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.