Feeling Fine

Some days I feel as fragile and fine as my name.  This is one of those days.  But spider webs are far stronger and more resilient than they look.  They literally "hang in there" during strong winds and rain, and sparkle with dewdrops that are far heavier than the delicate threads that hold them up.

I visited a seer for spiritual healing a few weeks ago.  I had barely sat down beside her when she told me I had crossed over from the fairy realm.  For a brief moment I wondered if what she said to me was the sort of stuff she said to everybody.  After all, her clients must surely be spiritual people, prone to belief in other worlds.  But the yoga teacher who recommended her to me assured me that's not what she says to everyone who sees her.  She speaks specifically and personally to whomever goes to her for healing. That's why I was blown away with her very first words.
Jarmila, the extraordinary healer I visited, saw right into me.  It doesn't matter that I'm not literally a changeling - a fairy child left in place of a human child during infancy - she was referring to the inner workings of my heart and soul.  She described the history of my inner life, and brought me back to my roots - my fairy roots.  Even now I feel a bit foolish and flaky saying that, but I can't deny that I've had a life-long obsession with fairies and otherworldly spirits.
Jarmila knew absolutely nothing about me when I first met her; not even my name.  Yet I felt totally transparent as I sat with her, though not the least bit exposed or vulnerable.  Despite her penetrating glimpse into my very being I felt completely safe.
At first I wasn't sure how my visit with this gifted seer healed me.  I was impressed by her prescience for sure, but didn't know how it could help me.  It took me several days to figure that part out.  Jarmila gave me permission to be myself.  Many years ago I made a vow that I would seek out beauty and magic wherever I may be, and if I'm in a place or situation that seems devoid of these things, I will create them.  It became a mantra of mine. Well, wouldn't you know, Jarmila told me that, too.  "You have magic," she said, "and you crave beauty."
Wow.  Her jaw-dropping insights pleased me.  It was great to hear that I have magic from the likes of Jarmila.  She's about as magical as they come.  But genuine healing happened because she acknowledged the real me, and valued my fears and insecurities as well as my strengths.  Everyone wants to know that their true self is worthy and good.
Jarmila is the second seer I've met who has helped me love myself just as I am.  The first one was Kusali Devi, the living goddess I met in Nepal.  My fears of being ordinary or being deemed flaky dissolved with both these shamans.  They reaffirmed my belief in magic and myself.

My desire to live a magical life will never die.  It's part of who I am.  But sometimes my faith wobbles. After all, I'm only human. (Or maybe I should say partly human!)  This morning doubt was creeping its way back into me, so I set out to stabilise myself by writing this blurb.  Writing forces me to think clearly; and now that I've remembered Kusali and Jarmila's words I feel comforted.  I know that the fragility I felt when I began writing these words was actually sensitivity to things unseen, or unrecognised.  That sort of sensitivity isn't always easy, and can sometimes hurt.  But it's another way to find beauty and magic.  The American pshychotherapist David Richo says it best:  Our wounds are often the openings to the best and most beautiful part of us.  
Blessed be.
- G.P.

May the Flake Be with You

I haven't been a complete flake on this little web of mine for a while.  Okay, I know, that's relative. But I'm talking really flaky. So I'm changing that now. Here I go again...
I'm pleased to announce that today I am 23,232 days old.  It's a numerical palindrome - it reads the same forwards as backwards. Cool, eh?  If that isn't reason enough to celebrate this most auspicious of days, I don't know what is.  So that's exactly what I'm doing. Celebrating.  Partying.  And here's how...

During my early morning ashtanga practice a long, bright beam of sunlight shone right across my mat, so that every time time I did upward dog during surya namaskar (salute to the sun) the sun was shining directly onto my face.  
What else could it be but a sign?  It meant that the Universe was helping me observe my "day in the sun." 
I continued the festivities when I got home, by eating the flakiest bit of pastry I could find at a local bakery.  It was a yummy, unhealthy breakfast, complemented with a strong cup of coffee.  What better way to begin the day than with yoga, fatty oil, sugar, and hot blast of caffeine?  It doesn't get better than that.  
But wait.  The day's just begun.  Who knows what eccentric little synchronicities await me? 
Time to go.  Gotta read my tarot. 
Goddess, but I do love this web of mine.
- G.P.

Surya Namaskar

Happy Summer Solstice!

and a blessed Father's Day, too.

- G. P.

Dream Catcher

I recently had a dream that changed the way I feel physically and emotionally. Perhaps calling it a dream isn't quite accurate.  It was more like a flash of a dream; a vivid image that appeared very suddenly in my sleep, and then disappeared just as quickly.
I dreamt I saw the interior of my injured left knee, where the femur and tibia meet.  It didn't look like an x-ray in fuzzy black and white.  This was a very realistic image of what my knee would look like if the skin and top layers of tissue had been cut away to reveal the bones, muscles, and ligaments in vibrant, real-life colour. The muscles were shades of blue and green, the bones white, and the blood vessels various tones of red.  As I looked at my knee something flipped, flapped, or popped ever so slightly.  I was aware that some sort of subtle realignment or adjustment had occurred.  And that's all there was to it.  The whole thing was over in a few memorable seconds.

I remember that I wasn't the least bit alarmed; I felt certain there was nothing to worry about.  It was almost as if the image were flashed unto the screen of my sleeping consciousness to give me important information. Afterwards I slept soundly for the rest of the night.  When I awoke the next morning I had completely forgotten about my dream.
I went to early morning yoga practice that day.  I felt unusually light of heart and I practised as if I'd never sustained an injury at all.  I moved through all the poses with more mobility than I've had in over six months since my injury.  When I came to the series of asanas (poses) that involve a lot of exterior rotation of the knees, I suddenly realised that I hadn't been favouring or nursing my knee at all.  In fact, I hadn't thought about my bum knee since the moment I awoke, and usually she's complaining all the time.  Her persistent whining always reminded me of a cranky two year old child, so eventually I named her Neela.  (Neela is Sanskrit for blue, which is how she's made me feel.)
Anyway, when I realised that Neela had been quiet all morning, and I could move her around with more ease than I'd experienced in over six months,  I suddenly remembered the dream-bite I'd had the night before.  I couldn't help thinking that there had to be a connection.  And I knew it wasn't my penchant for signs and attaching meaning to every little thing, because I'd completely forgotten about my dream until that very moment.  And what a moment it was.

I knew something extraordinary had occurred.  It was thrilling.  It was all I could do not to jump up and announce to my fellow practitioners  that Neela was feeling so well that I was able to sit cross-legged without any pain at all.  For months I'd been avoiding that position.  I especially wanted to call out to my my two yoga instructors, Svitlana and Christine, who have been watching me weep, wince, and wobble my way through early morning ashtanga for many weeks.  But I said nothing because I thought it might be a fluke, and that Neela would eventually return to her stubborn, recalcitrant self.  But that was almost two weeks ago.  And just yesterday I sat very briefly and ever so cautiously in the iconic lotus pose. Neela's far from completely healed, and I don't know if she'll ever be as flexible as she once was, but she doesn't make me feel like half-a-yogi anymore.
Until this ostensible bit of spontaneous healing happened, I was certain that Neela would require surgery, because her condition hadn't improved in the six months she was ailing.  In fact, at times she would flare up and get worse.  I was frustrated and frequently depressed, and I couldn't understand why Neela wasn't getting better, in spite of all my care and caution to keep her safe from further harm.  That's why my doctor finally ordered an MRI, which I'd had only four days before the night of my dream, and the subsequent quantum leap forward in healing.
When I got the results of my MRI, I was relieved to hear that surgery wasn't required.  And I'm also glad that my quick-fix-dream occurred before I got the results.  I was so certain I'd need surgery that being told I didn't would have made me worry that I was going to be stuck with Neela's obstinate ways for the rest of my life.
In the normal course of things, I figure Neela is just about where she should be after six months, especially with the slower rate of healing that happens with age.  But this wasn't a normal course.  Most of the the healing happened all at once.  When I got the results of my MRI, only two days after my mini-miracle, I told the doctor about my dream.  I asked  her what she thought.
     "Scientifically, I don't have an explanation," was her reply.  I liked what she said.  She acknowledged that she couldn't give me a scientific answer, but tacitly suggested that there might be a meta-scientific one. (Materialist scientists would no doubt be appalled at the term meta-scientific, which I think I just made up.)
I'm fairly certain that my deepening yoga practice is responsible for the glimpse I had into my knee.  Yoga works on the subtle body as much as on the physical one.  The subtle body is a series of energy channels within the body's nervous system that's accessed by the imagination, creative visualisation, yoga, and meditation. Physical or emotional injuries have a counterpart in the energy system, and can be treated at that level.  My "treatment," however, happened unconsciously in my sleep.
It was my wise friend Margaret who suggested that it happened when and how it did - facilitated by my yoga practise, of course - because I'd let go of some lingering emotional hurt or issue that no longer served me well.  After some serious thought I eventually realised it was my non-career as an actress that I'd finally released.  I've previously written on this little web of mine about how difficult it's been to completely surrender to my fate as a failed actor, and how my ever fading hopes simply refused to die.  But my passion for yoga and the many hours I've spent in my teacher training programme have given that derelict dream the final heave-ho. Abolishing negative energy has cleared space in my life to find a new path and make new plans.
Neela's months of resistance to healing weren't just because of a physical injury.  I was hanging on to old, worn-out patterns that blocked me spiritually and emotionally.  Ego and pride got in my way as much as a small rip in my meniscus.  True healing at the level of the subtle body happens when one recognises the connection of body, spirit and mind.  Yoga showed me that.  And it's not mere happenstance that I originally injured myself practising yoga.  Resistance caused the injury, and resistance prevented it from healing.
A siddhi is a paranormal, supernatural, magical power or accomplishment attained through spiritual practices such as meditation or yoga.  Numerous cases of advanced yogis performing siddhis like levitation or bi-location (appearing in two places at once) have been documented.  I don't claim that Neela's sudden improvement after a snapshot of a dream to be a bona fide siddhi, but I'm certain that whatever happened was because I practise yoga.  So I'm calling it a super-mini siddhi.  My mind was showing me that I can, and should, use my mental faculties to heal my body.  The last words I wrote in the first blurb about my injury were Yogi, heal thyself.  (see Feb. 2/15)  My dream must have been my unconscious mind reminding me to quit carping and just do it.

Occam's Razor is a theory attributed to William of Okham, a 14th Century logician and Franciscan friar who devised the principle that natural occurrences can be explained when all the causes that are not certain or reasonable have been eliminated, so that whatever is left must be the truth.  In other words, the simplest explanation is likely the most accurate. This scientific principle suits my purposes perfectly, because it validates my belief in magic, a.k.a. miracles, siddhis, etc.
I began practising yoga over five years ago because I wanted to develop my spirit and mind as much as my body.  I knew it could help me live a richer, more meaningful life, and that's exactly what it's done, and continues to do.  It heals me from both inside and out. And best of all, it keeps me on the path to Magic.
- G. P.

Spinster Love

Who do you love most in the world?  Someone asked me that yesterday.  What a question.  But I didn't have to think for too long, because I've given it some thought in the past.  So I said "Lulu." Who's Lulu? the querent asked.  "My cat," I replied.  
That's right.  The non-human being I love the most is my beloved kitty, and mainly because she needs me. It's good to feel needed.  And as far as I know she's the only being who does.  And because I love her, she trusts me.  She may not love me the way a human or a dog might, but her need and trust are enough for me.

"So who's your best friend?" my curious companion asked again.  I didn't have to think about that either, because it's another issue I've considered for many years.  
I don't have a "best" friend.  I don't like to put my friendships in a hierarchy, nor measure my affection for people in terms of more or less, deeply or not-so-much. Different friends and family members offer me different things in our relationship with each other.  I seek out their companionship when I need whatever it is they offer me best.  It could be good conversation, a shoulder to cry on, someone who listens, or someone to talk and just keep me company when I want to be quiet and still, but not alone.  As long as it's sincere, any kind or degree of love is good.  Some friends I see often, others rarely. But I don't consider one a "better" friend than another, and I am blessed with more than a few.
I once saw an episode of one of those wonderful BBC television series set in the Scottish Highlands, where two friends discussed the nature of love and companionship.  One of the characters, who happened to have second sight, spoke about how some people spread their love around more or less evenly, rather than showering it on select individuals.  I remember thinking I was one of those people.  The same character also went on to say that some people have their share of misfortune loaded on them in one or two devastating blows during their lives, while others have hardship or mishap sprinkled pretty much consistently throughout their lifetime.  I knew I was one of the latter people, which is also why I prefer to love the same way.  It's easier on the soul.  And for that I'm grateful as well.  Deeper, fiercer attachments open up a person to deeper pain and loss.  So when I answered that my little Lulu was my greatest fuzzy love, I knew I truly am a spinster.  So mote it be.
- G.P.