Signum Est!

I'm obsessed with signs.
If you've been following me for a while, or know me even a little, that much you know about me for sure. And I don't necessarily mean street or shop signs, although a number of them have played significant roles in my life. Nevertheless, these more mundane signs can be quite magical depending on when and how I encounter them, and I encountered a great deal of them on my recent travels. If I hadn't I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere or do anything.
All of a sudden signs and maps became my favourite human inventions. Before my sojourn I hadn't fully realized what a fabulous human construction a map is. But now I do. Being able to read and follow a map saved me a lot of time and trouble while I was abroad. A map is surely the most international language there is. It doesn't matter where someone comes from, reading a map is the same for everyone. Thank goddess for that. When I couldn't communicate verbally with someone in the most visited city in the world, I just pulled out my well-worn map, pointed to where I wanted to go, waved my arms around a bit, and wouldn't you know, they figured out what I was trying to say. They pointed to the "you are here" place I needed to know, and voila, I was able to continue my long, winding walk to wherever it was I was going. I learned to love and appreciate the beauty of a map and all the knowledge and history it contains.
I had to do a fair amount of cross-referencing with my maps, of course. I was constantly matching the names and signs on the maps I was using with the ones on streets and buildings. I spent a lot of time being genuinely lost, because I couldn't always find one or the other to match them up and hence know where I was. No wonder I fell in love with maps - I spent so much time with my nose buried in them and learning all their intimate details. And of course I translated my new-found love of maps to my long-time love of signs. Signs that point the way. Signs that give a warning. Signs that reassure me that I'm on the right path, or not. Signs that are messages from the earth, the solar system and the universe, both physically and metaphysically.
I have a habit of frequently bursting out with the loud and enthusiastic observation "It's a sign!" Sometimes I'm making fun of myself, but most of the time when I see something I consider to be of metaphysical significance, (only to me, of course) I will gleefully shout those words. After my ejaculation I'll frequently be asked "a sign of what?" But the thing about signs is they're so personal, and the connections I make will seem so obscure to other people. The messages I receive from the Universe are meant for me and my path, and not some stranger sitting next to me who lives in a world of their own making.
My preoccupation with signs defines my own little world. It also expands it, to include the unseen world, and my imagination. (Many magically-challenged people would suggest the unseen world I'm always looking for is my imagination.) I confess that my obsession can make me appear flaky and not really grounded in reality, and goddess knows I seek balance as much as magic these days. The only way to achieve balance is to spend more time standing firmly on the earth - hence the yoga - and less time taking off on flights of fancy. I recognize that, but I can't help being thrilled when I see a physical object, natural or man-made, or a person or animal that's loaded with personal connections to issues and matters that preoccupy me. It's also called synchronicity, and whenever my life is what I consider to be especially "magical," synchronicities abound. I love it.
I travelled lightly and tried to keep my purchases and acquisitions to a minimum. Every time I bought something, I left something else behind. My carry-on suitcase probably weighed less at the end of my trip than it did at the beginning. My few purchases were usually necessary items, but from the beginning I knew I wanted to find a beautiful pen. I'm a pen person. My name isn't Penwyche for nothing. I'd been on a search for the perfect memento pen when I came upon a stationery shop sign that said Signum (Latin for "sign" or "signature"). The shop was closed because it was late at night, but I made a point of remembering where it was by consulting my map and marking it. I went back to the shop the very next day and found the pen I'd been looking for. I was certain I would, because of the sign, of course. Since that day I no longer say "it's a sign!" Nosiree. I've stopped that ridiculous habit. Now, whenever happy little synchronicities appear to me, I'll cry out "Signum est!" (L. it's a sign)
All through my sojourn I was waiting for a single moment of profound meaning. A pivotal moment. A miracle. That's the way I pretty much go through life anyway, so of course I'd be even more vigilant when I was journeying abroad. Well, that pivotal, defining moment never happened. I couldn't tell you one specific incident or circumstance that could be described that way. But I'm not disappointed. Not at all. As I look back on my time away, the story I lived out was filled with multiple magical moments. Each small, seemingly insignificant event led seamlessly to the next. One synchronicity was woven into another. I almost missed these precious little secrets because I was looking for that isolated, illusive, miraculous, life-altering event. Although it didn't happen, my attention to details and the small wonders they revealed reaffirmed my belief in the sacredness of creation more than ever. As I follow the thread of all the signs, big and small, that came to me on my sojourn, I can clearly see a map of my inner journey. I may be the only one who can decipher it, but that's why I like it.
Yup. My trip was a real trip.
- G.P.

Journey Home

Travelling far and wide doesn't necessarily mean travelling deep or high. My recent sojourn illustrated that to me very clearly. I met as many tourists as natives of the two lands I visited, and spoke with a number of them at length about where they'd been and where they were going and what they were doing and oh you must see this, you must see that, oh-you-really-must. These lists of been-theres and done-thats were just as tedious to me abroad as they are when I'm subjected to them at home. I freely admit that for a very long time I've been envious and bitter that I didn't have more recent overseas experiences to go on and on about, but even when I was sitting around the breakfast table in a foreign B&B with other travellers, I found myself either tuning-out or still feeling slightly bitter when the conversation inevitably went that way. (Established mental patterns are really hard to kick.) I'm not nearly as interested in people's outer lives as I am in what makes them tick. Always have been. So I guess I'm nosey, too.
I had intended to reinvent myself because I was going to places where no one knew me. Well, despite my flair for the dramatic, I didn't really reinvent myself. I didn't change or disguise myself in any way. In fact, I was far more open and vulnerable than I usually am. But that stands to reason, because I was a stranger travelling alone in two strange lands, and needed a lot of support and assistance from other strangers. That meant I was on my best behaviour almost all the time. I was a visitor and did my best to be a welcome one. I was polite, deferential, cheerful and quiet. I listened more than I talked, and almost always regretted when I spoke up. Not that I was offensive or full of myself - at least I hope I wasn't - but I know I look a lot better when my mouth is shut.
But for a couple of exceptions, I was treated with the same courtesy and cheer I sent out there. Funny how that works, isn't it? Anyway, I got back home and suddenly I didn't feel like the new, improved me that I was while I was vacating. Of course I do my best to be my best all the time, but it just doesn't feel the same. That's because the people I hang around here know me. I don't want to talk about where I've been or what I've done, I want to talk about how I may have changed or grown, about what I feel and think. I prefer talking about my inner journey, and any points of interest on my sojourn will only be mentioned if it's relative to discussing my inner life. Well, guess what? Not everyone wants to hear that, either. Thank goddess I've got this little web of mine to ruminate freely.
Of course I'm applying the life lessons I learned on my vacation to life back where everything is familiar. My friends may notice how relaxed and healthy I look, but it's hard to gauge if they perceive a deep, meaningful change in me, because maybe there isn't one. If I've evolved it would be too subtle for people to notice right away, anyway. That's the sort of thing that becomes apparent only after a while. So my over-weaning need for instant recognition won't be satisfied, and that's a good lesson, too.
All is not lost for immediate gratification, however. I've got a five week theatre gig coming up shortly, and the updated version of my neural programming will be presented to people who haven't had access to the old one. Cool. Others won't know about my newly acquired inner riches or how I got them. I won't be asked questions about where I've been or what I've seen. I'll just be the new, improved me. People won't be able to compare me to the slightly earlier version of myself. Talking less will be an even greater challenge because now I have more I want to say, more I wish to share.
More than ever I see that it is still a beautiful world and I shall spend the rest of my life doing my part to keep it that way. I was humbled by my journey abroad. I've always found humility an attractive feature. Maybe I can practise being humble now that I've spent some time being quiet and deferential somewhere far away. It's easier to do in a foreign land, because that's the most effective way to have your needs met.
Not only are my friends and family regarding and reacting to me as they always have, I'm doing the same with them. But this new chapter of my life is a complete, brand new book for the people I'll be working with at my upcoming gig. Neither they nor I will have any long-held opinions on who or what the other person is. It's tabula rasa all around, and I like it that way. I can test my theories on what makes a person truly interesting, and find out if I meet my own standards. All I have to do is remember to breathe deeply and listen more. Sounds like a plan.
- G. P.

A Long Day

Happy Summer Solstice.
It's the longest day of the year for those of us in the northern hemisphere.
Keep the sun shining as long as you can.
Build a bonfire.
Roast corn.
Celebrate life.
If the sun's behind dark clouds, keep a fire burning in your heart.
If someone you know hurts or grieves, if there is loss and pain where once there was love and joy, be a warm heart.
Be gentle, be kind.
Share someone's pain.
Though it may not seem to help, it's the right thing to do.
Listen.
Look.
Pay attention.
This day has many hours of light.
It's a good day to notice things.
A longer time to celebrate life, and a longer time to grieve.
Help heal those who hurt.
Talk little, but stay warm.
Stay open.
Thinking kind thoughts matters.
That's what I'm doing right now.
Summer solstice is a happy day for me, but someone I know has suffered a tragic loss and is in deep pain.
So I won't wax enthusiastic about all the joys of the day.
Someone is unable to feel them, through no fault of their own.
All I can do is acknowledge that.
And note how long the sun shines on this day.
- G.P.