Free Flow

When there is no desire,
all things are at peace.
Those are the last words of one of the brief chapter/verses of Stephen Mitchell's version of the Tao Te Ching.  I long for peace, and these wise words remind me that maybe it's the desire for peace that's preventing me from achieving it.  Longing is not a peaceful state.  Despite this knowledge, I've always found non-attachment or not longing for goals and dreams a tough call.  (Not desiring material things is relatively easy for me.)
Lately I've made some headway on the process of detaching myself from the outcome.  And wouldn't you know, it's made my life a little easier, a little simpler.  Non-attachment is something you can't work on.  That defeats the purpose.  In order to let go of longing and desire, it's easier to work on something else, preferably on what is.   That's another way of being fully present, or paying attention to the journey and not the destination.
These are popular aphorisms that are bandied about a lot these days, therefore easily dismissed as New Age clichés.  It's only since recently rediscovering the ancient wisdom in The Tao that I've finally been able to make it work for me.  On any given day I might be lamenting growing older and having failed at this or that, with all the accompanying issues, yet twenty-four hours later I'll experience moments of clarity and equanimity, but nothing's different except for the way I feel.  The feeling comes and goes as my life flows along, but when it happens, it sure feels good.  Lately it's been happening more often and lasting longer.
The previous blurb may seem to belie my claim that I'm finding my way to a more balanced life, because I wrote about crying almost daily.  That sure doesn't sound like a happy person.  But as I mentioned, crying isn't always an expression of sadness or despair.  Sometimes it's a release, and I think that's why I've shed more tears than usual lately. 

Since I began to follow The Tao a few months ago, slowly but surely I'm learning to accept things as they are, loosen my grip on longing, and just let things flow.  Going with the flow has allowed me to let my tears flow without judgement or sorrow.  As a writer and a diviner of signs, I love that letting tears flow is a lovely metaphor for my new-found knowledge.  In fact, on the day I made up my mind not to cry (and I don't know why I thought that was a good idea), I ended up being angry and mean.  I blocked the flow.  I resisted what is. 
The shedding of tears is cleansing.  When water stops flowing and stays still for too long, it becomes stagnant and toxic.  So from now on I'm sticking to The Way.
- G.P.

A Time for Tears

Karma rocks.  It's reassuring to know that what goes around comes around, sooner or later.  I almost always experience the inevitable return of words and deeds, both good and bad, sooner rather than later.  That's a good thing.  It keeps me accountable for my actions.  When I've screwed up, karma lets me know just how badly, and then puts me on the road to setting things right.  Sometimes that means a simple, sincere apology, and at other times some serious focused action to make amends.

Last night, thanks to an ancient sacrum/hip injury, I was unable to sleep because it was acting up again - big time.  I deserved that sleepless, painful night because I'd been a horrible person at work all day.  I was bitchy and even mean, and my karma was almost immediate.
I'm not normally a mean-spirited person, but I was trying very hard not to cry, and that part worked.  I didn't cry all day for the first time in weeks.  Crying isn't necessarily a bad thing.  It can serve as a release of tension and fear.  But instead of releasing my anxieties through tears, I unleashed them on a friend as well as a couple of strangers.  I behaved in a way that is not conducive to maintaining good relationships, or my job.
A good night's sleep might have reset my system, but no such luck.  The karma dump truck was on hand to fulfill its duty.  When I finally crawled out of bed, bleary-eyed and sore, I knew exactly why I'd had a painful, sleepless night. 
There are a very few coincidences in my life, and I like it that way.  The first thing I did was have a really good, purgative cry.  Then I apologised via email to a friend at work I'd slighted.  Yoga would certainly have helped my mood, but I was physically exhausted and my hip was, and still is, too sore and stiff for a physical workout.  But it's a glorious spring day out there, so I treated myself to a big, fat breakfast at a local diner instead.  Then, as a sign that I forgave myself, I bought a bouquet of flowers.  Now I'm writing this blurb.

I'm taking full responsibility for my actions.  I'm going to cry if I need to cry.  I'm not ashamed to shed tears - embarrassed maybe, but not ashamed.  Shedding tears softens the heart.  But yesterday I didn't allow myself to weep, and ended up feeling frustrated and blocked.  The tears I withheld turned into anger.
I shall end this blurb with one of my all time favourite quotes from Charles Dickens, one of the most quotable writers to grace the  English language...
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. 
- G.P. 

Mother Love

This morning, which happens to be Mother's Day, I looked out my back window at the empty, unused birdfeeder and was suddenly stricken with sadness.  Until a number of weeks ago there would have been many birds, mostly sparrows, gathered around pecking away at the seeds I left out for them.  But I had to stop doing that because the seeds were also attracting a rat that lives under the porch next door. 

Fortunately, I haven't seen the rat since I took away its food supply - although I'm sure it's still around. But now my little birdies are gone as well.  Occasionally I see one or two of them come by to see what's up, but there's no longer a party of chirping birds in the yard brightening my day.  I miss them.  I think of them as my babies (as I do my sweet kitty) and felt personally responsible for them in a small way.
I'm not suggesting that the tiny bit of care I gave to my backyard birds is even remotely close to what a mother of a human child does.  But it's the nurturing feeling I get when I see the little ones that reminds me of what it means to be a mother.
A day doesn't go by when I don't think of my own mother who left this world seventeen years ago.  I still miss her.  I miss being mothered, even at my not-quite-advanced age.  I'm pretty sure I wouldn't need mothering so much if I were a mother myself, but that's a choice I've made, and I don't regret it.  Nevertheless, it's Mother's Day and I can't help getting misty-eyed.
Happy Mother's Day to everyone.  It doesn't matter whether you're a mother or not, because the surest way to save the greatest mother of us all, our beautiful Earth, is to nurture and care for all living things.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

A New and Ancient Way

When you are content to be simply yourself
and don't compare or compete,
everybody will respect you.
The words above are from the ancient Chinese text Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, translated by Stephen Mitchell.  I recently "discovered" this venerable poem and now carry it with me everywhere I go.  For many years I'd occasionally pick up a copy and read a little, but it was always too obscure and inaccessible for me.  Then I found Mitchell's beautiful version of it and was hooked.

Tao Te Ching means The Book of the Way, and was probably written contemporaneously with  Confucius (551-479 B.C.E.).  It's a poetic treatise on the art of living, and a precursor to Zen.  Perhaps Mitchell's translation made sense to me when all the others didn't is because as well as being a scholar and a poet, he's practised Zen for many years.
So now I have a new book from which to practise my bibliomancy.  Every morning I randomly open the slim volume and read the verse that lands before me, and invariably feel as if The Tao was written just for me.
The words from The Tao at the beginning of this blurb have become a mantra of mine.  They help me with my OCD (obsessive comparison disorder).  Still, I find it very hard to be content simply being myself, because it simply means to be.  Easier said than done.
The Tao is about loving what is.  (Stephen Mitchell also co-wrote the book Loving What Is with his wife, Byron Katie.)  Sure, sometimes what is isn't pleasant or good, but non-judgement and surrendering to the present is a better and stronger place from which to deal with any situation, no matter how difficult.  It's called going with the flow, an aphorism derived from The Tao, which was   popularised during the cultural revolution of the sixties.  I admit that I've been using that phrase a lot lately, almost to the point of cliché, but it's because now I truly appreciate it.

There are many verses in The Tao that give me pause while exciting me at the same time.  As I sit very still and ponder the words of The Tao I can literally feel myself vibrating with the thrill of new knowledge.  The most exciting thing I've discovered from The Tao is that no one or nothing is ordinary.  It simply is, and that alone is a miracle.  Such is the magic of following The Way.
- G. P.