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.