of whether they would prefer to visit a dream destination within a week, or within a couple of months, the vast majority preferred to wait. Why? Anticipation.
Dreaming or imagining something you long to do can be bittersweet if there seems to be no end in sight to longing and yearning. But all that wistful yearning becomes gleeful anticipation when a wish or a dream is coming true. That's happening to me right now. I'm living in a state of happy anticipation for the fulfilment of a long-held dream. Goddess knows I've had my share of joy and wish-fulfillment this year, and I'm very grateful. It hasn't always been this way for me. In a number of my earlier posts from the previous 2 years, I discuss making the best out of restrictive, mundane circumstances - living in the moment and enjoying just breathing, walking, eating, listening etc etc and so forth. You know - the "be here now" thing. I still try to be completely present and in the moment whilst doing those things, but I've got the added bonus of anticipating a wonderful event coming into my life. In just over 6 weeks from now I will be seeing a dream come true. I'm going on a yoga retreat in a magical, mystical part of the world, very far away from home, somewhere I've longed to go for many, many years.
My regular readers will no doubt have observed that I've don't name exactly where I live or where I've been or what place I'm writing about. That's because I want to emphasize my experience, and what I learned and felt. In other words, I prefer to write about my inner journey more than the external one. I also like to think that much of my inner life could happen anywhere, and isn't necessarily the product of where I've been. Of course, a change of scenery is more likely to create a change of mind than the tedium of daily, unchanging routine, otherwise there wouldn't be so much travel literature out there. And I also realize that the yoga retreat I'm going on is in the sort of place that would make it almost impossible not to name, which I shall do when the time is right. But for now, I won't be specific because this particular blurb is about my anticipation of the whole experience, and not the place itself.
And so the experience has begun. My life and time spent doing what I do every day has been enriched merely by the fact that I'm full of expectation. Looking forward to the very near future is not robbing me of the present moment, not in this case. In fact, when small, ordinary irritations and inconveniences occur, I just close my eyes for a moment and think of what's to come. I'm not wasting the precious here and now with dreams of what isn't or hasn't happened. I'm making the present moment richer and deeper with pleasant thoughts.
My year so far has been filled with adventure and new experiences, and in-between those times I've been blessed with the anticipation of more to come, because I know and like what's coming. Constant yearning is distracting and deleterious to conscious living. It can make a person bitter. Anticipation makes a person better. And I'm better these past months than I've been in a long, long time.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Wonderful

I walked home from a friend's place last night in a state of wonder. I walked westward, facing one of the most spectacular evening skies I've ever seen, and it happened on an ordinary day in the city that is my home. I hadn't gone to another part of the world to witness this natural beauty, I just happened to chance on it when the conditions were just right for creating the vivid, stratified, pink and pale blue cloud formations that graced the western horizon. I didn't think that pastel colours could be so vivid, but they were, and only as Mother Nature can create them.
Although I didn't perceive any movement in the clouds, the scene altered and shifted rapidly. When I realised how quickly the beauty before me would disappear, I began to quicken my pace to get home and take a picture from my back yard. I managed to do so while there was still plenty of colour and texture, but my efforts as a nature photographer left me disappointed. The picture I captured paled in comparison to what was out there. Nevertheless, I was grateful to have had some sense of what I'd witnessed recorded and filed away in my photo album.
The random gift that was presented to me at the end of a seemingly ho-hum day isn't the only thing I'll recall whenever I refer to those pictures. As I walked down the city sidewalk, focussed on the grandeur before me, I passed a lot of people - sitting in cafés and pubs, or walking the same direction as I. The glorious sky was so striking it was practically in-their-faces, but I could count the number of people on my hand who bothered to pause and look at it. Even people walking directly west didn't seem to notice at all, or, if they did notice - and I don't know which is worse - seemed completely unimpressed. Of the dozens of people I walked by, there were, of course, a few who were awestruck, and we exchanged a few knowing words or smiles. Mutual acknowledgement deepens appreciation. And boy-oh-boy, was I ever glad there were others who cared about the grand gift they'd been offered. My dismay in my insensitive fellow human beings was beginning to taint my elation, and also in danger of making me feel superior. (Not a good way to feel.) Fortunately, Mother Nature is mightier than I, and the magnificent sky she had painted overwhelmed and subdued my petty human concerns. Nevertheless, I was left with something to complain about in this little web of mine today.
I'm not really complaining, though. I prefer to think of it as "observation." And what I observed in the sky last night far outweighs my disappointment in my fellow mortals. It put things into perspective. Our Earth and all its wonders is greater than any single human being. We are all a part of this Earth, and indeed, all of creation. Spending a few minutes looking upon a vast and glorious sight brought out the best in me. I was there, and I was a part of it. I was filled with wonder. I was wonderful. Seeing a wondrous sunset made me that way, and that's the best gift of all.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Artful Living

Living is an art, and living well is an even finer art. You can be an artist every moment of every day, simply by slowing down, enjoying the wonderful act of breathing, and listening. But what, you may ask, are you creating? Yourself. You are creating yourself. Everything you think, do, and say, shapes who you are.
Next time you have your picture taken, smile. Everyone looks better when they smile. Creating a better you is not rocket science. It's a simple matter of conscious living. So why not slow down right now? You're probably sitting at a computer as you read this, but you can slow down even more by breathing deeply, and listening. There are so many things to hear even as you read this, and you can notice them without losing focus on what you're doing, which, at the moment, is reading.
Taking your time, breathing, and listening makes you look better, because you're more centred and more relaxed. It might even make you smile, and that'll make you look better still. You'll be creating a better, more attractive you.
That's all for now. I just wanted to slow down, become aware of my breathing, and listen. That's what I've been doing while writing these words. They're not poetic or profound, but I've had a few minutes of conscious living, and I feel better for it. For the time being, I've created a better me.
Have a good day.
- G.P.

Drivel

Happy September! The arrival of September means that summer is drawing to a close, and I've had a good one - a very good one, indeed. But I'm not letting the fact that one of the best summers of my life is coming to an end get me down. Nosiree. You see, I've just laid the foundation for the rest of my life - the best of my life. And for a not-so-young-anymore person like me, that's really saying something. I've always been a later-bloomer, in every phase of my life, and that applies to the narrative arc of my entire life as well. I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpios are traditionally late-bloomers.
So that's why I'm spending time on my little web writing goddess-knows-what just to make sure I set the tone for the entire month (it's the first day of September) and for the rest of my life, for that matter.
I'm going back to my "straight" job today, but that doesn't mean I'll be spending the rest of my life there. No way. It simply means I'll be earning money for the rest of my life. See how that works? I'm writing right here and now - that's me being creative, expressing myself. I went to yoga this morning, so I'm keeping myself fit. I've performed a few necessary tasks that make for right and responsible living, and I've made connections with people via email. All this is good. Makes for a good life to come.
I'm focussing on living well for just one day, and so far, so good. Just hope I can keep it up whilst I'm at work. That's the real challenge for the day. But if I can go to work, stay upbeat and polite and do a good job (I sell books - it's not so bad), then I'll have had had an exemplary day.
Only one thing's missing - I need time for fun, for pleasure. I've had some down time and relaxation, but I want to have fun to make my day complete. But shouldn't what I'm doing right now be the fun part? I'm a writer and an actress. Artists are supposed to love what they do. They're supposed to be passionate about their work. I don't know if being passionate about something is the same as having fun, but if I just keep moving my fingers over the keyboard, sooner or later I might realize that I'm enjoying myself. But I'm beginning to think maybe not. My neck and shoulders are sore and tense. Sitting at a computer for longer than 30 minutes does that to me. That's why I'm so glad I don't work in an office, sitting all day at a desk. That's not me. Not at all.
I'm still waiting for a theme to emerge from this little blurb I'm spitting out. Nothing so far... I've already explained why I'm writing this. That was the beginning. But I need a theme. I need a how. If I don't have a theme I won't be able to have a proper middle section - the development of my thesis - and if I don't have a middle, then horror of horrors, how on earth can I have an ending? A conclusion? Aargh!
You see, I've got a mandate for the day, for this first day of September, so I'll just keep slugging away until the muse descends, or not, so that I can make some pithy little statement, or not, to conclude this rambling, pointless blurb.
My neck and shoulders are in spasm, but I've written a bit of nonsense and will determine if it was fun once I get off the computer and roll and rub my shoulders a bit. But I feel sorry for you, dear reader. I'm sorry that you've read to this point (if, indeed, you have made it this far) and find that I've no wisdom to impart. All I've done is indulge myself in my usual first-day-of-anything-sets-the-tone habit, and come up with this drivel. My humblest apologies. Please forgive me. I hope you can, because - to quote one of my heroes, Mahatma Gandhi - the weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.
There. Now you don't have to forgive me, because I've finally shared a bit of wisdom on this little web of mine, and from someone much wiser than I.
Namaste.
- G.P.
p.s. I think I'm finally able to say I had some fun. Whew.

Misty-Eyed

It's a quiet, still, misty morning. The sky is zen-gray. Although I know it must and will do its sun-shiny thing, I wouldn't mind if the sun stayed obscured by the mist a little while longer than usual, because this moist, soothing air puts me in a similar mood. No wonder mist is associated with the Otherworld. Things are hidden or half-seen. It evokes the kind of magic in folk and fairy tales.
I'm going to be quiet all day. I shall be watching a funeral on television. I know I will be moved, because I respected and admired the man who's being laid to rest. Many other people did as well. Tears will flow freely. I want to weep softly with people who feel the same way. It's sad, but not bad. Not bad at all.
I want to feel my heart burst. That's something I seldom feel. It's good to know I still can be moved in that way. The weather looks the way I feel - wistful, misty and mild. I'm leaving now to go for a walk in the park and breathe in the rich, moist air, and think what-might-have-been thoughts. I'm grateful to the man who's made me feel like this. So it's not so bad. Not so bad at all.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

In and Out of Time

One of the loveliest gifts I've ever received was a visit from a turtle. It happened at a cottage where I recently spent a week with friends. My slow friend, Monica, (ref. Dec. 15, 2009 post) and I, were lounging by the lake when she noticed a large, mature turtle swimming very near the end of the dock. We approached it very carefully, and noticed that it was lying face-up, on its back, close to the surface of the water. Perhaps it was enjoying the warm sun. It's hard to say, because I'm no expert on turtles. However, it was clear it felt no threat from either of the humans who stood so near. After a few moments of sunning herself, the turtle began to explore the shallow water, diving down and then swimming back up to the surface, each time getting closer and closer to Monica and me.
The turtle took its time, of course. She wasn't in any rush to go anywhere. In fact, she looked as if she wanted to check us out. On one of her final ascents to the surface, mere inches from the edge of the dock where we stood, she appeared to be looking straight at us, as if to say "I trust you. You're okay, so take a good look at me while you can." Her slow, easy movements in the water were mesmerizing. She was putting on a great show.
The turtle hung around for several breathtaking minutes. I usually reserve the word "breathtaking" for something that's spectacular, and wouldn't have thought to use such a term for the graceful display of turtle in its natural habitat. As lovely as that is, I would have thought that it wasn't spectacular enough to be considered breathtaking. But Mother Nature continues to teach me otherwise. Only after the turtle finished checking us out and showing off her expert swimming skills - although it hung around for a while afterwards, swimming here and there, under and around the dock - did I realize I had been holding my breath as I watched her aquatic manoeuvres. I didn't dare breathe in case I broke the spell. And a spell it most surely was.
The time I spent watching that turtle was magical. I felt suspended between worlds; everything else around me fell away. I was rapt. And I don't suppose it surprises any of my readers when I say there's no way that turtle's visit was random. I'm pretty sure if Monica and I had been fishermen or hunters standing on the same dock, the turtle wouldn't have approached us. As a matter of fact, animals and birds had been approaching the shoreline of the property quite boldly for several days. I've been to the same cottage once before, when Monica wasn't there, and the wildlife guests were fewer and farther between. I'm pretty sure it's because Monica has a delicate, quiet magic about her, which she disguises well with a practical, measured approach to life. For serious health reasons, she moves through life slowly and carefully. One of her principal totems is surely the turtle.
Turtles are symbolic of the fairy realm, because they spend much of their time between water and land, in-between one place and another. In-between places are considered to be portals to the otherworld. On a number of occasions, when I've been with Monica, I've noticed strange, very subtle and inexplicable occurrences that qualify as magical in my books.
The turtle is also one of the most universal symbols for Mother Earth, because of it's shape and the fact that she carries her home with her all the time. Turtles represent long life and wisdom as well, because they live longer than any other animal on the planet. It so happens the turtle of this story appeared to us on a full moon. Not-so-coincidentally, native North Americans associate the turtle with lunar cycles and feminine energies, which is why I've been referring to the turtle that visited us as female.
I paid attention to the turtle's message. She reminded me to slow down, breathe and observe the rhythms of nature. Indeed, I felt a momentary deep connection to that turtle. I believe she was genuinely revealing herself to Monica and me, and not just randomly passing by. Imagined or not, the connection felt very real to me, and just because something isn't real, doesn't mean it isn't true. Anyone who spends time suspended between worlds, even though it may just be in their nightly dreams, knows whereof I speak.
I spent a few minutes with a quiet, gentle creature that took my breath away. The vision of that turtle rising to the surface of the water, looking straight at me, trusting and teaching me, shall remain with me for the rest of my life. And maybe, just maybe, if I listen to Turtle's lessons, my life will be long, and my choices wise.
Blessed be,
- G.P.

Green Hearts

Green is my favourite colour. When I'm surrounded by a lot of green, especially from natural sources, I feel soothed and pacified. That's not unusual, most people do. It's one of he properties of the colour. It's also associated with fertility and material abundance. All these statements about the symbolism of the colour green are real no-brainers, of course. You'd have to have the imagination of an amoeba not to figure that out. So why then, am I telling you this?
Since I began practising yoga I've become more aware of my chakras - the seven centres of spiritual and physical energy in the body. Each chakra is associated with one of the seven colours of the spectrum, beginning with red at the root chakra at the base of the spine, and ending with violet at the crown chakra at the top of the head. Green is right smack in the middle of the spectrum, associated with the heart chakra. Before I began practising yoga, I didn't pay much attention to the chakras. I knew about them of course, but I wasn't expending any energy on balancing them, which is really a way of saying I had no physical practise for finding emotional and spiritual balance. Well, when I started to realize just how effective yoga was for my psychological health, not to mention physical, I began doing some serious study into the chakra thing. I took some online tests to find out which of my chakras were balanced, and which ones were over or under-developed. The results were always fascinating. They pretty much described my psychological make-up. My heart chakra, associated with the colour green, is - uh - under-developed. (My throat chakra, the centre of expression and speech, is over-developed. Hmm...)
Anyway, these interesting-only-to-me facts hit me squarely over the head - or should I say the crown chakra? - when I was abroad earlier this year. The latter part of my sojourn was on an island-nation that's mostly made out of volcanic rock. There really isn't much green in that part of the world. There's lots of spectacular scenery, but not much of the green kind - you know, trees and vegetation and such. So I was taking a day tour around some of the beauty spots of this small, volcanic island when we drove through some awesome mountains right on the south coast where the Gulf Stream flows. There was lots of mild weather and water to put a lush, green carpet of moss and scrubby vegetation all over the southern face of the mountain range. By this time on my travels I'd been away for almost a month, and although I'd seen much beauty and wonder, both natural and human-made, in sunnier climes as well as the aforementioned northern volcanic island, I hadn't been moved to tears, and a few of my friends assured me I would be. Within moments of spying the verdant blanket that adorned the volcanic cliffs, I began to weep for the beauty of it all. Even as I wept, I realized I had seen many things of equal, but quite different beauty, and couldn't understand why this sight would cause me to shed copious tears when nothing else had. I was deeply moved to see my favourite colour, in all its splendour, splashed across the mountains, and then I remembered that green is the colour of the heart chakra, the chakra associated with emotion, tenderness and compassion - of good, old-fashioned feeling. Laying my eyes upon all that green had opened up my heart chakra. I felt a connection between the colour I was looking at and the way I felt. It was a thrilling realization, a thrilling sensation.
I suppose I should end this blurb now, because that's all I have to say about that. But it's enough.
Blessed be. And think green.
- G.P.

The Magic of Science

The world is full of wonders, but it becomes even more wondrous when there is science to help us appreciate it. I suppose that may seem strange coming from a putative magical thinker like me, and I suppose the oxymoronic title of this blurb might offend some. But I've clearly stated in my mandate for this little web of mine that nothing I believe goes against proven physical laws of nature. Some of what I believe hasn't been proven to be true or false - yet. And that's as far as I go with my magical thinking. Mind you, that's pretty far, because it's an immeasurably vast Universe and there's so much we have yet to learn. And how are we learning it? Through science, through the study of the natural world, and inner and outer space. Through biology, neuroscience, physics, astronomy, chemistry, geology, and numerous other disciplines and branches of science. Humanity is able to probe deeper and farther than ever before. The strides made in the last 100 years in science and technology are greater than in all of previous history. What an exciting age we live in.
I enjoy reading popular science books. I want to know how things work, at least at my basic science 101 level. I need to understand fundamental principles, the how of things, before I can ponder the why of things. The latter is much more my purview, mostly because I'm a writer, actor and storyteller, and not a scientist. I'm often more comfortable living in my imagination than I am in the real world. But when the real world out there takes my breath away with its splendour and wonder, and it frequently does, I want to understand it. I want to learn about it. I want to be able to name whatever natural phenomenon has caught my fancy. If I can do that, then I'm able to explain why I'm awestruck. That's when I'm able to share my wonder, to talk about it in comprehensible language. Understanding how something works has never diminished my awe. Indeed, it magnifies it.
I'm a bit of a white-knuckle flier. I can't wrap my head around the fact that I'm sitting in thousands of tons of metal that manages to get off the ground and fly thousands of feet up into the stratosphere. Even my nascent understanding of thrust and lift and trajectory does nothing to quell my fears. But my awe and respect for the people who designed and made these feats of engineering is increased when I realize how much knowledge and expertise they have in order to do what they do.
Knowing that the sweet sounds of the cicada's buzz in high summer is coming from creatures who have spent 17 years underground makes their sound even more special, and yes, more magical to me. Somebody studied these creatures over many years to determine their life cycle. The patience and dedication required to do long-range studies of anything inspires me.
The English word science is derived from the Latin scientia, meaning knowledge. The axiom "knowledge is power" pretty much describes for me why I love science. I feel stronger and more capable when I know what's happening. Doesn't everybody? Imagine the fear when superstitious ancient peoples gazed up at a solar eclipse or a comet. Now we can enjoy the sight of those astronomical wonders without all the widespread panic.
Every time I understand something about the natural world and the vast reaches of outer or inner space just a lttle bit better, even at my lowly level, another piece of this grand puzzle we call life falls into place. That's when I start to muse about things unseen, unknown, and unexplained - so far.
But all the things that fascinate me will only ever be properly understood through scientific study. I probably won't be around when some of the big questions about the nature of existence are finally and fully explained in one big, fat unified theory, but it's thrilling to be a part of the ride.
- G.P.

Live and Learn

We are all teachers, and all of us are students, too. That's one of the best lessons I've ever learned. It helps me cope with people who annoy me, or simply don't like. In fact, I find those very people are the ones who have the most to teach me. When I regard individuals who make me grind me teeth, or put me into a slow burn, I ask myself what exactly irritates me right now, and what can I do about it? Try to change and/or teach the offending individual? Hardly. In that case I'd be putting myself in the position of teacher or mentor, the one who thinks they are wiser or know better. Whether or not that is true, it's not a good way to approach life and learning.

Be a student. Live to learn - from everyone and everything. Talk less, listen more. Breathe deeply. Pay attention. I try to live by these simple rules all the time. I'm not always successful, especially when I encounter people who really irritate me to no end - the guy who leans on his horn in a traffic jam, or the selfish old biddy at the cash desk who takes forever to count out all her change, or people who butt in line, or constantly interrupt conversation. These are just some of the minor annoyances. The more someone bugs me, the bigger the lesson I have to learn.

Sometimes I feel the need to teach. That's when I can be a model student as well. I won't call myself a sage, but I can pretend to be - by keeping silent and observing. That's teaching by example. And while I sit in pseudo-sagacious silence, I'm learning as well, maybe not hard facts and information, but something far more valuable than that - patience and tolerance. (Now don't get me wrong. Cruelty and hatred must never be tolerated.) But everyone has something to teach us, whether they do it intentionally or not.

Anyway, that's all I have time for now. I don't want to preach. I was just thinking "out loud."

- G. P.

Starry Night

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Wow! Now there's an original, pithy little maxim. But as trite as it may be, it pretty much describes what I'm feeling right now. I haven't met my own standard of performance level with my current gig after 4 shows, and I'm trying to not let it get me down, becuase it won't serve me well for what's to come. So I'm going through the usual, self-help affirmations about letting the past go (in this case the very recent past) and moving on. Every day is a brand new beginning. (And the clichés continue!)
But I really do have to think these things in order to undo my current frame of mind. The only way to eradicate my current disappointment is to establish a new, firm foundation by getting one good show under my belt, and building from there.
I'm actually quite surprised I'm confessing all this in a public forum. It goes against the mandate of my little web, and I'm not wont to spreading my personal little insecurities on-line. Like who cares anyway? But it's my little web and I'll wobble if I want to. I also like to believe that my simple solutions to ordinary problems might serve others. That's basically why I do this. I like to think my little web has some broader appeal than simply being an on-line journal. I've got a pen and paper journal for that kind of down and dirty complaining. But I digress...
A bumpy beginning does not mean the rest of the journey will be the same. I know I've mentioned a number of times that I believe the first day or time at anything sets a tone, and I still believe that, but I also believe that that none of that is set in stone. Then what purpose does a bumpy start serve? For little old, new-agey me it means I have to work a little harder and climb a little higher to overcome an unwelcome challenge. What I'm doing is challenging enough without the less-than-stellar start. But that's where things are and that's what I have to deal with.
So there you have it. I've laid my soul bare for all the world to see, and I'm declaring a brand new day and a brand new life starting now. That's a bit of a challenge for me, because in case you don't know or haven't noticed, I'm a tad superstitious. Being a magical thinker is one thing, but allowing superstitious hokum to derail me is entirely another. The Universe is offering me a chance to prove to myself that I can change that at anytime. And the time is now.
I'm turning lemons into lemonade and proving to myself that it's not over 'til it's over and the fat lady sings. I'm relying on the wisdom of hackneyed clichés to pull me through my own morass of self-imposed superstitious bilge. Just watch me. (Okay, so you can't literally do that. But please allow me just a little more worn-out rhetoric. I'm doing my best, so work with me here.)
Anyway, I needed to do this. Thanks for "listening." Maybe this little pep-talk to myself helped someone else out there who has the same flaky issues. I hope so.
- G. P.

Hot and Lazy

It's so hot right now that even sitting perfectly still makes me sweat. That's okay, too. I like sitting still, and if I have a really good reason, such as if I were moving and doing something, it might make me woozy, then all the more reason to sit and do nothing. Of course, writing on my little web, as I'm doing right now, isn't really doing nothing, but since I have nothing to say, I figure it's just about the same thing.
I can read, of course, and I have been. I've also been writing in my journal. But mostly I've been saving my energy for my work these days, which is doing a short summer theatre gig. I'm grateful, in a way, for the enervating, sweltering heat. It makes me too laid back and low key to be nervous. Anticipating the preview tonight brings butterflies to my stomach, but I'm too hot to shiver.
Which brings me to a serious question ... Why is it politically incorrect to suggest that cultures and countries in warmer climates are more laid back and less inclined to be rushing and pushing to get somewhere? I've mentioned that a couple of times in conversation and have been roundly chastised for it. How dare I make such sweeping generalizations? I'm not saying tropical cultures are lazy and less ambitious (although I don't think the latter is such a bad thing), I'm merely pointing out that Mother Nature rules, and always has, which is something I repeat over and over again in these blurbs of mine. Climate and geography have determined people's culture in so many ways, from the way we dress, to the buildings we occupy, to the things we do well or don't do at all. And much, much more. After all, necessity is the mother of invention, and the circumstances we live in determine what we need. (Let's face it, the Jamaican bobsled team in the 1988 Winter Olympics was an anomaly.)
Humans are shaped by where they live on this planet. Sure, we influence each other, but this earth of ours shaped us first, and continues to do so. She gets us to move house and home even if we don't want to, just as much as any oppressive political regime. Weather affects our moods on a daily basis, so why on earth shouldn't it affect an entire group of people's consciousness over thousands of years? My mood and behaviour right now have been caused almost entirely by the hot, sweltering weather. It makes me respect this earth and all her wonders more than ever.
Go ahead. I dare you. Go outside wherever you are and tell me that what's going on out there in terms of weather doesn't influence your mood in some small or large way. Of course it does. So think about this planet of ours and the myriad different moods and faces she's had over the millennia, and notice what a great tapestry of people's and cultures there are, and where they are, and how they are. That's the power of this earth. That's the power of Nature. How dare we try to conquer her.
Go with her flow. Live in harmony. And if that means being lazy and doing nothing on a hot summer's day, then all the more power to you.
- G.P.

Sweet Nothing

It's early in the evening, and I've spent all of my spare time today mostly doing nothing. "Nothing" consists of some quiet meditation, a little reading, eating something here, drinking something there and briefly browsing the web for some inspiration on how to do nothing - which entails visiting minimalist sites. All this, mind you, was only in my spare time. I'm currently living in a lovely, sleepy little town in my part of the world, rehearsing for a light dramatic piece of summer theatre. The cottage I'm living in for five weeks is perfect for one person. When I'm not at the theatre rehearsing for our 2 and a half week run which begins in 3 days, I spend most of my time doing nothing. And I love it.
I haven't listened to the radio, watched t.v. or read a newspaper since I arrived here. I guess that's a holdover from having been in foreign lands for a while before coming here, because I didn't do any of those things then either. The most engagement I have with media and the wired world at large is on my computer, surfing the web a little, writing the occasional little blurb here on my little web, as well as reading and writing emails.
I haven't felt this centred and balanced for a long, long time. Sure, I miss yoga - there are very few classes available to me here, and I'm not disciplined enough to practise on my own - but I'm hearing sounds and seeing sights that haven't been filtered and edited by technological wizardry. I don't really miss music, either, although last night when one of my fellow cast members drove me home, she had the fabulous songstress Adele's latest c.d. playing, and I daresay I had a rocking good listen for 5 minutes or so. But mostly I'm fine just being quiet, alone and still during my down time. But there's one slight problem...
This morning, before going to the theatre, my slow, easy time alone at my temporary home almost made me feel guilty. I felt as if I should be doing something besides being quiet and contemplative. I should have been producing something. I should have been active and engaged in a high speed, high-tech life. I felt so calm and centred, and somehow still managed to feel a residue of guilt for it. After all, couldn't I do everything I'd done, or not done, at least with the radio or stereo on? Maybe I should have caught up on the news. After all, I'm supposed to know what's going on so that I can have an opinion on it. And I must admit a couple of times in the last couple of weeks I've certainly felt out of the loop about certain headline making shenanigans by corrupt media moguls, but a couple of well-placed questions filled in the gaps quite quickly, at least enough to satisfy my waning curiosity in the affairs of the outside, material world.
So I'm okay. I'm presently ignorant of the nitty-gritty details of current events, but I'm okay. I'm sure I'm not harming anyone or anything more than usual, including myself. In fact, I believe I may be treading even more lightly on this beautiful, wondrous earth of ours than I would be if I were engaged in a loud, busy, urban life. During the day I'm being creative and getting paid to do what I love to do. The rest of the time I'm mostly minding my own business and letting the rest just be. So what's wrong with that? I'll tell you what. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Namaste.
- G.P.

ha ha ha

That's it. I've had it. No more.
The cyber sprites are at it again and have rendered the list of my fanatical followers invisible.
Okay you guys, you win.
I won't go on about this sordid little business anymore on this little web of mine.
But I will leave a lovely picture of an invisible butterfly for my fans to enjoy.
And a big fat raspberry to you.
So there.
- G.P.

Cyber Sprites

Okay. That's it. Just as I was finishing my last blurb mere minutes ago, and railing about how some unknown element of the Universe is laughing at me and how the list of my followers will probably appear back on my web to make me feel like an even bigger fool than I am, my entire blurb fell off the screen, (I have no idea why, I wasn't doing anything I don't normally do) and within moments a whole new screen came up with all my followers back in place, and all the technical problems I've been having with engineering my web for the last 5 months gone. (I won't even go there - but suffice it to say, the recent problems have made entering these blurbs a lot more difficult for me lately.) Anyway, my little web is working better than ever. I've got my followers back, and I feel a bigger fool than ever. But I don't mind. (If you just joined me now, dear reader, take a look at the previous 2 entries and you'll know whereof I speak.)
The upshot of all this is I've now figured out just what is laughing at me. It's technology. It always has, and I guess it always will. Damn those cyber-sprites. They'll get you every time.
- G. P.

The Last Laugh

Well well well. I know it can't just be me, but sometimes I feel as if it is...
The Universe is playing games with me again. But if I were to be rational about this, it isn't doing anything with me in particular at all, because the Universe just doesn't care. It's completely indifferent, I know. It doesn't have will or intention, but since I have to attribute the odd little occurrences and synchronicities in my life to something apart from chance, I'll just keep using the same vocabulary I always have in these little blurbs of mine to explain another one.
If you're reading this, dear followers, then perhaps you've read the previous yarn I wove into this little web of mine. It's about being alone and apart and facing my true self and how so many things in my life reflect that on the material level and how it all fits together in the expanding picture-puzzle that is my life. Whilst writing my last blurb I came upon a technical hitch which was announced to me by a window that popped up from the blog-people who rule the technical side of my web. I overcame that problem fairly quickly, and was deeply grateful that for that, otherwise it might have ruined my day, being the technopeasant that I am. The point is, when I returned to view my pretty little web, I noticed that all my followers had disappeared. When I scrolled down the right hand column where my legion of fans are listed - all nine of them, myself being one - there was a blank space. I discovered this little glitch just as I was writing about how certain events in the material world reflected my inner life as a person alone, as a spinster. If you glance back you will see that the words I used were about not sharing my life with anyone. Then lo and behold, the sweet, cute little space devoted to showing my fan base was a complete void. A black, blank nothing.
I know you good people are still out there, and maybe some of you still read my little web, but you know me well enough by now to know that I consider this to be significant, if only as a joke that some random vibe (yes, I, Gossamer Penwyche, am using the word random - after all, the Universe isn't complete without both cosmos* and chaos) intersected my little web and created a weird and wonderful illustration of what I'm always going on and on about.
I'm not unduly upset - except that, aesthetically speaking, I don't like that blank space there - but I can't help thinking that the laugh's on me. But just who or what is laughing?
Don't get me wrong. This is not a call to my friends and followers to sign up again to prove your loyalty. Please don't. Not necessary. I'm more secure than that. And for all I know, tomorrow I may log back onto my little web and find the list of you lovely people back in the vacant space, and feel even more foolish for having spent time weaving this thread into my web. But I can't help noticing this funny little fluke. And of course I had to share it.
See? I am still sharing my life.
Blessed be.
- G. P.
* cosmos - Gr. for order or beauty

Sleeping Alone

What exactly is a vacation? I never referred to my not-as-recent-anymore sojourn abroad as a vacation, because I associate a vacation with lying on a tropical beach or sitting on a dock and drinking beer. That wasn't the nature of my "vacation." But I guess I did vacate in one way or another.

So what did I vacate? My home? My mundane obligations and responsibilities? My home, for sure. But I certainly remained responsible. I had to. Getting around in a foreign land where you don't speak the language requires being very responsible. In fact, it's a lot easier for me to vacate at home with a glass of wine and some herbal refreshment, especially when I'm feeling over-burdened with the ordinary duties required to get through life. And it's a real no-brainer to point out that the more one indulges in that mode of vacating, the more one is vacant.

I'm going on about all this because the longer I was away from home, where everything is familiar and frequently ordinary, the more I became aware that I wasn't on what I consider to be a vacation at all. I came face to face with who I am on a daily basis, sometimes quite painfully.

When one is bleezed through substance abuse, that's a definite retreat from yourself. That's the exact opposite of looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing who you really are. And let's face it, people who go that route to vacate don't want to face themselves.

Okay. So I didn't go on a vacation. I went away. But the irony of all this is that the first week of my sojourn was actually a retreat. Yes, I went on a yoga retreat in a beautiful, bucolic part of the world and had signed myself up to share accommodations with a stranger for six nights. The stranger I'd been booked to share a capacious, zen-like room with was a fellow practitioner of yoga, and therefore it should have been easy to live amicably together. And it no doubt would have been if I didn't snore like a chain saw. (A friend and former co-habitator once described my snoring that way.) Anyway, the very fine lady I shared the very fine accommodations with the first night didn't get a wink of sleep. I don't think she would have said anything to me, because I know she didn't want to hurt my feelings, but I asked her the next morning how she slept, and she very wisely decided to tell me the truth. According to her I snore like a sailor. Sheesh.

Anyway, I could see she was genuinely exhausted from lack of sleep, and everyone else on the retreat noticed it too. She discreetly shared her dilemma with the director of the retreat, as well as a close confidant, and was quickly supplied a pair of ear plugs for the week. I caught wind of all this within a couple of hours, because we were a small, cloistered group of people, and I felt an unmistakable "vibe" going around the place, even though everyone was being so polite and treading lightly around me. But I'm sensitive enough to have caught on. Anyway, I ended up requesting a room of my own, at my own expense, so that my bleary-eyed roommate wouldn't go sleepless for the rest of the week. It was the right thing to do. The only problem was I felt so embarrassed, so humiliated. A circus freak.

So why am I telling this sad little story? Because this sorry little incident only confirmed what I've know for a very long time now - I'm meant to be alone and to sleep alone. I'm a spinster, and most of the time proud of it. (But I'm not too keen on the snoring stereotype.) Anyway, if that means in order to keep other people from sharing my life, my home, and my bed, that I must snore whilst I sleep, well then, so be it.

The only reason I'm able to publicly share this awkward confession is that it proves, at least to me, that everything happens for a reason. My raucous, night-time, nasal noises guarantee that I will never share my sleeping quarters with anyone ever again. That's not just happenstance to me. It fits the pattern of my life. It makes perfect sense.

Laugh or sneer if you want. It's who I am.

I faced these hard facts on a retreat. On a putative vacation. I learned that I can vacate my domicile, and even the mundane order of my ordinary life. I can retreat from the rest of the world, but not from myself.

So there it is. The woman I see in the mirror on a daily basis is a spinster who snores.

- G.P.