Upside of Down

Today is a quiet one.  It's damp, mild, and grey outside.  But I don't feel the same, which pleases and surprises me, because I'm laid low with a bum foot, and my sciatica has flared up again.  Lying and sitting down hurt me much more than standing on my feet, so I haven't been able to do some of  things I enjoy, like sleeping, reading, and writing long enough to get some much-needed rest, or get into a productive groove.  Thanks to my smashed tootsie, I can't take a joy-walk, either.  Yoga's out of the question for the same reason.  But for all that, I'm feeling at peace.  The gentle, grey day has muffled the sounds of a big city and makes me feel as if I'm encased in a cocoon.
I have nowhere to go, no one to see, and no commitments to meet.  It's truly a day off and away  from busy-ness and activity.  And I'm okay with that, too.  I want to do less these days anyway, even when I'm healthy and fit.  But right now I don't feel guilty that I haven't been out for many weeks to take in a movie, or an art exhibit, or anything that supposedly vibrant, interesting people do.  Until this morning, when I awoke feeling strangely at peace, I lamented my flagging interest in interesting things, even before my recurring and recent injuries forced my present seclusion.  Today I don't feel remorse for my acquiescence, nor do I envy keener, busier people. Today is a gift.  And that is at it should be.
I'm making do with writing a few sentences at a time, then rising up out of my chair to alleviate the discomfort of sitting for too long.  Like most people who work at a desk, hunched over a computer, I spend too long in the same unhealthy position.  Now my body is making sure I don't.  In fact, I'm almost grateful for my current indisposition.  When I'm hale and hearty I feel as if I have to be doing something all the time, and then end up feeling like a loser if I'm not.
It's taken me a while to find a sense of stillness with my present circumstances.  At first, apart from the physical pain, I was resentful and bored.  I lost some hours and wages at work, as well as the required hours of practice for the yoga teacher's certificate I'm pursuing.  Eventually I got tired of feeling crappy, and realised there was no rush to do anything anyway.  It finally occurred to me that I'm fortunate that my life isn't rigidly structured or scheduled.  If my situation had happened to someone who's always out and about, doing things because they must or choose to, it would disrupt their lives far more than it has mine.  I'm not a type A personality.
I think and talk a lot about living a simple, mindful life, but don't really practise it.  A fall and a twist of fate have changed that, at least for now, and maybe for good.  It's a lesson learned the hard way, because it seems I wasn't able to learn it otherwise.
There are no accidents.  With my recent losses I now can see what I have left.  My instincts for living more deliberately, slowly, and simply have always been right, but I've always felt pressure to do more in order to appear worldly.  How shallow is that?  But I'm grateful for that unflattering realisation as well.
Quiet, self-contained people have always fascinated me.  I admire and respect such individuals, but seldom envy them, which makes me hold them in even higher regard.  They are invariably the humblest people I know.
My current situation has humbled me.  I'm forced to live with myself and ostensibly do nothing now that I've been laid low.  I don't look or feel my best, but somehow a little bit of the best of me has emerged. Changing the landscape is a privilege a fortunate few can afford, but with enough desire, anyone can change their soul.*
Namaste.
- G. P.
*  with thanks to Emerson and Thoreau.

Flaky, Part 2

I am 22,822 days old today.  Twenty-two is my favourite number.  I also love the perfect symmetry and balance of 22,822.  The number 8 is beautifully framed by 22 on either side, creating a solid foundation for the 8 in the centre, which is totally awesome because 22 represents "master builder" in numerology.  All four 2s in 22,822 add up to the number 8, which turned on its side is the infinity symbol.
Sometimes I'm glad I'm a new age flake.  This is one of those times.  
It's a great day to be alive.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Really Really Reaching

I haven't been here for a while so I'm taking a few minutes to write something just for the sake of writing something.  So now, dear reader, you have my permission to log off, because I have nothing to say, even though I'm still moving my fingers across the keyboard just to see what comes up.  I've done this before and the result is always the same.  It ends up being a silly blurb and a waste of my faithful followers' time.  I'll lose all two of you if I keep this up. 
To complete this blurb I have to find some picture on the big Web to put on this little web o'mine.  That's usually fun, but it means I have to find the right image for what I'm saying, and so far I'm not saying anything.  Instead of this tomfoolery I could be using my time to write my most personal thoughts, the kind I don't share with anyone (yes, I actually have those, contrary to all appearances) in my hand-written journal, but I'm here now and am curious to see what happens...
                          Uh, so far - nothing.
Sheesh.
If you've stuck with me this far, loyal readership, I salute you.

Now we'll take a short break to enjoy a couple of deep breaths...
                                                                           
I'm back.
               Are you?
                               Thanks.
I'm still desperately hitting the keys, hoping and waiting for some wise and wonderful bit of wordsmithery to come out of what so far appears to be a pointless exercise.
It's taking me a lot longer to write this business down than it is for you to read it, and still I blunder on.
I'm fully aware that this is now becoming repetitive and tedious.  But let me assure you, if that's how you readers are feeling, I'm feeling it even more so.  And what makes all this even more embarrassing is that I'm determined to post whatever shit I write anyway, because I'm conducting a very serious, writerly experiment, with every intention of publishing the results, for the edification of all and sundry who pass this way, and no matter how much I may humiliate myself and ruin my reputation as a blooger.
(Heavy sigh.)

Well, I've been at this for thirty-five minutes and nothing noteworthy has emerged, except for my willingness to make a fool of myself.  Hmm... That's the first half-decent observation I've made during this drivel.  Writers, or artists of any discipline, risk making fools of themselves when they express their thoughts in the public forum, just as I've done now.
But I'm bringing this bit of blurbishness to a halt now, and not because I haven't got more to not say.  I'm simply out of time.  I knew I had a limited amount of time when I began this blurb, which was also part of the experiment.
I've managed to get this posted before leaving for yoga class, which is right now, so this exercise hasn't been a complete failure, although I can't say I haven't appeared like a complete fool. 
The End.
- G.P.