Gossamer Penwyche's Web

Easy Does It

2012-01-29T06:45:00.000-08:00

My preoccupation with grace continues. I think about it all the time, wherever I go, whatever I do and with whomever I may be. I try to perform all my actions gracefully, and not just activities that require graceful movement for optimum effectiveness, such as yoga, dancing, or walking. I make a point of doing even nothing gracefully. My body likes it. I tend to do less damage to myself when I just sit or stand with as much ease and grace as possible. So I figure grace must be good for me.
The biggest challenge in practising a life of grace has been in my relationships. I try to relate to everyone - family, friends, colleagues and strangers as graciously as I can. Most of the time this isn't an issue for me. If things are going well and people are being polite and respectful, I don't have to stop and think about my reactions to every little thing that transpires. I just go with the flow. And going with the flow tends to be graceful. You know - no struggling or resisting - just free and easy movement.
However, ever since I instituted this new grace-wherever-I-can policy, I've noticed a distinct increase in my vulnerability to slights and hurts from less-than-gracious people. I've admitted before in this forum that I'm a bit of a drama queen, and although I've curtailed my penchant for real-life drama considerably over the years, I still tend to "put myself out there" when it comes to expressing myself, especially when I'm in a good mood. I could be discussing something as banal as the weather, but if I'm feeling good and want to express an opinion on it, I might momentarily "act it out." Nothing over the top or anything, just a bit of slightly eccentric, idiosyncratic behaviour. Sometimes I like being silly. It's harmless fun that amuses me , and usually amuses other people, too. But that's just the sort of thing that has always caused me trouble with people who misinterpret and mistrust my behaviour, even though they may be amused by it. They may laugh, but not necessarily with me. I seem to be experiencing slights and little jabs from mean-spirited people a little more than usual these days, and I think it's because my obsession with grace has left me more exposed than usual.
The easiest way for me to practice graceful living is to strip away extraneous words and actions. Keep it simple. Do everything with as much ease as possible. My new habits have caused me to talk less and listen more. Nothing wrong with that. But there are still occasions when someone has said something that is as thoughtless as it is unnecessary. That's when my recently adopted practice is really put to the test. So I stop, breathe deeply, and ask myself what is the most gracious way to respond to this situation? By taking the time to decide how I'll respond, I've already done the graceful thing. Once the moment has passed I feel slightly taller, and a whole lot wiser. And to think it requires so little effort. Sometimes less really is more.
Now that there's less of me - less show and tell, less in-your-face, less crap to dig through to grasp my meaning - I'm a lot more vulnerable than I used to be. Vulnerability can be a powerful defense. Only the crudest, rudest, most angry and unhappy people feel empowered by attacking the ostensibly weak and defenseless. A true warrior gets no satisfaction from an unworthy opponent who doesn't offer any real threat or challenge. (I'm finally beginning to appreciate the warrior poses in yoga. It's about being a spiritual warrior; fighting the good fight and taking aim against my inner demons.) Being vulnerable doesn't necessarily mean leaving yourself open to attack. It's about revealing your true self, which is understandably something we're not always willing to do. The psychologist and author David Richo says that our deepest wounds can be openings to the best and most beautiful part of ourselves.
My good friend Calvin, who is one of the most gracious people I know, once said to me "It doesn't matter what happens, my dear, just as long as you look good." Taken out of context, those words seem shallow and superficial, but I know exactly what Calvin meant. We can't always control what happens to us. The only thing we can control is how we react. We choose our response.
It's taken me a lot of mistakes and bad choices to realize that when misfortune or hardship strikes, I still have the option of behaving with grace and dignity. Okay, I admit that I've never experienced the worst indignities that extreme cruelty and oppression can create. Extreme circumstances often call for extreme measures. Yet Mahatma Gandhi chose extreme actions time and again - hunger strikes, passive resistance to violence - and still maintained his integrity, as well as the dignity of an entire nation.
I'm finally learning how to use a former weakness as a strength. It requires absolutely no compromise on my part. In fact, it's made me more honest and open. Sure, it can be scary, and leave me even more exposed to ridicule, but I've stopped making things worse by reacting badly. Even if I end up with egg on my face, I remove it as gracefully as possible.
- G. P.

Good Gracious Me

2012-01-02T11:28:00.000-08:00

My new year's resolution is to say grace before every meal. By that I don't mean bowing my head and muttering the words aloud before I eat. If I'm in public and it would be inappropriate to draw attention to myself in the aforementioned manner, I'll simply sit still for a few moments and say grace to myself. That's what I've been doing for almost a year now, whenever I remember, which is about twice a week or so. Now that I've made it my new year's resolution, maybe I'll remember to do it every time.
I've mentioned before that I try to say grace before meals, but it was meant as a means to slow down my voracious eating habits - too much too fast and all that.
When I stop to give thanks for a meal, it does, indeed, slow me down. But now I'm upping the ante. I'm hoping that by saying grace, I'll be invoking it; allowing it to enter my life. All this because I've recently become obsessed with grace - the state of grace, living in grace, to be in good graces, or to be grace itself.
I'm not really sure what's caused this recent preoccupation of mine, but I know grace is a good thing to have and I want my share of it. However, I also know that it's a gift, usually associated with something that's divinely bestowed. People who are considered to be full of grace are worthy of it, because it's a quality that is invariably accompanied by, or synonymous to, kindness, generosity, goodwill and mercy. A genuinely kind and generous person is usually someone others like to hang around. One feels graced by their very presence.
Okay. I know. It's completely unreasonable to hope for the gift of grace without the concomitant virtues. Although I try to be courteous and thoughtful as much as possible, I also frequently slip up. I'm only human. But there are a couple of things I can do - things over which I have complete control, and don't need the disposition of a saint to master. One of them is saying grace before every meal. As long as I offer sincere gratitude for being able to share in Pachamama's bounty, it stands to reason that I will be inviting at least some grace into my life. At least that's my hope.
Another thing I do, and have done for many years, is walk as gracefully as I can. I've written frequently about my love of walking. I walk a lot, and I do it mindfully. I figure since I'm walking anyway, I might as well do it as beautifully as I can. For years now, whenever I walk, I pay attention to my stride, my posture, and my breathing. This deliberate, conscious way of walking has become second nature to me. It's an easy, accessible form of exercise and meditation. I like to think that when I walk with as much grace and ease as I can muster, then surely I endow myself with some sort of spiritual gift, because it's not just a physical experience. Whenever I engage in a conscious, contemplative stroll through the woods, my spirits are lifted, and I feel truly graced with the gifts of good health and peace of mind.
So maybe one day I'll live in a state of grace. But as it stands now, that's highly unlikely, because grace also denotes humility. Hoping to be rewarded with grace just for appreciating good eating and walking - something I should be doing anyway - is not what a genuinely humble, grateful person does. Mind you, that's still not going to stop me from saying grace, or walking with as much grace as possible, and secretly feeling oh-so-proud of myself when I do.
- G.P.

Home is Everywhere

2011-12-05T12:11:00.000-08:00

It's good to be home, and I don't just mean where I live, but right here on my little web. I returned two weeks ago from 18 days in Peru, the most mystical land in the world. Okay, I haven't been in every land in the world, but when the time comes for me to go abroad again, wherever I go will have to be pretty effing magical to top my experience in Peru. I have many stories from my brief, intense time there, and some of them will no doubt end up on this little web of mine, while others I've already told to a few friends, and there are at least a couple that will stay safely stored in my heart and soul. They are all a part of me now, and I've learned a little more about myself and this earth to which I belong.
By now regular readers of this space will know of my obsession with signs and synchronicities - messages from the Universe. I tend to measure the magical content of any experience by the number of synchronicities that occur, and my time in Peru was one big, fat billboard of a message, scribbled from top to bottom and side to side with sign after sign, each one more potent and meaningful than the last.
Although I did my best not to expect anything, I still wanted and hoped for magic. I was not disappointed. Magic was everywhere, mostly disguised as signs and portents, big and small, light and dark. The first most memorable "coincidence" was on my way to the airport. I was sitting at the back of a city bus that drives non-stop to the airport, when I noticed an abandoned book on an empty seat at the front. Although the book was lying face down, I recognized it right away, because I work in a bookstore and it's a long-time best-seller. It was The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield. I'd read some of it over 20 years ago, but I wasn't able to finish it because I thought it was New Age piffle, and rather poorly written to boot. The last laugh's on me, of course, because that book has made Mr. Redfield a very wealthy and successful writer. All the more power to him. Nonetheless, I didn't give the book much more thought for many years, except to notice, rather ruefully, that it was a perennial best-seller.
Flash forward many years to yours truly sitting on an airport-bound bus and spotting the book on an empty seat, just waiting to be claimed by the right person. Well, wouldn't you know, that person was me. I recalled quite clearly that the main premise of the book was about the importance of paying attention to signs and synchronicities. It's a great premise, but it obviously wasn't enough to hold my attention all those years ago.
I confess to being a little bit of a book-snob, and wondered if I should give the book another try, despite less-than-stellar writing. I vaguely remembered that the story took place somewhere in South America, maybe even Peru. So I told myself to walk over and find out just where the story happens, and if it's Peru, then it's an obvious sign this book is meant for you, so pick it up and read it, for Goddess' sake. Some of you readers probably know what comes next, because yes, the story is set in Peru.
So began my own Peruvian journey, filled with meaningful coincidence and happenstance. I read the entire book on the flight to Lima, and still didn't glean much more than I did the first time, except to note the significant way I came upon it. But the message was clear - pay attention. And pay attention I did.
Making note of details in an exotic land isn't hard. After all, that's part of the reason people travel, to see and experience new things. Peru kept me vigilant and on my toes all the time. There was an abundance of strange and wondrous landscape, flora, and fauna. I probably wasted precious minutes trying to take a well-composed photograph when I should have been just enjoying the view. After all, I can google Machu Picchu anytime and get far better pictures. So when I finally learned to slow down, breathe, and relax about taking everything in, there was room for magic.
***
Peru is a land of butterflies and hummingbirds. The blue morpho, probably one of the most photographed, painted, depicted and marketed of all butterfly species, is native to the Amazon basin. Every time I saw one I stopped breathing for a moment, lest the spell it cast be broken. I also saw at least a dozen glass-wing butterflies fluttering in dense foliage beneath a rainforest cascade. I'd anticipated seeing a few blue morphoes, but I'd completely forgotten about the glass-wings, which I'd first read about only a few years ago. Their thinly-outlined, transparent wings are truly otherworldly, and render them virtually invisible to predators. It's no wonder that butterflies are fabled to be fairies in disguise. The same goes for hummingbirds. And oh my Pachamama were there hummingbirds! Hummingbirds are a very special totem for me, and will always remind me of my mother. (Yet another story for another time.) So in a land where I reconnected with Mother Earth (Pachamama to the native Peruvians), the plethora of hummingbirds that darted all around me kept me thinking of my mother specifically, and all mothers in general, and the biggest mother of all, Earth herself.
I was very near the end of my stay in Peru when I spotted what was to be the last hummingbird I would see there. (Sorry, I can't tell you which kind, there's a wide variety of hummingbirds in Peru.) Anyway, I was enjoying the dance the little bird was doing around the flower, and musing on the fact that I'd been graced with so many visits in Peru from two of my favourite creatures, when I suddenly realized that these two significant totems were also tattooed on my body! There are many animals and insects that have meaning for me, but the two that visited me the most in Peru are not-so-coincidently my tattoos. I have a butterfly tattooed on my arm, as well as a hummingbird on my ankle, and I got them long before I ever knew that I'd be going to Peru.
I've always known that we write our own stories as we live out our lives. Every choice we make, everything we say or do is part of our narrative. And like any story, there's usually some foreshadowing somewhere. Of course the images I permanently etched into my skin are meaningful to me, and are stories unto themselves, but my trip to Peru has shown just how deep, prescient, and multi-layered in meaning those symbols really are. (That's why I marvel at how some people deliberately put unpleasant, negative images on their bodies. Don't they realize the kind of karma they're attracting?)
Not all messages were joyous, however. On my first full day in the Sacred Valley of the Andes, I stumbled upon a dead kitten at the gate to Apu Lodge, the hostel where I was staying in Ollantaytambo. (Apu is the Quechua word for spirit or god, and many of the mountains are homes to gods and spirits.) I had gone on a short walk in town, and when I returned barely thirty minutes later, I found the kitten sprawled out on the cobblestones, just feet from the gate. She was still warm to the touch. I didn't want to leave her there, so I picked up her inert body and brought her into the garden. She was so tiny she fit into the palm of my hand.
I informed the owner and staff of my discovery, weeping all the while. They were most understanding, and promised to give her a proper burial. A lovely young woman from England, who worked at the lodge, performed a native smudging ceremony on me, cleansing my soul and thanking the spirit of the kitten for sacrificing herself so that I could learn and grow. And indeed, my time in Peru turned out to be powerful and life-altering - a symbolic death and rebirth.
After finding the lifeless kitten, my journey was filled with many butterflies and hummingbirds, totems that signify transformation and resurrection respectively. (In the high Andes of South America the hummingbird is taken to be a symbol of resurrection, because it goes into a state of suspended animation on cold nights - a small death of sorts - but comes back to life again with the warmth of the morning sun.)
So there it is. One small, but deeply significant part of my journey in Peru. It's not the sort of story I can tell everyone, or publish as travel writing, because what I'm describing is really my inner journey, and not about where I went or what I did. Materialists and prosaic, type A personalities don't understand, but they don't spend time here, where I write freely about the things that matter to me. This is my place to spin and weave tales of minor miracles and magic.
Yes. It really is good to be home.
- G. P.

Amor Vincit Omnia

2011-10-27T11:14:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-13T06:39:00.000-07:00

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

2011-10-03T10:05:00.000-07:00

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.

A Thousand Words

2011-09-29T10:43:00.000-07:00

The picture here is not a pretty one. It's a photograph of the house where I used to live until more than 6 years ago. I didn't own the house; I rented the flat on the 2nd floor, but I called it home for 24 years. The big, gaping hole on the upper level used to be the living room. The burnt out window to the right is where my bedroom used to be.
My home of almost a quarter of a century burnt down this past June, after being abandoned and boarded up for over 6 years. I was evicted, along with the other tenants in the house, and everyone else in the five century homes on the same side of the street. Most of the tenants on that side of the street were various artists and other low-income persons. After we were evicted by the landlord/developers - nice development, eh? - they boarded up all the houses and left them derelict for squatters to regularly invade and occupy. The squatters would be booted out on a regular basis, the doors were boarded up again, and then the desperate folk looking for shelter would come back, knock down the doors and start the whole cycle over again. It went on like this until somebody, looking to warm themselves one chilly night, lit a fire in my former home and shut it down for good.
I tell this sorry little story because it's a perfect metaphor for my life right now; at least it was at the time of the fire. There have been profound changes in my life this past year, most of them good, or at least resulting in something good. When I was evicted from my home, it was a death of sorts - a death of a way of life I had known for half my life at the time. There was sadness and struggle, and a lot of purging. I rid myself of more than half of what I'd accumulated in all those years living there, and have been purging a little all the time ever since. But along with this highly significant "death" in my life, there was also renewal.
Fast forward more than 6 years to the present, when my life and circumstances have changed again, and the house I was so unceremoniously kicked out of burns down. I found out about what had happened to my house upon my return from my brief and joyous sojourn abroad. And of course I don't think it's simply a random event in my life that my old digs should burn down when and how they did. In the years following my eviction, I sometimes returned to see how my long-time, former home was doing. It was falling apart rapidly, of course, and signs of the cyclical coming and going of squatters was clearly evident. I suppose that's not so surprising; the abandoned houses were practically calling out to homeless people to come and try them out.
My former home was only one of five, large, once-beautiful houses all abandoned and boarded up at the same time. I couldn't help noticing that the only house that was ever crashed into by squatters was mine. And no matter how many times the illegal tenants got shut out of there, they always came back to my place, even though the other homes were as accessible as mine. Go figure.
Of course I apply significance to that fact. I like to think that a certain sense of a happy home still surrounded the place more than the others. You know - good vibes. There was a certain magic to the house and its surroundings. Sometimes people even commented on it. So maybe even homeless folks looking for a good place to crash sensed it as well. I watched all this going on over the subsequent years following my eviction, moving twice in the interim and ending up in my current abode. Things didn't really get much easier and "luckier" for me (whatever that is) until this year, and then wouldn't you know, when I finally felt the struggle and yearning subside and abate, and a brand new life begin, my former home goes up in flames. It became a symbol of my former life being over for good. I couldn't go back even if I wanted to.
I'm dwelling on this right now because of the time of year, and time of life - I have a significant birthday ending in a zero coming up. I've been pondering my upcoming birthday ever since my last birthday, and these symbolic events don't let me forget it. The Zen saying - while you are living know that you are dying - is about living your life while being aware of your own mortality. That isn't morbid. It makes a person aware of what is truly important in this life.
But I'm tired now. I'm aware that my neck and shoulders ache from sitting at the computer for too long, and that it's important for me to recognize that and stop hurting myself more, despite the pleasure I get from writing another little blurb on my little web. I'm also aware that it's mid-afternoon and the rain and clouds that have been around all day are departing, and are leaving behind a fresh, moist, not-quite-fiery-red-and-gold autumn day. I shall go walking and breathing and thence to a closing shift at the bookstore where I work.
Everything happens for a reason (well - most things - the Universe includes randomness, of course), and the messages, signs and symbols the Universe sends me do not go unnoticed. Some of those signs aren't pretty, but they're often the ones that pack the biggest punch. So I'm off to look for more signs - nice, happy signs - on what's turning out to be a lovely day. And I'll leave you with a nice, happy sign, too. Enjoy.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Another First Day

2011-09-23T10:21:00.000-07:00

Happy Autumnal Equinox!
I could not let this day go by without writing on my little web and wishing any well-wishers an auspicious first day of fall.
It's truly a first day of fall for me. It's a little bit sad due to some personal things in my life, but it's mostly good. Still, I'd be in denial to ignore the sad things that happen or pass through life. That makes it a perfect metaphor for the first day of this happy-kind-of-sad season, at least for yours truly.
I have much to look forward to, as one does on the first day of anything. But there are also things that I worry and wonder about, things I know are inevitable and not necessarily welcome. Death is one of those things. This is the time of year that heralds the arrival of death. But with death, I'm glad to say, renewal will come, sooner or later, in one form or anther.
It's really piss-pouring rain outside as I write this. It's a not-so-gentle reminder that tears must fall. But it's still very beautiful. There are trees turning colour in a safe, peaceful, familiar scene just outside my window. It's a contemplative moment that I'm daring to share with others.
Not all peaceful moments are without sadness. This day reminds me of that very clearly. But there is beauty in sadness, too. (And please, I'm not talking about shock or grief, at least not on an immediate, personal level.) I associate sadness with quietude, and that's where I am right now. Some of this time I have right now is sad, but not so bad. It is what it is etc etc and all that.
So here's to the Autumnal Equinox. It's a First Day, and I'm into first days big time. I have a lot to look forward to, as well as my share of things that must come even if I don't want them to. That pretty much describes this season for me. I'm learning to embrace that fact of life. That's good, too, because it will always come and I can't change that.
So my wish for any good souls who come by this way is to have a glorious fall, and a good and peaceful life, and death in its own, good time.
So mote it be.
- G. P.

Pregnant

2011-09-20T07:41:00.000-07:00

Anticipation is part of the joy - a large part - of knowing when something you've wanted or wished for will happen. Studies have shown that when people are given a choice of whether they would prefer to visit a dream destination within a week, or within a couple of months, the vast majority preferred to wait. Why? Anticipation.
Dreaming or imagining something you long to do can be bittersweet if there seems to be no end in sight to longing and yearning. But all that wistful yearning becomes gleeful anticipation when a wish or a dream is coming true. That's happening to me right now. I'm living in a state of happy anticipation for the fulfilment of a long-held dream. Goddess knows I've had my share of joy and wish-fulfillment this year, and I'm very grateful. It hasn't always been this way for me. In a number of my earlier posts from the previous 2 years, I discuss making the best out of restrictive, mundane circumstances - living in the moment and enjoying just breathing, walking, eating, listening etc etc and so forth. You know - the "be here now" thing. I still try to be completely present and in the moment whilst doing those things, but I've got the added bonus of anticipating a wonderful event coming into my life. In just over 6 weeks from now I will be seeing a dream come true. I'm going on a yoga retreat in a magical, mystical part of the world, very far away from home, somewhere I've longed to go for many, many years.
My regular readers will no doubt have observed that I've don't name exactly where I live or where I've been or what place I'm writing about. That's because I want to emphasize my experience, and what I learned and felt. In other words, I prefer to write about my inner journey more than the external one. I also like to think that much of my inner life could happen anywhere, and isn't necessarily the product of where I've been. Of course, a change of scenery is more likely to create a change of mind than the tedium of daily, unchanging routine, otherwise there wouldn't be so much travel literature out there. And I also realize that the yoga retreat I'm going on is in the sort of place that would make it almost impossible not to name, which I shall do when the time is right. But for now, I won't be specific because this particular blurb is about my anticipation of the whole experience, and not the place itself.
And so the experience has begun. My life and time spent doing what I do every day has been enriched merely by the fact that I'm full of expectation. Looking forward to the very near future is not robbing me of the present moment, not in this case. In fact, when small, ordinary irritations and inconveniences occur, I just close my eyes for a moment and think of what's to come. I'm not wasting the precious here and now with dreams of what isn't or hasn't happened. I'm making the present moment richer and deeper with pleasant thoughts.
My year so far has been filled with adventure and new experiences, and in-between those times I've been blessed with the anticipation of more to come, because I know and like what's coming. Constant yearning is distracting and deleterious to conscious living. It can make a person bitter. Anticipation makes a person better. And I'm better these past months than I've been in a long, long time.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Wonderful

2011-09-07T05:55:00.000-07:00

I walked home from a friend's place last night in a state of wonder. I walked westward, facing one of the most spectacular evening skies I've ever seen, and it happened on an ordinary day in the city that is my home. I hadn't gone to another part of the world to witness this natural beauty, I just happened to chance on it when the conditions were just right for creating the vivid, stratified, pink and pale blue cloud formations that graced the western horizon. I didn't think that pastel colours could be so vivid, but they were, and only as Mother Nature can create them.
Although I didn't perceive any movement in the clouds, the scene altered and shifted rapidly. When I realised how quickly the beauty before me would disappear, I began to quicken my pace to get home and take a picture from my back yard. I managed to do so while there was still plenty of colour and texture, but my efforts as a nature photographer left me disappointed. The picture I captured paled in comparison to what was out there. Nevertheless, I was grateful to have had some sense of what I'd witnessed recorded and filed away in my photo album.
The random gift that was presented to me at the end of a seemingly ho-hum day isn't the only thing I'll recall whenever I refer to those pictures. As I walked down the city sidewalk, focussed on the grandeur before me, I passed a lot of people - sitting in cafés and pubs, or walking the same direction as I. The glorious sky was so striking it was practically in-their-faces, but I could count the number of people on my hand who bothered to pause and look at it. Even people walking directly west didn't seem to notice at all, or, if they did notice - and I don't know which is worse - seemed completely unimpressed. Of the dozens of people I walked by, there were, of course, a few who were awestruck, and we exchanged a few knowing words or smiles. Mutual acknowledgement deepens appreciation. And boy-oh-boy, was I ever glad there were others who cared about the grand gift they'd been offered. My dismay in my insensitive fellow human beings was beginning to taint my elation, and also in danger of making me feel superior. (Not a good way to feel.) Fortunately, Mother Nature is mightier than I, and the magnificent sky she had painted overwhelmed and subdued my petty human concerns. Nevertheless, I was left with something to complain about in this little web of mine today.
I'm not really complaining, though. I prefer to think of it as "observation." And what I observed in the sky last night far outweighs my disappointment in my fellow mortals. It put things into perspective. Our Earth and all its wonders is greater than any single human being. We are all a part of this Earth, and indeed, all of creation. Spending a few minutes looking upon a vast and glorious sight brought out the best in me. I was there, and I was a part of it. I was filled with wonder. I was wonderful. Seeing a wondrous sunset made me that way, and that's the best gift of all.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Artful Living

2011-09-04T06:51:00.000-07:00

Living is an art, and living well is an even finer art. You can be an artist every moment of every day, simply by slowing down, enjoying the wonderful act of breathing, and listening. But what, you may ask, are you creating? Yourself. You are creating yourself. Everything you think, do, and say, shapes who you are.
Next time you have your picture taken, smile. Everyone looks better when they smile. Creating a better you is not rocket science. It's a simple matter of conscious living. So why not slow down right now? You're probably sitting at a computer as you read this, but you can slow down even more by breathing deeply, and listening. There are so many things to hear even as you read this, and you can notice them without losing focus on what you're doing, which, at the moment, is reading.
Taking your time, breathing, and listening makes you look better, because you're more centred and more relaxed. It might even make you smile, and that'll make you look better still. You'll be creating a better, more attractive you.
That's all for now. I just wanted to slow down, become aware of my breathing, and listen. That's what I've been doing while writing these words. They're not poetic or profound, but I've had a few minutes of conscious living, and I feel better for it. For the time being, I've created a better me.
Have a good day.
- G.P.

Drivel

2011-09-01T11:04:00.000-07:00

Happy September! The arrival of September means that summer is drawing to a close, and I've had a good one - a very good one, indeed. But I'm not letting the fact that one of the best summers of my life is coming to an end get me down. Nosiree. You see, I've just laid the foundation for the rest of my life - the best of my life. And for a not-so-young-anymore person like me, that's really saying something. I've always been a later-bloomer, in every phase of my life, and that applies to the narrative arc of my entire life as well. I'm a Scorpio, and Scorpios are traditionally late-bloomers.
So that's why I'm spending time on my little web writing goddess-knows-what just to make sure I set the tone for the entire month (it's the first day of September) and for the rest of my life, for that matter.
I'm going back to my "straight" job today, but that doesn't mean I'll be spending the rest of my life there. No way. It simply means I'll be earning money for the rest of my life. See how that works? I'm writing right here and now - that's me being creative, expressing myself. I went to yoga this morning, so I'm keeping myself fit. I've performed a few necessary tasks that make for right and responsible living, and I've made connections with people via email. All this is good. Makes for a good life to come.
I'm focussing on living well for just one day, and so far, so good. Just hope I can keep it up whilst I'm at work. That's the real challenge for the day. But if I can go to work, stay upbeat and polite and do a good job (I sell books - it's not so bad), then I'll have had had an exemplary day.
Only one thing's missing - I need time for fun, for pleasure. I've had some down time and relaxation, but I want to have fun to make my day complete. But shouldn't what I'm doing right now be the fun part? I'm a writer and an actress. Artists are supposed to love what they do. They're supposed to be passionate about their work. I don't know if being passionate about something is the same as having fun, but if I just keep moving my fingers over the keyboard, sooner or later I might realize that I'm enjoying myself. But I'm beginning to think maybe not. My neck and shoulders are sore and tense. Sitting at a computer for longer than 30 minutes does that to me. That's why I'm so glad I don't work in an office, sitting all day at a desk. That's not me. Not at all.
I'm still waiting for a theme to emerge from this little blurb I'm spitting out. Nothing so far... I've already explained why I'm writing this. That was the beginning. But I need a theme. I need a how. If I don't have a theme I won't be able to have a proper middle section - the development of my thesis - and if I don't have a middle, then horror of horrors, how on earth can I have an ending? A conclusion? Aargh!
You see, I've got a mandate for the day, for this first day of September, so I'll just keep slugging away until the muse descends, or not, so that I can make some pithy little statement, or not, to conclude this rambling, pointless blurb.
My neck and shoulders are in spasm, but I've written a bit of nonsense and will determine if it was fun once I get off the computer and roll and rub my shoulders a bit. But I feel sorry for you, dear reader. I'm sorry that you've read to this point (if, indeed, you have made it this far) and find that I've no wisdom to impart. All I've done is indulge myself in my usual first-day-of-anything-sets-the-tone habit, and come up with this drivel. My humblest apologies. Please forgive me. I hope you can, because - to quote one of my heroes, Mahatma Gandhi - the weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is an attribute of the strong.
There. Now you don't have to forgive me, because I've finally shared a bit of wisdom on this little web of mine, and from someone much wiser than I.
Namaste.
- G.P.
p.s. I think I'm finally able to say I had some fun. Whew.

Misty-Eyed

2011-08-27T04:51:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-06T06:38:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-03T13:49:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-02T08:48:00.000-07:00

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.

Starry Night

2011-07-24T08:38:00.001-07:00

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Wow! Now there's an original, pithy little maxim. But as trite as it may be, it pretty much describes what I'm feeling right now. I haven't met my own standard of performance level with my current gig after 4 shows, and I'm trying to not let it get me down, becuase it won't serve me well for what's to come. So I'm going through the usual, self-help affirmations about letting the past go (in this case the very recent past) and moving on. Every day is a brand new beginning. (And the clichés continue!)
But I really do have to think these things in order to undo my current frame of mind. The only way to eradicate my current disappointment is to establish a new, firm foundation by getting one good show under my belt, and building from there.
I'm actually quite surprised I'm confessing all this in a public forum. It goes against the mandate of my little web, and I'm not wont to spreading my personal little insecurities on-line. Like who cares anyway? But it's my little web and I'll wobble if I want to. I also like to believe that my simple solutions to ordinary problems might serve others. That's basically why I do this. I like to think my little web has some broader appeal than simply being an on-line journal. I've got a pen and paper journal for that kind of down and dirty complaining. But I digress...
A bumpy beginning does not mean the rest of the journey will be the same. I know I've mentioned a number of times that I believe the first day or time at anything sets a tone, and I still believe that, but I also believe that that none of that is set in stone. Then what purpose does a bumpy start serve? For little old, new-agey me it means I have to work a little harder and climb a little higher to overcome an unwelcome challenge. What I'm doing is challenging enough without the less-than-stellar start. But that's where things are and that's what I have to deal with.
So there you have it. I've laid my soul bare for all the world to see, and I'm declaring a brand new day and a brand new life starting now. That's a bit of a challenge for me, because in case you don't know or haven't noticed, I'm a tad superstitious. Being a magical thinker is one thing, but allowing superstitious hokum to derail me is entirely another. The Universe is offering me a chance to prove to myself that I can change that at anytime. And the time is now.
I'm turning lemons into lemonade and proving to myself that it's not over 'til it's over and the fat lady sings. I'm relying on the wisdom of hackneyed clichés to pull me through my own morass of self-imposed superstitious bilge. Just watch me. (Okay, so you can't literally do that. But please allow me just a little more worn-out rhetoric. I'm doing my best, so work with me here.)
Anyway, I needed to do this. Thanks for "listening." Maybe this little pep-talk to myself helped someone else out there who has the same flaky issues. I hope so.
- G. P.

Hot and Lazy

2011-07-21T08:22:00.000-07:00

It's so hot right now that even sitting perfectly still makes me sweat. That's okay, too. I like sitting still, and if I have a really good reason, such as if I were moving and doing something, it might make me woozy, then all the more reason to sit and do nothing. Of course, writing on my little web, as I'm doing right now, isn't really doing nothing, but since I have nothing to say, I figure it's just about the same thing.
I can read, of course, and I have been. I've also been writing in my journal. But mostly I've been saving my energy for my work these days, which is doing a short summer theatre gig. I'm grateful, in a way, for the enervating, sweltering heat. It makes me too laid back and low key to be nervous. Anticipating the preview tonight brings butterflies to my stomach, but I'm too hot to shiver.
Which brings me to a serious question ... Why is it politically incorrect to suggest that cultures and countries in warmer climates are more laid back and less inclined to be rushing and pushing to get somewhere? I've mentioned that a couple of times in conversation and have been roundly chastised for it. How dare I make such sweeping generalizations? I'm not saying tropical cultures are lazy and less ambitious (although I don't think the latter is such a bad thing), I'm merely pointing out that Mother Nature rules, and always has, which is something I repeat over and over again in these blurbs of mine. Climate and geography have determined people's culture in so many ways, from the way we dress, to the buildings we occupy, to the things we do well or don't do at all. And much, much more. After all, necessity is the mother of invention, and the circumstances we live in determine what we need. (Let's face it, the Jamaican bobsled team in the 1988 Winter Olympics was an anomaly.)
Humans are shaped by where they live on this planet. Sure, we influence each other, but this earth of ours shaped us first, and continues to do so. She gets us to move house and home even if we don't want to, just as much as any oppressive political regime. Weather affects our moods on a daily basis, so why on earth shouldn't it affect an entire group of people's consciousness over thousands of years? My mood and behaviour right now have been caused almost entirely by the hot, sweltering weather. It makes me respect this earth and all her wonders more than ever.
Go ahead. I dare you. Go outside wherever you are and tell me that what's going on out there in terms of weather doesn't influence your mood in some small or large way. Of course it does. So think about this planet of ours and the myriad different moods and faces she's had over the millennia, and notice what a great tapestry of people's and cultures there are, and where they are, and how they are. That's the power of this earth. That's the power of Nature. How dare we try to conquer her.
Go with her flow. Live in harmony. And if that means being lazy and doing nothing on a hot summer's day, then all the more power to you.
- G.P.

Sweet Nothing

2011-07-19T15:47:00.000-07:00

It's early in the evening, and I've spent all of my spare time today mostly doing nothing. "Nothing" consists of some quiet meditation, a little reading, eating something here, drinking something there and briefly browsing the web for some inspiration on how to do nothing - which entails visiting minimalist sites. All this, mind you, was only in my spare time. I'm currently living in a lovely, sleepy little town in my part of the world, rehearsing for a light dramatic piece of summer theatre. The cottage I'm living in for five weeks is perfect for one person. When I'm not at the theatre rehearsing for our 2 and a half week run which begins in 3 days, I spend most of my time doing nothing. And I love it.
I haven't listened to the radio, watched t.v. or read a newspaper since I arrived here. I guess that's a holdover from having been in foreign lands for a while before coming here, because I didn't do any of those things then either. The most engagement I have with media and the wired world at large is on my computer, surfing the web a little, writing the occasional little blurb here on my little web, as well as reading and writing emails.
I haven't felt this centred and balanced for a long, long time. Sure, I miss yoga - there are very few classes available to me here, and I'm not disciplined enough to practise on my own - but I'm hearing sounds and seeing sights that haven't been filtered and edited by technological wizardry. I don't really miss music, either, although last night when one of my fellow cast members drove me home, she had the fabulous songstress Adele's latest c.d. playing, and I daresay I had a rocking good listen for 5 minutes or so. But mostly I'm fine just being quiet, alone and still during my down time. But there's one slight problem...
This morning, before going to the theatre, my slow, easy time alone at my temporary home almost made me feel guilty. I felt as if I should be doing something besides being quiet and contemplative. I should have been producing something. I should have been active and engaged in a high speed, high-tech life. I felt so calm and centred, and somehow still managed to feel a residue of guilt for it. After all, couldn't I do everything I'd done, or not done, at least with the radio or stereo on? Maybe I should have caught up on the news. After all, I'm supposed to know what's going on so that I can have an opinion on it. And I must admit a couple of times in the last couple of weeks I've certainly felt out of the loop about certain headline making shenanigans by corrupt media moguls, but a couple of well-placed questions filled in the gaps quite quickly, at least enough to satisfy my waning curiosity in the affairs of the outside, material world.
So I'm okay. I'm presently ignorant of the nitty-gritty details of current events, but I'm okay. I'm sure I'm not harming anyone or anything more than usual, including myself. In fact, I believe I may be treading even more lightly on this beautiful, wondrous earth of ours than I would be if I were engaged in a loud, busy, urban life. During the day I'm being creative and getting paid to do what I love to do. The rest of the time I'm mostly minding my own business and letting the rest just be. So what's wrong with that? I'll tell you what. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Namaste.
- G.P.

ha ha ha

2011-07-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

That's it. I've had it. No more.
The cyber sprites are at it again and have rendered the list of my fanatical followers invisible.
Okay you guys, you win.
I won't go on about this sordid little business anymore on this little web of mine.
But I will leave a lovely picture of an invisible butterfly for my fans to enjoy.
And a big fat raspberry to you.
So there.
- G.P.

Cyber Sprites

2011-07-10T07:58:00.000-07:00

Okay. That's it. Just as I was finishing my last blurb mere minutes ago, and railing about how some unknown element of the Universe is laughing at me and how the list of my followers will probably appear back on my web to make me feel like an even bigger fool than I am, my entire blurb fell off the screen, (I have no idea why, I wasn't doing anything I don't normally do) and within moments a whole new screen came up with all my followers back in place, and all the technical problems I've been having with engineering my web for the last 5 months gone. (I won't even go there - but suffice it to say, the recent problems have made entering these blurbs a lot more difficult for me lately.) Anyway, my little web is working better than ever. I've got my followers back, and I feel a bigger fool than ever. But I don't mind. (If you just joined me now, dear reader, take a look at the previous 2 entries and you'll know whereof I speak.)
The upshot of all this is I've now figured out just what is laughing at me. It's technology. It always has, and I guess it always will. Damn those cyber-sprites. They'll get you every time.
- G. P.

The Last Laugh

2011-07-10T06:53:00.000-07:00

Well well well. I know it can't just be me, but sometimes I feel as if it is...
The Universe is playing games with me again. But if I were to be rational about this, it isn't doing anything with me in particular at all, because the Universe just doesn't care. It's completely indifferent, I know. It doesn't have will or intention, but since I have to attribute the odd little occurrences and synchronicities in my life to something apart from chance, I'll just keep using the same vocabulary I always have in these little blurbs of mine to explain another one.
If you're reading this, dear followers, then perhaps you've read the previous yarn I wove into this little web of mine. It's about being alone and apart and facing my true self and how so many things in my life reflect that on the material level and how it all fits together in the expanding picture-puzzle that is my life. Whilst writing my last blurb I came upon a technical hitch which was announced to me by a window that popped up from the blog-people who rule the technical side of my web. I overcame that problem fairly quickly, and was deeply grateful that for that, otherwise it might have ruined my day, being the technopeasant that I am. The point is, when I returned to view my pretty little web, I noticed that all my followers had disappeared. When I scrolled down the right hand column where my legion of fans are listed - all nine of them, myself being one - there was a blank space. I discovered this little glitch just as I was writing about how certain events in the material world reflected my inner life as a person alone, as a spinster. If you glance back you will see that the words I used were about not sharing my life with anyone. Then lo and behold, the sweet, cute little space devoted to showing my fan base was a complete void. A black, blank nothing.
I know you good people are still out there, and maybe some of you still read my little web, but you know me well enough by now to know that I consider this to be significant, if only as a joke that some random vibe (yes, I, Gossamer Penwyche, am using the word random - after all, the Universe isn't complete without both cosmos* and chaos) intersected my little web and created a weird and wonderful illustration of what I'm always going on and on about.
I'm not unduly upset - except that, aesthetically speaking, I don't like that blank space there - but I can't help thinking that the laugh's on me. But just who or what is laughing?
Don't get me wrong. This is not a call to my friends and followers to sign up again to prove your loyalty. Please don't. Not necessary. I'm more secure than that. And for all I know, tomorrow I may log back onto my little web and find the list of you lovely people back in the vacant space, and feel even more foolish for having spent time weaving this thread into my web. But I can't help noticing this funny little fluke. And of course I had to share it.
See? I am still sharing my life.
Blessed be.
- G. P.
* cosmos - Gr. for order or beauty

Sleeping Alone

2011-07-09T11:21:00.000-07:00

What exactly is a vacation? I never referred to my not-as-recent-anymore sojourn abroad as a vacation, because I associate a vacation with lying on a tropical beach or sitting on a dock and drinking beer. That wasn't the nature of my "vacation." But I guess I did vacate in one way or another.

So what did I vacate? My home? My mundane obligations and responsibilities? My home, for sure. But I certainly remained responsible. I had to. Getting around in a foreign land where you don't speak the language requires being very responsible. In fact, it's a lot easier for me to vacate at home with a glass of wine and some herbal refreshment, especially when I'm feeling over-burdened with the ordinary duties required to get through life. And it's a real no-brainer to point out that the more one indulges in that mode of vacating, the more one is vacant.

I'm going on about all this because the longer I was away from home, where everything is familiar and frequently ordinary, the more I became aware that I wasn't on what I consider to be a vacation at all. I came face to face with who I am on a daily basis, sometimes quite painfully.

When one is bleezed through substance abuse, that's a definite retreat from yourself. That's the exact opposite of looking at yourself in the mirror and seeing who you really are. And let's face it, people who go that route to vacate don't want to face themselves.

Okay. So I didn't go on a vacation. I went away. But the irony of all this is that the first week of my sojourn was actually a retreat. Yes, I went on a yoga retreat in a beautiful, bucolic part of the world and had signed myself up to share accommodations with a stranger for six nights. The stranger I'd been booked to share a capacious, zen-like room with was a fellow practitioner of yoga, and therefore it should have been easy to live amicably together. And it no doubt would have been if I didn't snore like a chain saw. (A friend and former co-habitator once described my snoring that way.) Anyway, the very fine lady I shared the very fine accommodations with the first night didn't get a wink of sleep. I don't think she would have said anything to me, because I know she didn't want to hurt my feelings, but I asked her the next morning how she slept, and she very wisely decided to tell me the truth. According to her I snore like a sailor. Sheesh.

Anyway, I could see she was genuinely exhausted from lack of sleep, and everyone else on the retreat noticed it too. She discreetly shared her dilemma with the director of the retreat, as well as a close confidant, and was quickly supplied a pair of ear plugs for the week. I caught wind of all this within a couple of hours, because we were a small, cloistered group of people, and I felt an unmistakable "vibe" going around the place, even though everyone was being so polite and treading lightly around me. But I'm sensitive enough to have caught on. Anyway, I ended up requesting a room of my own, at my own expense, so that my bleary-eyed roommate wouldn't go sleepless for the rest of the week. It was the right thing to do. The only problem was I felt so embarrassed, so humiliated. A circus freak.

So why am I telling this sad little story? Because this sorry little incident only confirmed what I've know for a very long time now - I'm meant to be alone and to sleep alone. I'm a spinster, and most of the time proud of it. (But I'm not too keen on the snoring stereotype.) Anyway, if that means in order to keep other people from sharing my life, my home, and my bed, that I must snore whilst I sleep, well then, so be it.

The only reason I'm able to publicly share this awkward confession is that it proves, at least to me, that everything happens for a reason. My raucous, night-time, nasal noises guarantee that I will never share my sleeping quarters with anyone ever again. That's not just happenstance to me. It fits the pattern of my life. It makes perfect sense.

Laugh or sneer if you want. It's who I am.

I faced these hard facts on a retreat. On a putative vacation. I learned that I can vacate my domicile, and even the mundane order of my ordinary life. I can retreat from the rest of the world, but not from myself.

So there it is. The woman I see in the mirror on a daily basis is a spinster who snores.

- G.P.

Signum Est!

2011-06-25T07:01:00.000-07:00

I'm obsessed with signs.
If you've been following me for a while, or know me even a little, that much you know about me for sure. And I don't necessarily mean street or shop signs, although a number of them have played significant roles in my life. Nevertheless, these more mundane signs can be quite magical depending on when and how I encounter them, and I encountered a great deal of them on my recent travels. If I hadn't I wouldn't have been able to go anywhere or do anything.
All of a sudden signs and maps became my favourite human inventions. Before my sojourn I hadn't fully realized what a fabulous human construction a map is. But now I do. Being able to read and follow a map saved me a lot of time and trouble while I was abroad. A map is surely the most international language there is. It doesn't matter where someone comes from, reading a map is the same for everyone. Thank goddess for that. When I couldn't communicate verbally with someone in the most visited city in the world, I just pulled out my well-worn map, pointed to where I wanted to go, waved my arms around a bit, and wouldn't you know, they figured out what I was trying to say. They pointed to the "you are here" place I needed to know, and voila, I was able to continue my long, winding walk to wherever it was I was going. I learned to love and appreciate the beauty of a map and all the knowledge and history it contains.
I had to do a fair amount of cross-referencing with my maps, of course. I was constantly matching the names and signs on the maps I was using with the ones on streets and buildings. I spent a lot of time being genuinely lost, because I couldn't always find one or the other to match them up and hence know where I was. No wonder I fell in love with maps - I spent so much time with my nose buried in them and learning all their intimate details. And of course I translated my new-found love of maps to my long-time love of signs. Signs that point the way. Signs that give a warning. Signs that reassure me that I'm on the right path, or not. Signs that are messages from the earth, the solar system and the universe, both physically and metaphysically.
I have a habit of frequently bursting out with the loud and enthusiastic observation "It's a sign!" Sometimes I'm making fun of myself, but most of the time when I see something I consider to be of metaphysical significance, (only to me, of course) I will gleefully shout those words. After my ejaculation I'll frequently be asked "a sign of what?" But the thing about signs is they're so personal, and the connections I make will seem so obscure to other people. The messages I receive from the Universe are meant for me and my path, and not some stranger sitting next to me who lives in a world of their own making.
My preoccupation with signs defines my own little world. It also expands it, to include the unseen world, and my imagination. (Many magically-challenged people would suggest the unseen world I'm always looking for is my imagination.) I confess that my obsession can make me appear flaky and not really grounded in reality, and goddess knows I seek balance as much as magic these days. The only way to achieve balance is to spend more time standing firmly on the earth - hence the yoga - and less time taking off on flights of fancy. I recognize that, but I can't help being thrilled when I see a physical object, natural or man-made, or a person or animal that's loaded with personal connections to issues and matters that preoccupy me. It's also called synchronicity, and whenever my life is what I consider to be especially "magical," synchronicities abound. I love it.
I travelled lightly and tried to keep my purchases and acquisitions to a minimum. Every time I bought something, I left something else behind. My carry-on suitcase probably weighed less at the end of my trip than it did at the beginning. My few purchases were usually necessary items, but from the beginning I knew I wanted to find a beautiful pen. I'm a pen person. My name isn't Penwyche for nothing. I'd been on a search for the perfect memento pen when I came upon a stationery shop sign that said Signum (Latin for "sign" or "signature"). The shop was closed because it was late at night, but I made a point of remembering where it was by consulting my map and marking it. I went back to the shop the very next day and found the pen I'd been looking for. I was certain I would, because of the sign, of course. Since that day I no longer say "it's a sign!" Nosiree. I've stopped that ridiculous habit. Now, whenever happy little synchronicities appear to me, I'll cry out "Signum est!" (L. it's a sign)
All through my sojourn I was waiting for a single moment of profound meaning. A pivotal moment. A miracle. That's the way I pretty much go through life anyway, so of course I'd be even more vigilant when I was journeying abroad. Well, that pivotal, defining moment never happened. I couldn't tell you one specific incident or circumstance that could be described that way. But I'm not disappointed. Not at all. As I look back on my time away, the story I lived out was filled with multiple magical moments. Each small, seemingly insignificant event led seamlessly to the next. One synchronicity was woven into another. I almost missed these precious little secrets because I was looking for that isolated, illusive, miraculous, life-altering event. Although it didn't happen, my attention to details and the small wonders they revealed reaffirmed my belief in the sacredness of creation more than ever. As I follow the thread of all the signs, big and small, that came to me on my sojourn, I can clearly see a map of my inner journey. I may be the only one who can decipher it, but that's why I like it.
Yup. My trip was a real trip.
- G.P.

Journey Home

2011-06-24T08:34:00.000-07:00

Travelling far and wide doesn't necessarily mean travelling deep or high. My recent sojourn illustrated that to me very clearly. I met as many tourists as natives of the two lands I visited, and spoke with a number of them at length about where they'd been and where they were going and what they were doing and oh you must see this, you must see that, oh-you-really-must. These lists of been-theres and done-thats were just as tedious to me abroad as they are when I'm subjected to them at home. I freely admit that for a very long time I've been envious and bitter that I didn't have more recent overseas experiences to go on and on about, but even when I was sitting around the breakfast table in a foreign B&B with other travellers, I found myself either tuning-out or still feeling slightly bitter when the conversation inevitably went that way. (Established mental patterns are really hard to kick.) I'm not nearly as interested in people's outer lives as I am in what makes them tick. Always have been. So I guess I'm nosey, too.
I had intended to reinvent myself because I was going to places where no one knew me. Well, despite my flair for the dramatic, I didn't really reinvent myself. I didn't change or disguise myself in any way. In fact, I was far more open and vulnerable than I usually am. But that stands to reason, because I was a stranger travelling alone in two strange lands, and needed a lot of support and assistance from other strangers. That meant I was on my best behaviour almost all the time. I was a visitor and did my best to be a welcome one. I was polite, deferential, cheerful and quiet. I listened more than I talked, and almost always regretted when I spoke up. Not that I was offensive or full of myself - at least I hope I wasn't - but I know I look a lot better when my mouth is shut.
But for a couple of exceptions, I was treated with the same courtesy and cheer I sent out there. Funny how that works, isn't it? Anyway, I got back home and suddenly I didn't feel like the new, improved me that I was while I was vacating. Of course I do my best to be my best all the time, but it just doesn't feel the same. That's because the people I hang around here know me. I don't want to talk about where I've been or what I've done, I want to talk about how I may have changed or grown, about what I feel and think. I prefer talking about my inner journey, and any points of interest on my sojourn will only be mentioned if it's relative to discussing my inner life. Well, guess what? Not everyone wants to hear that, either. Thank goddess I've got this little web of mine to ruminate freely.
Of course I'm applying the life lessons I learned on my vacation to life back where everything is familiar. My friends may notice how relaxed and healthy I look, but it's hard to gauge if they perceive a deep, meaningful change in me, because maybe there isn't one. If I've evolved it would be too subtle for people to notice right away, anyway. That's the sort of thing that becomes apparent only after a while. So my over-weaning need for instant recognition won't be satisfied, and that's a good lesson, too.
All is not lost for immediate gratification, however. I've got a five week theatre gig coming up shortly, and the updated version of my neural programming will be presented to people who haven't had access to the old one. Cool. Others won't know about my newly acquired inner riches or how I got them. I won't be asked questions about where I've been or what I've seen. I'll just be the new, improved me. People won't be able to compare me to the slightly earlier version of myself. Talking less will be an even greater challenge because now I have more I want to say, more I wish to share.
More than ever I see that it is still a beautiful world and I shall spend the rest of my life doing my part to keep it that way. I was humbled by my journey abroad. I've always found humility an attractive feature. Maybe I can practise being humble now that I've spent some time being quiet and deferential somewhere far away. It's easier to do in a foreign land, because that's the most effective way to have your needs met.
Not only are my friends and family regarding and reacting to me as they always have, I'm doing the same with them. But this new chapter of my life is a complete, brand new book for the people I'll be working with at my upcoming gig. Neither they nor I will have any long-held opinions on who or what the other person is. It's tabula rasa all around, and I like it that way. I can test my theories on what makes a person truly interesting, and find out if I meet my own standards. All I have to do is remember to breathe deeply and listen more. Sounds like a plan.
- G. P.

A Long Day

2011-06-21T05:26:00.000-07:00

Happy Summer Solstice.
It's the longest day of the year for those of us in the northern hemisphere.
Keep the sun shining as long as you can.
Build a bonfire.
Roast corn.
Celebrate life.
If the sun's behind dark clouds, keep a fire burning in your heart.
If someone you know hurts or grieves, if there is loss and pain where once there was love and joy, be a warm heart.
Be gentle, be kind.
Share someone's pain.
Though it may not seem to help, it's the right thing to do.
Listen.
Look.
Pay attention.
This day has many hours of light.
It's a good day to notice things.
A longer time to celebrate life, and a longer time to grieve.
Help heal those who hurt.
Talk little, but stay warm.
Stay open.
Thinking kind thoughts matters.
That's what I'm doing right now.
Summer solstice is a happy day for me, but someone I know has suffered a tragic loss and is in deep pain.
So I won't wax enthusiastic about all the joys of the day.
Someone is unable to feel them, through no fault of their own.
All I can do is acknowledge that.
And note how long the sun shines on this day.
- G.P.

Windows to the Soul

2011-05-17T12:55:00.000-07:00

I saw a very sad woman crossing the street the other day. She was facially disfigured, probably from birth, because it looked as if she had been born with little or no chin. I doubt plastic surgery could have helped her much, because it's hard to build something without the raw materials, in this case a jaw bone. But her congenital defect was not the first thing I noticed about her. She had one of the saddest pair of eyes I have ever seen. And it didn't look like fresh pain, or some recent injury to her soul. The grief I saw in her eyes looked as if it had been there all her life. I saw no bitterness or anger, although I suppose she had good reason to feel those things. No. I saw only an age-old struggle for peace.
I wondered if she had ever known a lover or a partner. If that young woman's face is one of those that only a mother can love, then surely her mother must love her fiercely.
The stranger's deep sadness unleashed a degree of compassion in me I didn't know I had. It reminded me of a similar experience I had many years ago when I was still a young woman myself. It was in the middle of winter as I walked down a city street, bundled against the cold. I noticed the figure of a girl approaching me, and a golden retriever walked closely beside her, without a leash. The dog walked so closely that he was leaning on the girl's leg. As the two friends came nearer, I could see the girl was terribly disfigured - an accident of some sort - burns which had left one whole side of her face scarred beyond recognition. Just as I passed those companions who clung so desperately to each other, a couple of adolescent males walked by. They laughed derisively and made some cruel comment which both she and I could plainly hear. Her eyes remained fixed straight ahead, gazing at some point in the distance, but they revealed a deep sorrow she had borne a long time. No doubt she had had many years of practise at avoiding people's stares, and no wonder her dog clung to her so protectively. All at once I realized that the devotion she got from her dog was probably some of the deepest affection she was going to receive her whole life. (That's not necessarily a bad thing. Dogs are the most loyal of animal companions.) Anyway, I fell apart.
I don't know why I'm writing about this at this time. It's a lovely spring day, the sun shines and I have much to be grateful for and enjoy. Maybe I'm writing this just to acknowledge other people's struggle and pain. Maybe it makes me feel better to take time to see into a stranger's soul and feel genuine compassion.
It's easy for me to feel concern for animals. I'm easily moved by the suffering of innocent creatures. But when a perfect stranger of the human kind causes me to feel empathy, I'm almost always surprised, and am momentarily ready to forgive the evil that humanity has inflicted on its own kind, as well as on this beautiful earth.
Having related these sad little stories on this little web of mine hasn't changed or improved the lives of the ladies I write about. It won't help them stop hurting. But it's changed me a little. Remembering them here has made me softer and more yielding; less judgemental. I'm grateful to those young women for stirring my soul. They have moved me to pray for those who hurt in body and spirit. I like to think that they are the kind of people who shall inherit the earth.
Amen and blessed be.
- G.P.

A New World

2011-05-17T10:09:00.000-07:00

I'm overdosing on joy. In less than an hour I'm off to places I've never been. I'll be gone for 4 weeks and 3 days and experiencing 2 seasons - early spring and early summer - but I've still managed to pack all I need into one carry-on suitcase. This bodes well. It makes me feel like the seasoned traveller I'm not. I'm putting my money where my mouth is and keeping things minimal. I'll be less burdened by stuff. I'll feel even freer than I would have anyway.
The possible too-much-of-a-good-thing part is because I'm not used to the good fortune that has come to me in an almost in-your-face fashion. I'm still working through the huge, happy changes in my life and am having trouble processing them all. My neural networks are taking a while to download my new program. It's overwhelming and sometimes I freeze up with too much happening too fast. Imagine my confusion when I have to start working with a brand new, updated 2011 version. My default mode tends to be sad or scared. Delete delete delete.
Breathing deeply has never been more enjoyable or more necessary. It's proof that I'm awake and not dreaming. Not that I don't like a good dream now and then, either. But sometimes reality isn't such a bad thing after all. Like now.
So off I go to reinvent myself. That's fun, too. I won't be adding any little threads to my little web while I'm gone, but I'm sure there'll be lots of new information to draw upon when I get back.
That's all for now. I gotta go and start some serious deep breathing, because I've been holding my breath as I've been writing this. That's the overdose part I referred to.
Anyway, ciao for now.
- G.P.

All the World's a Stage

2011-04-14T06:41:00.000-07:00

If I'm somewhere nobody knows me, I'm usually the best person I can be. I'm creating myself on a blank page. It's tabula rasa, because no one has any preconceptions of me. They don't know who I am, where I've been, or what I've done. Depending on how I look at the time, I could be just about any character I choose. But no matter where I may be or how I'm dressed, I always go for politesse. It doesn't always work, because there are a lot of A-holes out there, ready to attack and bite and bring out the worst in anyone or anything they encounter. Usually, though, I like anonymity when I'm out in the public forum, so that I can present myself as a courteous, considerate person, and maybe even an interesting one to boot. And no one's the wiser because they've never met me before.

That's why I like to travel. Going someplace new where nobody knows your name is a wonderful platform for playing and performing. But it can get you into trouble, too. I wouldn't tell a perfect stranger in casual conversation, even if it's certain I'll never see them again, that I'm a neurosurgeon, just in case they happen to be a doctor or medical professional of some kind. All of a sudden all the fun goes right down the toilet, and me along with it. But inventing something I can improvise easily is lots of fun, and highly creative. And despite the usual pre-show nerves of performing on stage, playing a scripted character is even more enjoyable, and there's no danger of getting into trouble for lying, although there are other ways of screwing up.

That's why I'm feeling so good these days. I've got a couple of opportunities coming up for lots of playing and pretending, both abroad and in the theatre. Hence my pleasure in going to cafes and pubs alone. It's an easy, accessible, and affordable way to play by myself in public. I usually present myself as successful and wealthy, as long as I'm suitably appointed, of course. It's a nice default position and doesn't require over-the-top play-acting. It's mostly just attitude, my dear, and can be oh so droll. When I'm in that mode I tend not to engage in excessive conversation, especially if it's a place where I'm a regular, because then I'd be forced to embellish the truth. Talking too much to even the service staff might blow my cover as a wealthy, successful writer with a lot of free time on her hands.

Playing a role in real day-to-day life is not necessarily lying. In fact, it can be good for you, depending on what role you choose to play, because a person's path is all about choices. I like to play the sort of person I respect, admire, or even envy. But sometimes, if I'm feeling mischievous enough, I'll play someone completely unlike me, as long as it's harmless, creative fun. Harmless is the operative word here, for both me and the strangers I may meet.

In the near future I'll be able to play my favourite games on a bigger stage than my imagination. It promises to be a great summer. I hope I do well. Goddess knows I've had enough practise.

-G.P.

Master Builder

2011-04-14T06:19:00.000-07:00

This is my favourite number.
I dreamt it one night.
- G.P.

Fortuna

2011-04-13T10:09:00.000-07:00

Life's been good to me lately. Or maybe I've been good to life. Whatever it is, the wheel of fortune has been turning in my favour. It's not that I think life sucks or anything that. Far from it. But even a few days ago, despite good health and relative good fortune, I was still subject to the wobblies. (I have been most of my life.) Then along comes one more little bit of good news and suddenly the wobblies are gone. If I cry these days, it's because I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and joy. And it's not as if things were all that bad anyway. But like many people in the unsteady business of the arts, I fret over things like the future and my career and how-will-I-survive-when-I'm-85-if-I-live-that-long sort of stuff. Well, nothing's changed in that regard. I haven't won a lottery to rid myself of living -alone-in-old-age worries, but one more happy bit of news has changed my life for the better, at least for a little while. The wobblies are gone and I'm celebrating balance and stability liberally sprinkled with elation and thanks.

That's all for now. I feel good and I just wanted to say so out loud, or in print, or on line, or whatever else people are calling it these days. All I know for sure is I'm going to let me and this little web of mine shine shine shine.

Blessed be.

- G.P.

Verbal Equinox

2011-03-21T14:14:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this because it's the first full day of spring. I've mentioned before how I feel about the first day of any period of time - a new year, a new season, a new phase in life, or any other way we designate and parcel out the passage of our days. The vernal equinox is particularly significant to me, because spring is without a doubt my favourite season. I love it from beginning to end, especially the earliest stages of spring, when most people think it's dreary and dull, and are missing the tiny, subtle signs that new life is emerging after months in the dark. It's such an exciting time, and so full of promise. So naturally I want to make sure that this day sets the tone for the entire season.
In order for this day to represent what I want for this spring, and indeed, the rest of my life, I must be creative and productive. So that's why I'm writing this little blurb. I really don't have that much to say, despite the long absence from my little web. I've been busy, very busy, and, I'm grateful to say, in a creative way. But my brief, intense foray into another non-paying gig as an actress is over, and I'm back here to muse awhile.
Where to begin? There's so much happening in the world right now that it makes my head reel and my heart ache. The force of Mother Nature has revealed her most powerful, destructive self in Japan. The gargantuan earthquake and disastrous tsunami have been followed by the all too human threat of nuclear fallout. What hubris is it that makes man (and I do mean "man" in a radical feminist kind of way) to build nuclear power plants on a volatile string of small, geologically unstable islands and think that somehow, some way, Mother Earth won't show us who's really boss around here? And then there's Libya and all that. Aargh!
The Chinese curse - may you live in interesting times - has never seemed to me more appropriate. Lots of violence and war, and lots of natural disasters. I don't know if it's because we're more connected via all those small, hand-held computer thingies that there seems to be more of this "interesting" stuff going on these days, or if the number and size of the revolts that are happening, both natural and man-made, are really increasing. But it sure gets me to thinking about that ridiculous 2012 Mayan end-of-the-world conspiracy theory. (I think it's bunk, and the sort of stuff that's believed by ignorant, paranoid people.) Nevertheless, I can't help going to that place in my mind, simply because of what seems to be the greater frequency and degree of disasters. But enough of that. It's the first day of spring and and I'm making this my verbal equinox by musing here.
Yesterday, at 7:21 pm, the vernal equinox arrived in my part of the world and I toasted my favourite season along with a bunch of interesting, experienced, and beautiful crones; wise-women all. It was a splendid way to herald the arrival of spring. Now I'm spending the day creating a personal template for the whole season. It feels good. I haven't solved any problems or changed anything, but I've expressed myself. And that's what this little web of mine is for.
So, dear reader and faithful follower (that still sounds weird to me, but I like it!) I shall sign off now because I didn't have anything to say when I began, and have even less to say now. I wish you - and especially all those good and innocent people who suffer for whatever reason on this awesome, unfathomable, and unconquerable earth of ours - a gentle, light and gracious spring, full of hope, healing and promise.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Spring Tonic

2011-02-15T06:16:00.000-08:00

I'm making a pathway to springtime in my mind. Everyday I wake up and move my thoughts to brighter, warmer days. Miracles happen every day, every minute, all around the world and right next door. Spring is one of those miracles - spring on the earth and spring in our hearts - in great masses of people rising up, or family and friends saying fond farewells to loved ones. You can't have spring without winter, or life without death, whether it's death of a regime or an individual. Something new, and maybe better, will come from it. So I'm doing my best to make sure that all the big and little deaths and passages in my life lead to a brighter, deeper awareness.
I think I'm going to like the spring of 2011 more than ever, and that's a lot because spring is my favourite season. I've lost and learned more than usual this winter, so this spring promises to be a good one. There are lots of seeds slumbering beneath the snow. I put them there. The way I live my life germinates them. I can hardly wait to watch them grow.
I guess you wonderful people who pass by this way every once in a while have noticed I've got cabin fever. At least I live in a nice cabin. But I'm looking forward to opening the windows, and most of all, stepping outside. I'm a writer and actor and cherish my imagination, so in the meantime I'll find a way to do that with what's available to me right now and where I am, metaphorically speaking. I know I can. That's what I'm doing when I write these words. It's fun. It makes me feel better. Looking at pretty pictures of springtime subjects makes me feel better, too. I hope it does the same for you.
Blessed be,
-G.P.

Quick Fix

2011-02-05T05:41:00.001-08:00

I have five minutes to add something to my little web to make me feel better. Winter still sucks, but pretty pictures of spring flowers and other seasonal fripperies lift my spirits. I can't change the weather, but I can change my mind, and that's exactly what I'm doing right now. Just the thought that I'll have done something this morning that's more positive than bemoaning how long this cold, grey season can last makes me feel better already. Although I'll basically have said nothing more serious or illuminating than the last time I wrote in here. So what? It's my little web and I'll write drivel if I want to.
Oops! The clock is ticking and I'm not writing fast enough to say anything more before I must spend several minutes putting on layers of clothes to go to work. I'm breathing deeply now and slowing down. It's a major task ahead of me and I think I can handle it now. One more deep breath and a few more bits of nonsense and I'm off.
I'll be back soon. Can't promise anything too inspirational, though. But a pretty picture for sure.
Be good. Be happy. Blessed be.
- G.P.

Winter Sucks

2011-01-27T09:51:00.000-08:00

I'm suffering from too much winter. After a morning of much weeping, wailing, gnashing of teeth and beating of breast, I stopped to wonder what did I do last year at this time? How did I get through the long, cold, grey days? What did I write in my little web that wasn't complaint? (That's part of my mandate for my little web, although I admit I don't always pay attention to my own rules.) Anyway, I scrolled back and read what I had written last January. I wrote more frequently than I've done this year for this month, and I made valiant efforts to express only good and happy thoughts. I'm pleased to report that reading what I wrote actually made me feel better. My efforts to write pithy little bits of cheer in the midst of gloom seems to have worked for at least one reader - me. Who knew?
I'm really glad I have this little space to come to when I feel like this. I don't care that it may be the most unfollowed, unread little web on the Web. I like it because it's mine and it makes me feel good. As near as I can tell there's nothing wrong or politically incorrect or environmentally unfriendly about that. So I can write any damn bit of drivel on this thing and it doesn't hurt anyone, including me. It's too inconsequential to embarrass or humiliate me, and I'm pretty sure it won't come back to haunt me years from now, even though now that it's here it's basically "out there" forever. No, I can't think of any reason to regret writing this particular bit of fluff.
Well, mission accomplished. Twenty minutes ago I felt as grey as the weather. Now I feel better. I've been silly and I like it. And finding a pretty picture of daffodils helped, too. I picked them especially to cheer myself up, and anyone who passed by this way. So enjoy, and think spring.
- G.P.

For Daddy

2011-01-09T15:15:00.000-08:00

My father died a month ago today - on December 9th, probably while I was writing the previous entry. It was sudden and unexpected. He was very old, but not depressed, despite the ailments of old age. I didn't have a chance to say good-bye to him, and that's just as well, because he hadn't been bedridden or incapacitated with terminal illness, which is usually the sad situation in which formal farewells are made to loved ones who die. In fact, I had spoken to Dad only days before and had arranged to visit him the following week.

Dad had a long, good life - full of blessings, as well as his share of loss. But this isn't a eulogy. This blurb is as much about me as him.

My relationship with Dad had the typical ups and downs that two very different people in the same family will have. Nothing unusual about that. Thankfully, the last couple of years were "up." We had forgiven each other whatever petty little concerns or differences were between us, and I enjoyed spending time with him in the end. Nevertheless, I was surprised at the depth of my sense of loss when Dad died, and even more surprised by what I gained.

I've spent the last month loving my father more deliberately, more consciously, than I ever did when he was alive, and I'm deeply grateful. I've had tearful little spells of sadness, of course, but they're passing. Now I enjoy sweet, loving moments remembering Dad. I don't spend any time wishing that I could have felt this way when he was still around. He's gone and there's no point in regretting what's over and can't be changed. Besides, I like feeling this happy-kind-of-sad love I've discovered for my father now that he's passed. I feel wistful and soft, and I like that.
I suppose all this sounds as if Dad had to die for me to feel this way. Maybe he did, but I don't think that's such a bad thing. His passing was sad, but not tragic, and he left me with a tenderness in my soul I never knew was there. I don't feel as if I've lost the love of my father now that he`s gone. I've finally started to appreciate it, and I thank him for it daily.
I guess it's true what they say, that death is not the end of love. So thanks, Daddy. Now that you're gone, I miss you, but loving you is oh so sweet.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Not the Bluebird of Happiness

2010-12-09T08:20:00.000-08:00

And the karma just keeps cabbage-rolling along. (ref. October 24) I've been very busy lately, which is why I haven't written a blurb for quite some time now. However, I haven't been busy enough to stay out of trouble. Mind you, it hasn't been all bad. I took an actor's scene study class and played a woman I would consider a real loser had I met her in real life. It was fun. Unfortunately, for the five weeks I was getting to know my character, she started to bleed into my real life and I found myself feeling bitter over things long passed. That's a normal part of the actor's craft - drawing on personal experience to flesh out a character. It's also the sort of stuff that makes art and most forms of self-expression therapeutic. That's good, too, of course - Aristotilean catharsis and all that - the purging of negative emotions, etc. Most of the time I like that. After all, I'm an actress. I like drama, preferably on stage. But when I'm not working on a gig, which is almost all the time, I compensate by creating heavy scenes in my personal life. And that really sucks.
I'm a real drama queen. The heavier the scene, the more weighty the crown I bear. That's why I wish I were a working actress for at least some of the time, rather than almost never. Maybe that way I could put all that drama to good use. Instead, the bitter, angry character I played around with for a few weeks infected me. I was grinding my teeth in my sleep much more than usual - thank goddess I wear a mouth guard at night or I wouldn't have any enamel left - and walked around hunching my shoulders, clenching my fists and craving a lot of stuff that is bad for my health. The worst part was that I stopped thinking independently for a while. I stopped paying attention. Like, you know, it was all about how I was feeling. I kept making one thoughtless mistake after another. I should have been taking those risks in a safe environment like scene class, not delicate territory like my relationships. My impulsive words and actions got me into trouble with one friend and complicated a usually easy-going relationship with another. Aargh! I was obviously not paying attention to the advice and warning I got from my totem for the fall season - the Vulture. (see October 24 entry) As much as I respect those carrion- eating birds for their necessary place in the fine balance of nature, I want my totem to fly away now. So I've resolved to stop making road-kill out of my personal life.
These thoughts were rolling around in my head this morning as I went for a brisk, chilly walk in my neighbourhood. Nothing like a blast of Arctic air to wipe out the smell of decay. While walking and brooding I had decided to send my Vulture flying south. I was ready to start afresh. I figured with all the karma that's been biting me in the butt lately, surely my debt had been paid. No sooner had I determined I was debt-free when I felt a plop on my pate. It was bird shit. Thank goddess I was wearing a hat.
Prone as I am to signs and omens, I've decided to interpret that messy little incident as good luck. At least that's what my Mum used to tell me. Yeah. I'm going to stick with that. And another good thing - I'm glad that bird wasn't a vulture.
- G.P.

Not the Chicken of Depression

2010-11-10T11:18:00.000-08:00

Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do, are in perfect harmony.
- Mahatma Gandhi

I quoted one of my heroes and included a beautiful picture of a bluebird so that my most recent blurb is full of happy thoughts and things. (Okay - so it`s only one thought and one thing - but they`re good ones.) The yarn I wove before this one was a little too depressing to let it sit there as my most recent entry. So that`s why I`m including this useless little bit of fluff.
Enjoy.
- G.P.

Cabbage Roll Karma

2010-10-24T06:45:00.000-07:00

Karma is so real it can be scary. I'm still recovering from a knock-out punch it gave me a couple of weeks ago and now I am the proverbial "sadder but wiser" woman.

A couple of days before I visited my family for Thanksgiving in the expansive, beautiful part of the world in which they live, I had a doctor's appointment - with my shrink, to be exact. I'd made the appointment a couple of weeks earlier, but on the very afternoon I was supposed to see her, I was having a good day and just didn't feel like going. I cancelled my appointment just hours before I was supposed to go. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't really a big deal, but I was momentarily irresponsible and harboured a little guilt over it. My shrink is a busy lady and deserves more respect than that. But I very quickly put aside any guilt and managed to enjoy myself for the rest of the day anyway. Okay. So far, so good. But not for long.

The very next day I was preparing to go up north to visit my family and buying this and that for the weekend ahead. I needed a couple of pumpkin pies because I was also invited to a friend's place after Thanksgiving with my family. I rushed about, distracted and overwhelmed with all the last minute arrangements. I purchased the pies at a local bakery and noticed that they also had home-made cabbage rolls for sale. This was a good thing, because a number of weeks earlier I had promised my beloved Gita Tant (one of the family members I was about to visit) that I'd get her some cabbage rolls. A while ago she'd visited me in the city where I live and raved about how wonderful they were. Gita Tant had been feeling quite ill and eating the cabbage rolls had lifted her spirits, so I'd promised her I'd bring some of them up to her next time I visited. So ... there I am in the bakery, rushing around doing last minute bits of business and considering the cabbage rolls. I was so bogged down with all my errands that I just didn't feel like adding one more thing to the list. I figured since Gita Tant and I hadn't spoken for a month she probably wouldn't remember the cabbage rolls anyway, so I thought I'd just skip them. Big mistake.

Thanksgiving dinner at my sister's went well. Everything was warm and fuzzy, the food was delicious and plentiful, and Gita Tant was there, as I knew she would be. After dinner, as family and friends sat around talking and digesting dinner, Gita Tant asked me about the cabbage rolls. Sheesh. I felt like a heel. And then I compounded my sin even more with a lie, because I told her it had just completely slipped my mind. To make matters worse, she'd really been looking forward to those cabbage rolls. Although she's a marvellous cook, cabbage rolls are so labour intensive that her indisposition made it difficult for her to prepare them. So she dreamt of the cabbage rolls I'd promised to bring. Aargh!

The next day was warm and sunny. The rolling hills were ablaze with the fiery colours of fall. I went for a walk on a country road and watched a dozen or so turkey vultures spiralling around on thermal updrafts, searching for carrion as they made their way southward to their winter home. The birds were magnificent. One of them left the others and seemed to be following me as I walked down the road. Watching these wonderful creatures would have been exciting at any time, but it's especially significant these days because the vulture is my totem for this autumn. On the full moon of the autumn equinox I had drawn the vulture from my totem/tarot deck. I do that particular little bit of divination every solstice and equinox to determine what animal will have the most to teach me in the following three months. Although vultures are ugly birds, I still admire their grace and beauty as they soar through the air, and appreciate the vital role they play in maintaining the fragile balance of nature. They dispose of carrion. They gobble up death so that they may live. The vulture is the what does not destroy me makes me stronger totem.

My purpose for using the tarot designed by Ted Andrews was to divine my seasonal totem only. However, it just so happens that Mr. Andrews designated the vulture to the tarot card called The Tower, which is my least favourite card of the entire deck. It is about revelation that strikes like lightning and sends a person tumbling and crumbling to rubble before she emerges smarter than she was before. Despite the dreadful significance of the tarot meaning, I wasn't concerned. I was looking for my totem, and chose to ignore the corresponding meaning in the tarot. I'd been on the lookout for vultures for weeks since the equinox, and lo and behold they appeared to me on Thanksgiving. I was thrilled, and felt certain that something momentous was afoot. Boy oh boy I was sure right about that.

Only a couple of hours later I was back at my sister's and unintentionally upset my brother-in-law. It was a minor, insignificant incident, but his irritation was palpable. I was chastened and upset for the rest of my stay. A perfectly good weekend was ruined.

That was only the beginning of karma in action. By the end of the week I was witness to and unwilling participant in several blow-ups and blow-outs that seemed to erupt out of nowhere and land squarely on me. Because of the incident at my sister's, I'd made a point of being quiet and stayed out of other people's way all week, but karma found me anyway and used a dump-truck to make its unwelcome deliveries. It was a horrible, horrible time. The peaceful life I am always seeking was nowhere to be found.

It's now a couple of weeks later and I've one less friend in my life. (That's my choice, and not an easy one.) I've paid dearly for my selfish, thoughtless actions in the days before all this karmic justice began. Although my behaviour following my mistakes was humble and unobtrusive, it didn't matter. The damage was done, and the Universe let me know it.

I'm not entirely sorry it happened now. I've learned a profound lesson, and believe that it's changed me forever. Now that the whole business is safely in the past, I'm actually glad it happened. I clearly needed to be reminded about something I've long believed - and if you've been reading my blurbs for a while, you know what it is - that what goes around, comes around.

So there it is - a happy ending to a sad tale. It's a happy ending because it's reaffirmed what I believe. It proves my faith is true, and that's not bad at all.

- G. P.

Groovy Love

2010-10-04T10:35:00.000-07:00

The sixties (2oth century) was a time when lots of young people wore sandals, flowers in their hair and said "peace" and "love" a lot. I ought to know. I was there. I remember some of the more cynical types would decry the widespread use of the word love. It undermines the meaning of the word, they said. It means nothing when it's used so often. You can't love everybody all the time. I heard those sentiments expressed almost as much as I heard "groovy, man." At the time, I was young and stupid, and was influenced by people whom I didn't think were as young as stupid as I, so I believed them when they opined about the overuse of the word Love. Well, I'm sure not young anymore, and I'm not as stupid, either, and
couldn't disagree with those nay-sayers more. So when I hear people make the same complaint now, I have something to say about it.
Expressing love to each other happens a lot more than it did in those days. It must have been some sort of generational thing, but parents didn't verbally express love to their children as much as they do now. So am I supposed to believe that the words of love spoken these days are meaningless because people say them more than they did in previous generations? I don't think so.
What's more, even in the days when it was groovy to say "I love ya, man" (even if you were a woman), the speakers weren't as disingenuous as all the criticism would suggest. There was a cultural revolution going on, and a lot of pot-smoking, draft dodging, free-loving, flower-powered citizens were also actively involved in creating genuine change for the better. It was all about making love and not war.
There are many kinds and degrees of love. If I smile at a stranger in the street - and I do, frequently - I'm spreading a little love. When I say "I love you" to my precious Lulu (the best, most beautiful kitty in the whole wide Universe and beyond) it's not the same as saying it to a human friend or member of the family. But it's still love. Even a sincere, well-timed "thank you" is love. It's love because it's courteous, grateful, thoughtful and compassionate.
There have been occasions when I've shed tears for perfect strangers I've passed in the street. These strangers are obviously sad, lost or infirm in some way, and evoke feelings of compassion in me. That's love. And for sure it's not the same as the love I feel for "loved ones," but it's love nonetheless. Arguing that saying "I love you" frequently and to a lot of people renders it meaningless is like saying that love can be quantified and categorized. Bullshit.
Yesterday I watched a couple of chubby, little sparrows feeding outside the restaurant where I was eating. They were so beautiful and endearing that I felt a surge of - dare I say it? - Love. Yes, it's true. I felt love for a couple of little brown jobs pecking away on the restaurant patio. My eyes moistened, my heart softened, a little smile crossed my face, and a little"ah" escaped my lips as I watched their silly antics. Okay, it's not deep, all-consuming, possessive, I'll-die-if-you-die kind of love, but it's love in my books. When I think of all the times in my life I thought I really loved someone, and was miserable about it, I can honestly say I prefer the love I felt yesterday for my avian friends. In fact, I think it's a much truer form of love, because what I felt was healthy, honest, uncomplicated and restorative.
I'm a spinster. I don't have children. These are choices I've made, and I don't regret them. But that doesn't mean I don't feel or need love. It also means I may not have loved as deeply had I been a mother or a life partner, but I don't regret that either. Whatever love I've felt has been spread around pretty evenly over my life - at least the good, healthy kind of love. I don't have a "best" friend, but I do have friends - quite a few, in fact - and I love them according to whatever role or place they have in my life at any one time. Of those that are nearest and dearest to me, I'm reluctant to say I love one more than the other. Love is not heirarchy or favouritism. Love should break those barriers down, not build them. Love is not finite. A mother will always find more love for her newborn baby, even if she already has children. In the limitless storehouse of love that abides in a mother's soul, there'll always be enough love to go around, no matter how many children she may have. (I realize I'm opening a can of worms here, but I'm not talking about poverty, homelessness, or overpopulation.)
All kinds of love matter. No one kind of love is better than another. It's quite simple, really. Love - the kind of love that is true and inclusive, is enough.
- G. P.

All the Stars in Heaven

2010-09-23T09:27:00.000-07:00

Musing and gazing on the heavenly bodies of the night sky inspires me. It was never more evident than this past autumnal equinox. This year the harvest moon and the first day of fall happened at the same time. Oh for joy for joy. And if that weren't enough to gladden this nature-worshipper's heart, it also coincided with Jupiter being in conjunction with the full moon. Any one of these events would give me reason to celebrate, but all three at once set me to thinking about what it all portends. I'm pleased to report that it bodes good things.
The full moon occurring on the first day of fall signifies abundance and a plentiful harvest. That's a no-brainer. Even magically-challenged people can figure that one out, if they bothered or cared to do so. But adding Jupiter into the mix makes me even more optimistic about what's in store for the next three months or so. Jupiter signifies success, money, expansion and power. I know many other people looked at the same moon and planet that I did, but far fewer people would have translated that scene into a sign or portent. Attaching significance to this uncommon astronomical event makes it a lot more interesting for me, although goddess knows, even if I weren't a magical thinker, I'd have been rapt anyway.
Ancient peoples didn't have our current scientific expertise, of course, but they were quite savvy when it came to following and charting the movements of the heavenly bodies. They also tried to understand creation by ascribing myth and legend to what they saw. Well, I'm still doing that, despite my elementary schooling in astronomy. I admit that I may be completely wrong about how things will transpire for me in the next little while, and then I'll feel foolish and blame magical thinking and superstitious bilge for failed expectations, but it won't diminish the time I spent in awe of a wondrous sight. Besides, by the time I realize that my interpretation of yet another sign was bogus, I'll have regarded many more natural phenomena with the same enthusiasm and metaphysical bias, and not care about past failures.
There are so many things out there that stir my imagination. When they happen in clusters or in synchrony, I can't help noticing and wonder why? There are books, websites and videos aplenty to explain how these things happen, but answering why is a different subject. It's philosophy, religion and cosmology, not hard science. So I leave the science, the how of it all, to the experts, and try to keep apace with current discoveries and knowledge in my own science 101 style. But it's the unanswered questions, the why of it all, that sets my imagination on fire.
So far nothing in my nascent understanding of the Universe has been proven to be wrong. And my beliefs hurt no one, except maybe me in a minor, this-disappointment-will-be-soon-forgotten kind of way. When something I believe is proven to be bunk, I change my mind and learn more about the subject. (Although I honestly can't think of any belief I've held that runs counter to verifiable information - like a flat earth or the sun being the centre of the solar system. But if something I thought were proven to be false, I'm sure I'd change my mind. I still don't understand how Christian fundamentalists deny evolution. Aargh! But that's another blurb for another day...)
The wonders of creation are infinite - at least relative to what we know for sure - and will no doubt continue to send my thoughts to places that inspire and impassion me, places that are full of unanswered questions and things we have yet to discover. My personal answers to some of those questions aren't always rational; they're mostly intuitive. My intuition has served me well in solving personal problems, so I don't see any reason to completely dismiss it when it comes to the bigger picture - the biggest picture of all, in fact. All it takes for me to travel to uncharted territory - even if it's only in my imagination - is to witness an infinitesimally small, but stunning part of this magnificent and infinite Universe.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

The Butterfly Effect

2010-09-12T07:57:00.000-07:00

Swarms of magnificent monarch butterflies gather every September in my part of the world before they migrate southward to Mexico. If you know where to look, you can see hundreds of them gathering and feeding before they fly, in great swarms, across the narrowest part of Lake Ontario to begin the migration.
I have the good fortune to live in a house with a colourful garden. Monarchs have been visiting my home a great deal these days, and I've been watching them. My friend Barbara and I spent a sunny afternoon in the garden this past week and watched dozens of monarchs flit and float among the flowers. We sat silently for several minutes at a time just watching these beautiful creatures prepare themselves for a long, arduous journey to their winter habitat.
The summer is almost over (heavy sigh), and I've not really done anything or been anywhere, but it's still been one of the best summers ever. I've spent most of my time writing, going to yoga classes and playing with my friends. If someone asks me how my summer's been, I don't have a riveting story to tell. Mostly, I don't care. I say "mostly" because I'm still living a smaller and less adventurous life than I've always imagined for myself. This can be difficult when I'm listening to people go on and on about where they've been, what they've done and who they've met. It's not just upsetting for me, it can also be oh-so-boring. But when I find myself bored, as opposed to the less desirable feelings of bitter and unhappy, I know I'm feeling stronger and more secure about myself. It means I'm not comparing myself to other people as much, which is one of the things that causes me unnecessary sorrow.
Thank goddess for monarch butterflies. My quiet, contemplative afternoon with a friend and flutters of butterflies in my own backyard was a reminder that I can be completely at peace with myself and who I am - as long as I'm grateful and enjoy what I have, which is plenty. Unfortunately, this fine state of affairs can also make me feel superior, especially when I'm with boring people. And there it is again - more of that odious comparison to other people which is deeply distressing to me. At least I'm aware of it and working on fixing it.
This past week I spent some time with a woman who can't carry on a conversation without dropping names of people, places and things. I know her quite well and believe she does this as a way to bolster her ego and impress others. I'm pleased to say I'm not impressed, nor am I drawn into feeling envious. It's nice to be just plain bored and not bitter. I must be making progress.
My biggest problem with my yappy friend is to keep my cool and not say something rude or unkind when I have to listen to her run on for minutes at a time. She actually makes me choose to not listen, and drift off into my own thoughts whilst looking as if I'm paying attention. That can be a problem for me because I consider listening one of the most important things I can do for my spiritual development. However, the other personal attribute I'm cultivating is patience, and my time with Ms. Yappity-Yap required all the patience I could muster. When our visit was over, she was happy, and so was I. She got to talk about herself, and I got to listen - or at least look as if I were -as well as practise being patient and polite.
My time with Ms. Yappity-Yap was made easier for me because of the monarch butterflies that visit me these days. When Ms. Y.Y dropped another name or mentioned another place she'd been and how many times she's been there, I just thought about my monarchs. And indeed they are my monarchs. The thought of their beauty gracing the back garden where I live soothes and pacifies me. Thinking about them when I should have been listening to her helped me feel better about myself. Somehow I was able to feel just as happy with the monarch butterflies in my head as she was listing her privileges and accomplishments. Although Ms. Yappity-Yap's outer life is by far "richer" than mine, my time with her gave me an opportunity to tap into the inner riches of my own life.
Day-to-day life is mostly minutiae. Most of us aren't living big adventures all the time. But it doesn't mean we can't live a full and meaningful life, because there is beauty and wonder everywhere. Ordinary miracles surround us everyday. If I find myself in a situation that seems devoid of these things, I can call them up from within me. Being able to see and appreciate them allows me to heal, and rid myself of petty concerns. That's why I'm grateful for monarch butterflies. Long may they migrate.
-G.P.

Dancing Fool

2010-08-30T11:14:00.000-07:00

I've been dancing in the street a lot lately. I mean that literally. A couple of months ago when the summer started to swing into high gear, I pulled out the ipod shuffle that had been sitting in my desk drawer for several years and downloaded or uploaded music, or whatever it's called that one does with those things. (For those who don't know - I'm a technopeasant.) Anyway, I didn't pull out my ipod to start listening to music, I did it because I wanted to re-learn the aforementioned business of moving music from one computer thingy to another.
I won my ipod a few years ago at a staff party, and used it perhaps three times before I stuffed it in my drawer, because I prefer to hear what's going on around me. But because I'd retrained myself on the basics of shuffling music around, I figured I might as well listen to what I'd put there. At least for a while.
Well, it's been a humid, hot, summery summer in this part of the world, and that's made a lot of people happy, including me. I've enjoyed wearing fewer clothes and walking in the sun. But if I'm plugged into my ipod, I'm not just walking. I'm dancing. The music I listen to when I'm out and about tends to be bouncy, happy, let's-dance-kind-of-music. It's meant to get me movin' and groovin'. And it does.
I can't not move with the music. I'll begin by simply stepping in time with what I'm hearing, but if the music's got a solid, rockin' bass line and a catchy tune, it's hard to stop myself from dancing. My arms swing around a lot, my hips sway back and forth, and my feet will do strange things like skip and jump or even a step-ball-change as I ramble along. Of course I'm aware that people look at me, but I do it anyway. I can also honestly say I don't do it to get attention, I do it because it's fun. I'm a drama queen from way, way back and know all about how to attract attention to myself, but my dancing as if no one's looking isn't about that. It's about dancing. That's all. I feel like jumping, leaping and spinning for the sheer joy of it.
Blame it on the ipod. And the rock 'n roll summer weather.
When I see people looking at me, and they're usually smiling, I smile back. I even smile back when the occasional person laughs at me, rather than with me. (I still have a sense of humour about what I'm doing.) The few people who laugh at me tend to be adolescent males - of course! - so I don't worry about it. It's nice to feel so secure. Living longer has its perks.
I won't be wearing my ipod much longer. Despite the fun I've been having, I ultimately prefer to be completely aware of what's going on around me all the time. Not being able to hear ambient sound can make me feel vulnerable, even more vulnerable than when I'm a dancing fool. When I'm dancing I'm living mostly inside my head, which has been artificially wired with music. That's probably still better than if I were dancing to music in my head that got there without the help of an ipod. Or maybe not.
I dance out of joy. I could never engage in such an attention-grabbing exercise if I weren't completely comfortable in my skin. I've had a lot to celebrate this summer. That's why I don't care if people laugh, because I'm laughing, too.
- G. P.

Alone in the Real World

2010-08-23T07:47:00.000-07:00

I like who I am when I'm alone. Most of the time, as long as I'm feeling well and don't have any immediate problems, I'm exactly who I want to be when there's no one else around. Under these circumstances I tend to be quiet (let's hope!), take my time and move more slowly, breathe more consciously, notice details and yet appreciate big and small things equally, and am generally less judgemental. So if I'm spending time with myself and everything is tickety-boo, I start to feel as if I'm part of the solution and not the problem - globally speaking - which is a very nice way to feel. But then I go and blow my cover when I get out there and meet people.
In order to keep things running as smoothly as possible, a lot of negotiating and compromise is required. That's part of my problem right there. Instead of thinking that being with people is a game that requires negotiation and compromise, I should be thinking in terms of compassion and patience. Getting along with people shouldn't be a business, for heavens sake. That's an attitude I should apply to my career rather than my personal life. Maybe I'd be a lot further ahead. Aye me.
So what's the problem? The more people there are to deal with, whether in the workplace or a social situation, the more chances there are for conflict. Business tends to be based on competition, and feeling that being with people is a "business" engenders a sense of competition in me. Someone wins and someone loses. No wonder I prefer who I am when I'm by myself. I'm not competing with or comparing myself to anyone.
The more people there are gathered in one place, the less control I have over the big picture. Okay, that's fair. I'm not queen of the world, nor do I want to be. The only things I can control all the time are the way I think, the way I comport myself, and especially the way I react. Reacting in a civil, humane manner to whatever is happening is obviously what I must do to avoid the conflict I so fear. And that may mean not reacting at all. The point is, the only thing I can really ever control is me. That's why I tend to like myself better when I'm alone. When I'm alone I demonstrate to myself one of the qualities I wish I could maintain all the time - being self-contained. Other people have a way of knocking me off-balance.
So here I go again with the same solution I have for just about any problem - talk less, listen more. It makes me look wiser, even if I'm not. But at least choosing to do that is wise. That's because I almost always learn something when I listen.
The solution to my problem about being a better person in public is to learn how to be "alone" when I'm surrounded by people. It's being private in public. And I don't mean sitting in a cafe or pub by myself whilst writing in my journal. I'm talking about engaging with others and yet maintaining the sense aloneness, of being self-contained.
I don't think I'm necessarily anti-social by wanting to be alone in public and detaching myself from all the business that's going on around me. I'm simply trying to transfer that person I rather like when I'm by myself into a public forum. I need to be quiet for that. If I'm in a noisy place, then I'll do what any self-contained person would do - pull that quietude out of the fully-stocked storehouse of their soul. Being alone has shown me that I have it, too. So maybe it's time I spread the wealth, and then it'd be win/win for everyone.
- G. P.

Magic Happens

2010-08-18T10:58:00.000-07:00

My rather ordinary days of late are not without moments of magic. Sometimes the magic visits me unexpectedly, like a butterfly landing on my billowing skirt and taking a short ride with me as I walk in the breeze. These happy little surprises are always welcome. But for a while now my days have been routine - albeit a nice routine, but routine nonetheless - so now I have to deliberately create my own magic.
Yesterday was another one of those ho-hum days that I spiced up with a dash of magic. I was taking a walk in my neighbourhood and noticed a late middle-aged woman a few metres ahead of me. She was walking in the same direction as I, so I saw her from the back. She was colourfully dressed - lots of flounces, flowers and scarves. I thought she looked fabulous. I suppose she could have been described as slightly eccentric, but that's why I enjoyed her so much. I was walking more quickly than she was, so I eventually caught up to her and passed her.
"You look lovely," I said, "even from the back."
She stopped and looked puzzled for a moment. "I'm sorry. What was that?"
I didn't mind repeating myself.
The woman gasped with pleasant surprise. Her hand shot up to her mouth to cover her sudden, brief overflow of emotion. She was so overwhelmed that it was hard for her to speak, although she was clearly touched and grateful. She quickly recovered from her astonishment and broke into a broad, beautiful smile of thanks just before I turned my head and walked away.
Her pleasure and gratitude were contagious. Immediately after seeing her respond to my "random act of kindness," I smiled too, and confess that I felt a tear or two welling in my eyes. I'm certain her reaction to me made me feel every bit as good as I had made her feel. That's the ripple effect I'm always going on about. It's instant and it's real. And if you're lucky enough, as I was in this case, you'll be around to see the results. (There are, of course, much more subtle, long range effects.) It's also called karma. Or what goes around comes around etc. etc. and so forth. You get the picture.
That small gesture on my part made my day a little less mundane. I suspect it made that lovely lady's day more special, too. I'm not sure what my motives were to just blurt out something to a perfect stranger like that. I do it quite often and don't give it much thought. But my intentions were good, even though I wasn't really intending anything. Although that sort of behaviour can get me into trouble - and it has - I've done it enough now that I almost always get good results, or at the very least, don't get bad ones. Practise makes perfect, and living well requires practise.
Magic is defined as creating one's reality according to one's will. I created a better day for myself because I spread a little cheer and good will. It was so easy to do, and it makes me wonder why I don't do it all the time. When the day comes that I do, I'll truly be living a magical life.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

The School of Hard Knocks

2010-08-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

For the last two days my yoga classes have been punctuated with constant, heavy banging above the ceiling. They're re-roofing the building where I take my classes, so the serenity of a typical yoga class is hard to maintain. The banging is so loud I can feel the vibrations of every thud all through my body, especially when I'm doing the beginning and end of class meditations. No matter. I'm pleased to say that the noisy distractions which I could feel as well as hear were rendered null and void by being forced to go deeper into myself so that I could find some stillness and quiet. It's great to discover that I'm able to feel so calm amidst such chaos. When the class was over I felt even looser and more relaxed than I usually do after yoga.
I'll be glad when the roofers are gone, but in the meantime I've learned a valuable lesson. I learned that there's no point in trying to simply ignore something, especially when I don't have any control over it. To "ignore" something so in-your-face is almost impossible. It's much easier to put your attention elsewhere with equal intensity. And I do have control over my mind and my body, so that's what I focussed on more than ever. I listened hard to my insides. I dwelt within myself with such clear intention that I swear I could hear the blood flow through my veins. It was awesome. The clanging and banging on the roof were no longer in my sphere of attention. William James, the father of modern psychology (and brother to Henry James) said that your experience is what you attend to. So I attended to my breath and my body, which is the whole point of yoga, and the rest of the world fell away.
I will take that lesson with me out into the world for the rest of my life. Next time something or someone loud and annoying is paying me an unwelcome visit, I shall close my eyes, breathe deeply and slowly, and visit my inner self. I trust her.
- G. P.

Silence Rocks

2010-08-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

"I want time to notice sheep's feet." Taken out of context, the preceding sentence seems absurd. However, when I read these words in Sara Maitland's profound and beautifully written memoir A Book of Silence, they struck a chord within me and made me laugh, which is why I'm sharing them with you here. Maitland is referring to living in the kind of silence and solitude that allows her to focus on the simple, precious details that make up our lives. (She lives a solitary life in rural Scotland and gets to watch a lot of sheep.)
I live in a city and spend a fair amount of time with friends. That does not leave me a lot of time for complete peace and quiet. I confess that when I find moments of stillness, and I'm fortunate that I find them daily (I make a point of it) I'll even begin to feel restless and bored until I realize that I'm forgetting to breathe. (It requires constant effort to stay conscious all the time. I still have a lot of work to do.) When I focus on my body and my breath, which is meditation plain and simple and can be done almost anywhere and any time, any incipient ennui is nipped in the bud. This pleasant state of affairs is more easily achieved when I'm alone and quiet.
Silence and solitude go well with less stuff, so I'm trying to rid myself of more of my belongings. Since moving over a year ago, much of what I own is still stored away in boxes. I obviously don't need or use that stuff, but it's still taking up space in my life. Time for another purge. Silence is so much deeper when there's more space to enjoy it. I don't know how Celtic Christian monks, nuns and other hermits lived in those tiny beehive huts without suffering from claustrophobia. I don't have the discipline or desire to live such an ascetic life. But I certainly want a simpler life.
It's only been very recently that I've stopped dreaming about being worldly and successful, and discovered that I can find happiness other ways, simpler ways. My definition of happiness has changed. If I were asked to define it, words such as peace, wisdom, solitude and silence would be included. But I'm not about to engrave any of that in stone yet.
I have the house entirely to myself right now. My housemate is away for a few days, and even though we live separate lives and can spend hours in the house working quietly in our separate rooms, unaware of each other, there's an intangible something that renders my quiet time even more quiet when I'm home alone. Without another person sharing the house, there are no boundaries that define the quality of silence within that space. I don't hear any difference in the customary level of sound, but I can perceive a subtle difference in the silence.
- G. P.

Magic Now and Then

2010-08-04T05:57:00.000-07:00

I want to live a magical life, and by magical I don't mean exciting or fabulous. What I do mean is that I want to feel as if every moment truly matters. Living like that would indeed seem magical, especially because it's very hard to do, and takes a lot of practise to achieve. Real mages and sages practise their respective disciplines for their entire lives.

Some people might also say that I'm trivializing spiritual disciplines such as Zen by comparing them to magic. But magic is a spiritual discipline. It's not trickery or sleight-of-hand; that's stage magic, and not the same thing at all. Magic is about creating reality according to your will. That requires focus, awareness and sensitivity to one's physical and emotional environment.

When I feel "in tune" with my environment, I notice details without losing sight of the big picture. My physical senses are heightened. If I am genuinely attuned to all that's around me, my sixth sense kicks in and I open myself up to the unseen world. And though it may seem incongruous, these are the times when I feel as if I'm living fully in the present, in the Now.

When actors are described as "on," they are completely engaged in the moment. They exhibit a powerful "presence." It's the same characteristic demonstrated by enlightened individuals, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Although I've never had the honour to meet the Dalai Lama, I've read and seen interviews of people who have, and without exception they will comment on the extraordinary presence of this great man.

Enlightened people live in the light. They are able to see everything clearly, including the tiniest details within the vastness of the Cosmos. They are able to see unity amid diversity, and find, or create, order out of chaos. (Cosmos is derived from the Greek word kosmos, meaning "order.")

The most profound and beautiful moments I experience are on those uncommon occasions, which happen more often as I mature, when I'm completely at peace with myself in whatever circumstances I may be. If someone were to ask me to describe these sacred moments in my life, the first word that comes to mind, whether it's right or wrong, is magical.

- G. P.

Clarity

2010-08-01T06:39:00.000-07:00

It came to me in a flash of simple brilliance - a little "ping" in my mind. I have a lot of time on my hands these days, and sometimes I feel guilty if I'm not filling every moment with busy-ness. If I'm not engaged in some activity or project that moves my life forward, helps me to achieve my goals or improves me in some way, whether it be my health, happiness, or career, I start to think that I'm wasting time.
Modern, western society decries wasting time, or doing nothing. Since there's been a fair amount of time when I haven't really been doing anything, and even feeling bored (which I'm ashamed to admit), by the aforementioned standards I'm a real loser. Fortunately, I haven't been feeling like a loser at all (so much for western values), but the sense of time wasted still creeps in every so often - at least it did until just before I started spinning this thread into my little web.
My life has been a whole lot simpler since I began my leave of absence from work a few weeks ago. I don't have a rigid schedule I must adhere to, and don't have as many time constraints or commitments to keep. I write and read when I want. I feel good if I've "accomplished" something during the day. But if I haven't, I feel guilty. However, I'm also healthier, more fit, more relaxed, and in better spirits than I've been for many months.
That's precisely because I'm not filling every moment of my waking life with being a busy, productive person. Nor am I being lazy. It's just that my life is simpler. That's all.
I have enough money to live comfortably for a while, but not enough to do the sort of things I dream about in my "ideal" life - which would include travelling and going out more. But the penny dropped just now when I realized that I'm more balanced these days. My inner life is more in keeping with my exterior existence. It's simpler, more streamlined.
Maybe, just maybe, I'll learn to like exactly what I have, because I have plenty - health, a nice home, a sweet animal companion, friends and family. Maybe I'll stop comparing myself to people who have more or have experienced more. Experienced is the operative word here. Since my sabbatical began, I'm "experiencing" even less than I have in a while. I have less to talk about at the end of the day. People's eyes would glaze over if I went on about the process and progress of my writing. And I can't talk about how hooked I am on yoga any more. I love it and that's that. What more to say?
I'm finally learning that people who live according to simple, minimal requirements and desires, whether by choice or need, aren't necessarily boring, inexperienced people. Okay, so my life isn't exciting. It doesn't vary much from day to day. And it's been like that for a long time, especially when I was working full-time and making a steady, albeit minimal income.
Now I'm "doing" even less, and have fewer experiences to relate. Makes for rather boring conversation, and for a storyteller that can be deadly. But I haven't felt this good about myself in a long, long time. That's the "ping."
- G.P.

Ordinary

2010-07-30T10:41:00.000-07:00

I had my astrological chart done once. It was a long time ago. I was hoping to find out how things would be in the future, which is now.

My glass was half-full then. Some of the substance has evaporated, and what's left isn't as fresh. Physical decline, left untended, poisons the stuff inside.

I knew that even when I was young. But I still needed to know my fate - as if I had nothing to do with it.

I listened to the astrologer. He was wrong about almost everything, about the past and the present. So I didn't hold much faith for what he said about the future, which is now.

I muttered little curses to myself.
What a waste of time.
What a waste of money.
What a waste.

I can tell you what you're afraid of, he said.
Oh yeah? I thought.
Enlighten me.
I dare you.

You're afraid of being ordinary.

For a moment the glass was full.
It made a good story, too.
My story.
A story of ordinary.

Tell your story, they say.
Tell your story.
So I take the classes, learn the lessons, obey the rules or not, and trace a life on paper.

Does a story well told make ordinary go away?
Will they listen when I speak?
Is it the same as seeing Karnak?
Surviving an earthquake?
Winning Olympic gold?

Does it deepen me?
Strengthen me?
Heal me?

What's a story for?
To flash wit and charm at parties?
To look good and hold half-empty glasses of wine amid a lot of been-there-done-that?
Better I say nothing. Hide in silence. Talk less. Listen more.
I'm unilingual and never been to Rome.

I know a woman who shook Hitler's hand.
She's not really my friend. Not really.
It's a story she can't tell.
So I tell it instead.
How do you like me now?

I get up in the morning, brush my teeth, wash my face, go to work, come home, pat the cat and watch t.v.
I use cliches and hoard the riches of my inner life.
I love breathing and walking, especially at the same time.
I do it every day. Always have.
And I bet I like it more than you.

My glass is still half-empty.
But sometimes I stir the contents.

- G. P.

It's All About Me

2010-07-19T10:27:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I can be so full of myself. Despite present appearances to the contrary, this isn't one of those times. I posted this picture and wrote the title simply because I can't decide what I should write about next. I'm hoping that if I just sit here and type random, nonsensical words and thoughts, some vaguely meaningful ideas will eventually emerge.
Oh well, since I'm on the topic of me me me, I'll mention to you, oh my faithful, fanatical followers, that I'm on a brief sabbatical from the bookstore where I've been working for lo-these-many-years. I'll be writing a one-woman play about none other than yours truly. Yes, it's true, I'm going to add yet another self-important, self-centred vanity piece to the great canon of one person plays, about people real and fictional, great and small. Although I'm real enough, I can say without a moment's hesitation or a hint of hubris that I also belong in the "small" people category. (If I said "little people," it would suggest I'm some sort of an otherworldly spirit. That would be nice, but not true.)
Anyway, who the hell wants to sit and listen to some obscure, unknown actor/writer go on for 75 minutes about their not-so-interesting life? But I'm doing it anyway. If I can't get hired to perform on stage, or in a movie, or even in a commercial for goddess' sake, then I'll write my own damn play. I suspect that that's probably how a lot of those things got written in the first place. At least I hope so. I hate to think I'm the only failed-but-not-dead-yet-actor who's gone that route.
So why am I telling you this? Because if I announce my plans to my legion of followers it'll force me to work through whatever ennui, writer's block, laziness or any other manifestations of page fright that will no doubt assail me in the following weeks. After all, I don't want to make a public fool of myself, which may very well be happening right now, because I really am blathering on about nothing but me me me and what I want to do.
I know for sure I'm not alone in my need to tell my story. That's part of the reason I have this little web of mine. Every person who has lived a little while or a great long time has many stories, and most people would like to tell some of them in one way or another. Even the most seemingly uneventful lives can be transcribed into good stories if they are expressed with conviction and a modicum of passion. I've listened, completely rapt, to friends and strangers, who neither write nor act, describe some of their fascinating experiences. They don't consider themselves storytellers, but when they talk about their experiences so sincerely, they most surely are storytellers. And then there are humble, supposedly ordinary people, not normally given to talking about themselves, who have shared small moments of their lives with me. If I listen well enough, I always learn something. I like to think I've helped a person just by allowing him or her to be heard.
We all want to be heard and seen; not necessarily in a centre-stage, under-the-spotlight kind of way, but in a way that acknowledges our existence, and that we matter.
Good goddess, this entry really is a blathering blurb, because I've been writing for a while now and still haven't figured out what my point is. Hmm ... So what have I got so far? I've 1) declared my intention to write a one-woman show in the next couple of months, and 2) I've waxed enthusiastic about how everyone has stories, and 3) I've made brief mention of the art of listening. And it truly is an art. In fact, I find it more difficult to do well than telling stories. Having said that, I realize now that I've said all that I want to say right now, even though it didn't make a complete or cohesive narrative in this rambling, what-the-hell-am-I-going-to-write-about-today discussion.
Enough said. I'm going to go outside and listen to birds singing and trees rustling in the wind. Maybe if I listen hard enough, I'll understand what they're saying. But even I don't, I'll listen anyway.
- G. P.

My Body, My Country

2010-07-01T07:30:00.000-07:00

My body is my first home, country and temple. It has an uncanny way of telling me what's going on in my mind and soul. I'm finally recovering from an onslaught of different kinds of angry, sore blisters and rashes on different parts of my body. In the space of three weeks I've had a nasty cold sore on my mouth, poison oak on my left arm, and poison ivy on my left leg.

I've been subject to cold sores all my life, so I wasn't too alarmed when a cold sore developed on my mouth. But it was quickly followed by poison oak rash I'd contracted a week and a half earlier suddenly flaring up again. A couple of days after the poison oak resurfaced, I developed a case of poison ivy. I've been walking in the same woods and lake district all my life and have never been a victim of these pernicious plants. Then all of a sudden I'm attacked twice in three weeks.
The blisters on my mouth, arm and leg are subsiding now, but I still have to be careful not to aggravate them. And calm. I must be calm, because I sure haven't been. In fact, I've been very angry and upset about certain conditions in my life and trying rather unsuccessfully to keep my anger to myself. I haven't fooled anybody with my feeble attempts at appearing to be okay - least of all my body, my self.

The body knows and the body talks. Lately it's been shouting at me, forcing me to listen. I heard it loud and clear (impossible not to), but I needed to listen to what it was saying. My body's been expressing what I've been feeling but trying to ignore. I should have been expressing my negative emotions in creative, constructive ways, instead of waiting until I couldn't suppress them anymore. So that's what I'm doing right here and now.
The mandate for this little web of mine is to be positive and cheerful and write about my metaphysical interpretations of everything I experience. Okay, so this particular yarn I'm weaving into my web isn't all that light and cheerful, but it's a good lesson in the body/mind connection. Although I've learned it the hard way, it's ultimately a good thing.
I've also observed that I sometimes reflect what's going on outside of me, and not just within me. In my part of the world we've just recently been through "interesting times," the kind referred to in the ancient Chinese curse - May you live in interesting times. I watched the shenanigans with what I thought was an objective, dispassionate eye, but I was actually very angry with my fellow human beings, and despaired for how stupid we can be. It wasn't the first time I noticed a correlation between my personal life and the world around me. Materialists scoff at this notion. But you know where I stand on that.
I'm writing these words to help me finish healing from the anger that has manifested on my body. It's a good day for it. It's July 1st. The first day of the month and the rest of my life. As this day goes, so do I. So I'm expressing myself creatively, and then going out into the world with cheerful greetings to friends and strangers alike to observe this special day in the country I call home. (I've tried to be "universal" and non-specific in my blurbs, but I know it's rather obvious where I live. Whatever. It's fun to keep up the charade.)
So there it is. For just today and all the moments it contains, I'm doing what I can to heal, move forward, and set the tone for the rest of my life. Blessed be.
- G.P.

Eat, Pray, Breathe

2010-06-16T07:34:00.000-07:00

Eating has always been one of my favourite pastimes. Even though I've been doing it all my life with great gusto, I've only recently started to do it properly. When I say properly, I don't mean healthily. I'm referring to the actual act of consuming the food.
I've always eaten way too fast. I just scarf that food down as if I were starving, which of course I'm not. As long as I've been living and eating people have observed this unattractive, unhealthy habit of mine, and making jokes about it, or asking me if I came from a large family, which I did not. No, I've simply always been a super-fast, voracious eater, and I don't really know why.

Eating is one of the most basic and obvious forms of consumption that humans do. It's not only a necessity, it's pleasurable. Depending on what you're eating, it can be sensuously and joyously so. Ramming food down your throat before you've had a chance to taste it defeats the whole purpose of eating fine food. Yet that's what I've been doing all my life, even when I'm partaking of gourmet cuisine. Kinda stupid, really.
Well, that's all changing now, and not just because I've been missing out on the subtleties and refinements of good food. Fast eating, like fast food (which I don't eat) reminds me of all the things that I most hate about what's wrong with the world - greed, gluttony, and the consumption of more more more. It's the-person-with-the-most-stuff wins mentality. Aargh!
Since I'm always going on about leaving as small a carbon footprint as possible, eating slowly will certainly help this particular human eating-machine do that. I'll eat less because I'll be giving my stomach and brain time to figure out that I've eaten enough. (It takes about twenty minutes to do that, and in those first twenty minutes I sure can pack it in.) That's a win/win situation for both me and the planet. It means I'll lose weight and take up less space, as well as pollute less.
There was a time when I had such a low opinion of myself that I figured all I was doing on this earth was consuming, polluting and taking up space. A friend of mine had to point out to me that we all do that. But we should all be doing less of it, and that includes eating slowly and mindfully. As strange as it seems, eating has become a spiritual disicpline for me. After eating so quickly and unconsciously all my life, slowing down, masticating and tasting my food isn't as easy as it sounds. At this point I'm still diving right into the food as soon as it's laid down before me. (Old habits are hard to break.) It usually takes me several mouthloads before I remember to slow down and chew. To heighten my awareness of zen eating habits, I also say grace to myself before I eat. Or at least I've been trying to. When I forget to say grace before I eat, I'll pause momentarily for a silent prayer of thanks during the meal. Better late than never. It still serves to slow me down while I'm being grateful.
The beauty of all this is that I also get to to indulge in another favourite pastime of mine - breathing. Deep breathing and slow eating go very well together. Really. Slowing down helps me to actually taste the food, and taking long, leisurely breaths every so often makes the food taste better, because it clears out and freshens the olfactory pathways. It also helps with digestion. What's not to like?
Best of all, my new-found discipline in better living suits my sensibilities concerning the evils of a consumer-based society. I want to consume less because it's not just better for me, it's better for the environment. You don't see herds or packs of fat animals in the wild. They live according to need and not greed.
I enjoy eating more than ever these days. I'm eating less and with more grace. It's a great way to apply the human gift of reason to a basic necessity of life. Yum.
-G. P.

Earth and Me

2010-06-14T06:18:00.000-07:00

Everything that happens on this planet, even if it's on the other side of the earth and I'll never know about it, affects me. Sometimes I feel as if my body is the earth, or at least a micro-version of it. If I sustain an injury, or am bitten by a spider, I tend to wonder why it happened, rather than how, because the longer I live the more I'm convinced that there are no accidents or coincidences. I'm always certain that there is a message being conveyed to me, and that I should be paying attention to my body, which is the vehicle communicating the message. Most of the time the information I'm getting is about me specifically, of course. But sometimes I feel that the things I think about, which seem to have nothing to do with me and where I live, end up affecting my health and well-being.
I apologize if this particular ramble of mine seems rather obscure, but I don't wish to be specific right now. If I go into detail, it will probably send me into a tailspin. So I'm keeping this blurb very general. (I know that this opens me up to the sort of criticism that flaky, airy-fairy, pie-in-the-sky, new-agey types are subject to when they blether about inter-connection and the unity of all life. Well too effing bad. I don't want to go there, and since this is my little web I can bloody well make unsubstantiated arguments if I want to. And use run on sentences, or end them in prepositions, or go off on tangents without ever coming back to my original thesis.)
But I digress.
Back to my body, my self, as a microcosm of Earth ...
I can't control everything that happens to me or around me or around the world. But I can control the way I react to them. I frequently feel as if my body is reacting before I have a chance to consciously respond. If that's true, then I should be able to somehow, in a teeny-weeny, nonetheless significant way (see previous entry), affect that which affects me. When I'm functioning at my best, and have all the crap that's bothering me under control, I feel powerful enough to exert some influence somewhere - preferably in the areas of my life and the planet that I believe need care. So that's what I've begun to do.
I've started to dedicate all the best of me to the life of this Earth I revere. It's my religion. It's my faith. Earth doesn't need my personal crap. She has enough to deal with. So I'm sacrificing my addiction to struggle and pain for the sake of Mother Earth. And it's one hell of a tough addiction to give up. But every time I choose to breathe deeply, slow down and take the moral high road in difficult situations, I experience some sort of immediate and positive result, usually on the side of peace and accord. That often comes with personal sacrifice - such as suppressing spontaneous, uncensored self-expression, which can be really hard for a drama queen like me. It means listening more than talking. Or turning the other cheek when fighting back seems so much more satisfying. It means focussing on what's right and good and beautiful when I'm overwhelmed with so much that isn't.
I've often wondered how I'm supposed to help others when I feel as if I can barely help myself. Now that I've discovered a way to actively worship Earth on a daily basis, i.e., keeping one infinitesimal part of the planet - me - the way I would like the entire planet to be, I don't feel so helpless and useless. Taking care of myself has become tantamount to taking care of everything that matters to me. I'll quote Gandhi again as I've done before - Be the change you wish to see. I've been using that quote as a moral guideline for quite some time, but now it's become a matter of faith. It makes me feel that even my personal, selfish needs and actions are somehow still serving the bigger picture. Okay, so that won't make me a saint. But I feel more closely connected to my deity, Mother Earth. And that empowers me.
- G.P.

Earth First

2010-06-07T06:21:00.000-07:00

My heart is breaking. That's not s great way to begin this entry on my little web, but there is a huge tear in the great web we call Earth, and I'm breaking my promise to myself that I would only write about good or happy things, or how to help myself and others feel well and happy. Given the scope of the horrendous oil leak in the Gulf of Mexico, I simply can't ignore the tragedy in my little web.
Like many people I've spoken to, I feel helpless to do anything. Most of the people who care about the tragedy that is still unfolding in the gulf waters, whether they are directly affected or not, can only wait and watch as BP works on plugging up the leak, something they should have begun with greater diligence as soon as the rig exploded. But no, greed ruled out any common sense and foresight. Spending serious money on implementing safety measures and plans for such contingencies is not profitable. Greed is short-sighted and short term. The patriarchal paradigm of big money and corporate power is slowly but surely killing this magnificent planet and all her beautiful, innocent creatures.
I get very little satisfaction knowing that BP is no doubt done for as a company. Their profits are being permanently and forever eaten up by the same oil that has made them filthy rich. Once again, Mother Earth is showing us, tragically and literally, just how filthy money-mongering is. But enough of the rant. My anger does not appease me, nor does it help the suffering of the wildlife along the Gulf of Mexico and Atlantic coasts.
I avert my eyes and turn away from pictures of pelicans covered in suffocating, slimy goo. I'm not burying my head in the sand. I know what's going on, so having my heart seize up with grief and anxiety does nothing to ease the situation. But the tragedy in the Gulf of Mexico has made me more caring and careful of my individual impact on this planet. I do my best to leave as small a carbon footprint as I can, but now I guess this Earth that I worship wants me to make even more sacrifices. Of course, my personal sacrifices such as not driving a car may seem inconsequential and fruitless, but that's because I'm only one person. But when more people care more, a ripple effect is created, and another strand in this great web is strengthened, so that one day, if it's not too late, every individual's actions will be shown to matter.
I once read a parable about a bird and a squirrel who sat together on a slender branch of a tree. It began to snow. After a little while the bird warned the squirrel that he should probably get off the branch because it might break if the snow got too heavy.
"It's just a few flakes," replied the squirrel, "what can they do?" The squirrel thought he was being funny when he began to count the snowflakes as they landed on the branch.
"Hey, here comes snowflake #3,042. " He laughed as the flake landed on the snow that was piling up.
"And here comes snowflake #3,043, " he said, mocking his feathered friend, "Well would you look at that? Nothing happened - again!"
The bird just sat there, saying nothing, when snowflake #3,044 fell from the sky. It landed ever so gently and quietly on the snow-laden branch, when all of a sudden the branch snapped, and down fell the squirrel. The bird just up and flew away.
This little story shows just exactly how much we matter as individuals when we all work together towards a common goal. Sure, often one person's efforts don't make a noticeable difference. But with patience and perseverance, all our individual efforts will prove worthwhile when we are joined by others. Sooner or later the scales will tip. That is why I shall not stop thinking, speaking, behaving and acting in ways that make things better. I admit that I weaken from time to time and do things that are convenient and fast, and not good for me or the planet. But every failure makes me more determined to stick to my beliefs and live out the big picture.
I pray for my fellow creatures all over the world, but especially in the Gulf of Mexico right now. I send them light, love and healing prayers. I know that there many other people out there who are doing the same. We are creating a ripple that may, if enough people join us, help to heal the tear in the web. And I pray that a web built out of such individual fibres will prevent such a disaster from happening again. Please.
- G.P.

The Greatest Story Ever Told

2010-04-20T06:55:00.000-07:00

Mother Earth always has the last word. She always will. Earth will be around for a long time yet to come, because she won't go until the sun does with a great super nova blast. But what kind of shape will earth be in when that happens? Will any humans be left? Humanity has to take some responsibility for that. The earth does not sit idly by as we do whatever we please to her. She responds in kind. And what people don't seem to understand is that she is ultimately greater and stronger than we are, despite all our advanced technology.
The Icelandic volcano with the polysyllabic, unpronounceable name has brought much of the western world to a standstill. Jets and airplanes have been grounded for a week now. People have been stranded at airports far away from their homes or their vacation and business destinations. The airline industry is losing millions of dollars a day. All this because of a maginifcent, potentially deadly manifestation of Mother Nature. I love it.
Don't get me wrong. I certainly don't want any horrifying accidents, deaths or illnesses to happen as a result of the spectacular show Mother Earth is putting on. It's just that I'm in complete awe of how she can stop us in our tracks with a single display of her power.
I'm not personally or immediately affected by the volcano. I'm not travelling anywhere by air, and by the time the ashes reach my part of the world on the jet stream, they will be rendered relatively harmless. So I'm just enjoying the show and appreciating a fascinating, dramatic chapter in the grand and mythic story of this magnificent planet.
Mother Nature rules. She's not always gentle or benign, but she is completely impartial, and her latest display of power is a reminder of that. That is why she is my deity, and why the book she writes is my bible.
- G.P.

The Best Spring of All

2010-04-15T06:40:00.000-07:00

It's been several months since I wrote anything on my little web. I've missed it, but I've been very busy writing other things, and my public musings have been neglected. The crazy thing is, even as I write this now, I still have no idea where this column will take me. So here goes ...
I've sat here for a couple of minutes roaming around in my head, trying to come up with a topic worthy of your time and mine. I've included a picture of a lily-of-the-valley to adorn this entry. Why did I choose it when I didn't even know the topic of my ruminations? Because it's spring and I love lily-of-the-valley. Those sweet, fragrant little flowers remind me of the happiest times of my childhood, playing in the backyard created by my mother, who was an avid gardener. As a perfume the scent is a little too sickly sweet and spinsterly, but when dozens of them proliferate a shady nook, the fragrance reminds me of heaven. And whilst we're on the topic - now that I seemed to have found one - lily of the valley is the flower I want to smell when I die. For a long time I've harboured the strange notion that I will pass on in the springtime, perhaps because I was born in mid-November. I've fantasized about wafting away to wherever it is we go when we die on a fragrant, invisible cloud of lily of the valley, accompanied by the sound of birdsong. I want to have lots and lots of birds singing raucously and joyously. (In fact, I'm being accompanied by birdsong at this very moment. I'm listening to birdsongradio.com, recommended by my friend Shauna, gifted songstress and artist, who designed my little web.)
It may seem morbid to ponder my death and how I want to experience it while describing my appreciation for the way in which spring, my favourite season, arouses my senses. Spring is the most life affirming season of all. Everything is so seminal and new, emerging out of darkness and growing into the light. I was born when the cycle of the seasons was turning the other way.
It doesn't matter to me if there aren't any lily-of-the-valley nearby when I die, I just want to be smelling them as I go. As for birdsong, I'd like a few real birds, as opposed to the virtual ones created by my imagination, to sing some happy notes to mark the occasion. Birdsong makes me feel safe. When birds suddenly stop singing it means there is a predator lurking about. So bring on the birds, say I.
There. That wasn't so hard, after all - finding something to write about, I mean. Now I have a better understanding of why I want to leave this beautiful world in the springtime, accompanied by the cheerful sound of birds, and breathing in the sweet scent of lily-of-the-valley. That's not a downer at all. But maybe I feel that way because I'm a Scorpio. Or maybe it's because I'm an actress and and want my final exit to be staged with grace and beauty.
One more thing, lest you think I'm wretched and miserable. I won't stop thinking about these things, because they amuse and mollify me, but I hope to do so for many years to come.
- G. P.

Revealing Thoughts

2010-02-06T17:03:00.000-08:00

A friend of mine recently told me she doesn't bother using glasses for a mild case of myopia because she doesn't need to see into the distance. I thought it was a very odd thing to say, and also very telling. Although she was referring to practical uses for glasses, such as driving, I couldn't help interpreting this seemingly innocuous statement as a personal philosophy. Another friend once told me that she"doesn't look up" when I wondered how she hadn't noticed that the house she's lived in for twenty years is situated under one of the flight paths of our city's busy international airport. Apart from the fact that I marvelled how such a thing could have escaped her notice for so long, whether she looks up or not, once again I observed how this comment reflected so much about her views on life. She's by no means a negative person, in fact, just the opposite, but such statements still circumscribe a person's outlook.
My friend who doesn't care about looking into the distance is an elder, in the best and deepest sense of the word. Usually I would consider her comment, as well as that of my ground-level oriented friend, as an indication that they fear what they choose not to see. Both women are well-travelled and worldly. They've been far away, and way up in the sky, many times. So why am I so fascinated by their casual, seemingly insignificant comments? I realize I'm dwelling on language again - something I love to do - and how its use reflects what a person thinks and feels.
A person's choice of words reveals volumes about themselves. Just ask Henry Higgins. (That's not possible, of course, he's a fictional character. And you can't ask G.B. Shaw, his creator, either, because he's dead.) The point is, much more than we probably care to share is revealed by the way we speak. Language is a human construct, and it's not just our conscious thoughts that go into the making of our personal philosophies. Our unconscious is always lurking in the background, rising up in the form of dreams when we sleep, or making an appearance when we perform certain waking, habitual behaviours - when we're on "automatic pilot." We take language so much for granted, so that we often slip into saying what we truly think, without really thinking at all.
I once knew a very pretty, insecure, and shy young woman, whom I suspected was still suffering from some sort of childhood trauma. She told me she didn't like looking in the mirror. When I asked her why, she replied that she didn't like "looking at herself." She genuinely believed she was unattractive. The mirror revealed her outward appearance, but her choice of words exposed what was going on inside her head, and as a consequence, that's what she saw in the mirror. It was as if she were looking deep within herself, and what she saw frightened her.
If what we say reveals how we think and feel, then maybe if we changed the way we spoke, we could change the way we feel. The physical senses send messages to the brain immediately and automatically. Most of these sense messages we can't control, but the things we purposely say and do can be controlled, and those messages are just as powerful. If we consciously practise saying things we'd like to be feeling and thinking, eventually the brain will get the message, and the subtle and gradual process of rewiring our neural network will have begun.
It's hard to be positive all the time. Nor should we have to be. But actually choosing to be hurtful or negative to yourself or others isn't necessary, either. I find that if I'm honestly not feeling kindly disposed towards a person or situation and have nothing good to say, I prefer to say nothing. It gets me into less trouble that way. I try to follow the Buddhist philosophy of simply doing no harm. Ultimately, I feel as if I'm a stronger and better person when I take the path of least resistance, which usually means just walking away, rather than engaging in conflict.
Language is a tool. It can build and destroy. Sometimes I slip up and show a side of myself that I'd prefer other people not to see just by letting go of a careless word or bit of profanity, although even that has its place. Words can paint vivid pictures, and what's being said describes the speaker as much as the subject.
Speaker beware.
- G.P.

We Are a Web

2010-01-21T08:17:00.000-08:00

My new year's resolution was to read a poem a day. So far I have done so, and enjoyed it thoroughly. It's been easy to include reading a short poem as part of my morning ritual. But alas and alack, with all that's happened of late on this planet of ours, I sometimes feel as if I'm Nero playing the violin while Rome burns. It's hard not to feel useless and unable to help as so many people suffer all around the world. But feeling bad doesn't help anyone, either. So what can I do? What can anyone do? Offering monetary donations is one way to feel as if you're doing something. But the results of that sort of generosity aren't always immediately discernible. Who knows where all the money goes when people donate to worthy causes?
Since I'm not in a position to give enough money that I feel would make a difference, but have done anyway - which is a good thing - I've wondered what else I can do. So I turn to what I always do in such circumstances. I try my best to be a better person. To be grateful for what I have. To be kinder and more compassionate on a daily, work-a-day basis. I don't have to go half way around the world to see people who suffer and toil. They live right next door to me and everybody everywhere. To quote one of my all-time favourite heroes, Mahatma Gandhi, I shall try to be the change I want to see in the world. Doing that engages me all the time, and it makes me feel as if I'm continually helping in some small way, rather than just throwing some money a couple of times into a bucket and then promptly forgetting about it.
Think globally, and act locally. By locally I mean personally as well, treating a stranger or a stray dog the way you would like to be treated. It does matter. Oh yes it does.
Unfortunately, even if the entire world's population suddenly became caring, peaceful, and responsible, we'd still have to cope with things we cannot control, like the weather, or Mother Earth rising up and showing her awesome, terrifying power. We've been trying to subdue the earth for thousands of years now, and she has not taken it lying down. Mother Nature always has the last word, and always will. We can't undo all the damage we've done, but we can stop doing more, and only if everyone gets on board with that. Sadly, I don't think that's going to happen soon. But I pray, and act according to the way I wish the world to be - or at least I try. I also recognize that I can't control everything that happens to me, or to the world around me, but I can control how I respond.
Nature is the greatest teacher of all. I take my lessons from her. When she roars, I listen. We all listen. It's impossible not to. For millenia she has been showing us how utterly impotent we really are when we divide and conquer, and how strong we can be when we act to keep this beautiful, fragile but ultimately sturdy web we call earth whole and healthy. I can help in rebuilding the damaged parts of this great web by taking care of the tiny, but not insignificant, portion of this earth I live on - one moment, one word, and one deed at a time.
-G. P.

Spellbound

2010-01-11T08:24:00.000-08:00

Words fascinate me. That's not so strange, of course, because I'm a writer and a storyteller. Words are magical. They make thought something we can hear when spoken, and see when written. A large group of words deliberately strung together communicates a story or a message. When a story is well written, you can be sure a good deal of attention has been paid to the craft of writing. That appeals to me, because the practise of magic is often referred to as The Craft.
Taking an idea and making it a tangible thing - such as the written word - is an awesome feat, though it seems as if it should be such an easy thing to do. Groupings of letters, syllables or words create spells, and spelling out loud is a form of incantation. Witches keep their spells in books called grimoires, which is derived from the Latin grammatica, via the O. French word grammaire, meaning "learning," from which we get our word "grammar." Glamour also comes from the same root. A glamorous woman has the ability to weave a spell around her, to manipulate her reality according to her will. Witches have glamour. So do actors and storytellers - at least the good ones do.
I'm waxing enthusiastic (from the Gr. entheos, inspired by a god) about words right now because my good friend Barbara just informed me that I misspelled hollow when I described my missing necklace in the previous entry. Good call, Barbara!
The strange thing is, my precious harmony ball, which Barbara found at her place - whoopee! - is indeed hallow to me. Spellcheck didn't catch the error because it's a perfectly good word on its own, but not the one I intended. It seems my misspelling was a Freudian slip. Or perhaps calling it a Jungian slip would be more accurate. Whatever the unconscious reason for my spelling error, I couldn't help noticing how my mistake so accurately described my feelings about the necklace. A single letter in a word sent me on this riff about the magic of words. No wonder I find them fascinating. (from the Latin fascinus, meaning "spell, witchcraft.")
But that's enough for now. I just wanted to inform my followers that my necklace was found. Mission accomplished. Now I have to work out some of my cabin fever, so I'm going out for a spell.
- G.P.

Lost and Found

2010-01-07T09:28:00.000-08:00

My favourite piece of jewelry is missing. I owned it and kept it safe longer than anything else I've ever owned. It was a necklace made out of black cord with a simple, hollow copper ball adorned with a small, silver, Art Nouveau-ish fairy. There were delicate chimes inside the ball that tinkled gently when I shook it. I think they used to call these necklaces "harmony balls," back in the day when they were popular. I wore it frequently for almost thirty years, and it went with me everywhere. It was the sort of personal item one might give a psychic who gathers information by holding something that belongs to the person they're reading. I don't think there's anything I own that has my imprint on it more than my hippy-dippy harmony ball, wherever it may be. It was my signature piece, and had my "vibes" all over it.
So why am I publicly lamenting the loss of a cherished necklace on my little web? I know I'm the only one who cares, which is at it should be. It was just a thing, after all. It's just stuff. It's just part of the stuff that we collect or hoard as we go through life. It's market value wasn't worth the time spent on e-bay trying to sell it. It's only value was sentimental, and only to me. No big loss.
I've been getting rid of stuff for over 4 years now. A couple of moves from one place to another forced me to reduce what I own so that I could fit into my new digs. The process of throwing stuff out, or giving it away, was long and hard. But it felt great. I was purging myself of a lifetime of junk - stuff that I hadn't used or even looked at in many years. It was just taking up space. It made me feel crowded.
My adventures in moving in the last 4 years have streamlined me. When sifting through the heaps of stuff that was my life, I followed a simple rule, first espoused by John Ruskin (1819 - 1900), art critic and essayist, to keep only what is beautiful or useful. The real trashy stuff, and I couldn't believe how much I had, I threw out. There was a lot that was still in good condition and certainly useful, but if it was redundant, I gave it to charity. Fortunately, there was a lot that was recyclable as well. The result of all this is that now I own less than I have my entire adult life, and can contain it in two medium-size rooms. I love it, and now I love myself more, too.
One of the best habits that I've developed in the last four years is the constant maintenance of keeping what I own to a minimum. If I acquire new stuff because well-meaning friends and relatives give me gifts, I give away at least two items for every one I receive. It's challenging, because I do need a certain amount of "stuff" to live comfortably, and still be able to express my individuality. Some variety is necessary to spice up life, and that includes changes in my appearance and environment.
One of my goals in life is to have no stuff left when I die. I'm slightly facetious about that, of course, but I try to stick to that guideline when making decisions about whether I should acquire something or not. And it works.
So maybe the Universe is testing me with my recent loss. No matter how I measure it, it wasn't a deep loss at all. I am grateful for all that I have, which is much, and includes first and foremost, my health. I was probably too attached to my necklace. But I'm much more attached to my neck, which doesn't need the necklace at all. (Sorry about the bad pun. It just came out that way.)
The mid-winter sun shines brightly outside my window, and I must be going. I'm attached to my legs and feet, too, and look forward to walking and breathing in the crisp, winter air. Losing an article that I thought I would just die if I ever lost, and then I didn't die, has made me appreciate the truest, most real, and enduring things that matter in life. Most of those things aren't "stuff" at all. I won't bother to name them, because you know what they are.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Gaudeamus

2010-01-04T09:28:00.000-08:00

The way I begin anything - whether it's an ordinary day or week, a creative project, a journey, a relationship, a story, or any of the myriad other things in life that have a beginning, middle and end - sets the tone for the duration of whatever I've begun.
For the past few weeks I've made a point of being very aware of what I did to mark all the beginnings and endings that make up the end-of-year holiday season. The Winter Solstice and New Year's Eve indicate the beginning of winter and a new year respectively. Significantly, this past New Year's Eve was on a blue moon, which is the second full moon of a calendar month. (The next blue moon on a new year's eve will be in 2028.) It was a special night, for sure. And as if that weren't enough to celebrate, the full moon was shining on the eve of a new decade! There was much reason to make merry that night, and the pull of the full moon only added to the joyous lunacy. So yes, I was very aware of how my first hours and days went for me as the season, year, and decade turned over. So far, so good.
I celebrated Christmas with my family. I spent some of the time with my beloved aunt, Gita Tant, and her daughter Laura (my cousin). There's always something to look at in Gita's home, because her large, rambling country house is filled to the rafters with all kinds of art. My late Uncle Talis (Gita's husband) was an artist, as is his daughter, cousin Laura. So there I was, on Boxing Day, fascinated by several plastic skulls that Laura had bejewelled with beads and sequins in a riot of colours. Instead of sporting the accustomed ghastly leer, each of the fabulous skulls looked as if it were laughing. I would have enjoyed those crazy dead-heads at any time, but I couldn't help revelling in the perfect synchronicity of seeing them as 2009 drew to a close. The festive skulls reminded that when we celebrate the arrival of a new year, we are also marking the passing of the old one. And what a way to celebrate. When Laura creates her installations, she plays with a multitude of colour and texture, and her skulls are no exception. In fact, Laura has named her series of gaudy skulls "For the Love of Gaud."
The word gaudy comes from the Latin gaudeo, gaudere, which means to rejoice, to celebrate. That which is gaudy, by definition, is rejoicing in itself. Laura's skulls were fairly shouting at me to rejoice in the fleeting moment and the passing year. They were a reminder that with death comes rebirth.
A new cycle begins. Celebrate it.
I've never had the joy or privilege to see something designed or created by the Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi, but I certainly enjoy looking at photographs of his magnificent buildings and mosaics. No straight lines or grey concrete for Gaudi, no sir. He plays with space, line, texture, and colour like no other architect I know. (Mind you, I don't know that many.) His creations aren't just visually stunning, they're joyous. They're fun. What else could they be with a name like Gaudi? It literally means rejoice and celebrate.
I've made a good start to the year and decade by focussing on all the big and little things that happened in the beginning, and making them count, making them memorable. I spent some time in quiet reflection, and I spent time in being loud and silly and having fun. I rejoiced alone, and with family and friends. I deliberately began the new decade the way I want it to continue. I created momentum. (from the Latin momentum, meaning "movement, moving power." Also the root of the English word moment.) Now all I have to do is go with it. I know all the days to come this year or decade won't be a party, but I've started well, and celebrated heartily. That's how I want to live my life. And if I want to be gaudy and live out loud, I will.
- G. P.

Peep Show

2009-12-15T10:44:00.000-08:00

A dear friend of mine is one of the slowest people I know. It's one of the things I most admire about her. Monica moves through life at a slow, easy pace. She's sometimes a little late for things, but never fails in meeting her commitments and responsibilities. When taking a walk with her, I have to slow down to her speed, because she can't keep up with mine, due to a congenital heart defect. Since I'm never in a rush to get somewhere when I'm with Monica, this is just as well. I love walking, and I do my best to take in everything around me, but walking with Monica pulls me right back to the real speed of life - the speed created by Nature, and not the speed of so-called civilized, urban living.
My friend has been slow all her life, even though her heart condition didn't manifest until she was a young woman. A few years ago I was watching her wash dishes and noticed how slowly, carefully, and almost luxuriously she did something I would normally consider dull and menial - a task I try to get through as quickly as possible. The way Monica rubbed the sponge on the dishes in leisurely, deliberate circles was almost sensuous. I watched her, fascinated, and wished that I could indulge in such a mundane pastime with so much consideration. Indeed, the manner in which she tackled the simple, domestic chore of washing dishes was almost trance-inducing.
Monica's natural rhythms are well-suited to what I call a magical life. She is a sensitive. (And I mean that as a noun, not an adjective.) Traditionally, when wise-women, witches, widows and spinsters accomplished domestic chores with intention, they were performing trance-inducing exercises. Stirring, spinning, weaving and sweeping were often used as aids in creating spells. Anything done when a person is completely engaged and focussed puts them into a mildly meditative state, or a state of flow. Think of the runner's "high." The feet may be racing, but the mind isn't.
My friend's normal, life-long pace has allowed her to experience the unseen world, where things don't work at the same speed as they do here. I've heard stories from my slow friend, and witnessed strange little events around her that other people don't notice or dismiss as inconsequential, but they're always linked to her quiet, still presence. It's poetic irony that Monica's predisposition towards the wise ways of the turtle (Mother Earth totem of Native North Americans), is how she must live with her heart condition. Ironic, yes. But is it a coincidence? Well, you know what I think.
Turtles, and tortoises, are the longest living animals on the planet. They don't rush through life, so they get to live it longer. They're associated with wisdom because of the advanced years they can reach, and they take their time getting there. Some people make a deliberate choice about learning from these animals, and emulate their slow and steady pace in daily practices such as meditation or yoga. And then there are others, like my friend Monica (who are much fewer and far between), who were born that way. Long live the Turtles of this world.
- G.P.

Moment to Moment

2009-12-01T09:55:00.000-08:00

A single moment in time is a rare and delicate thing. It's as ephemeral as a passing thought - here and gone. Too often I wish that every moment were a beautiful one, but if I'm in pain, either physical or psychological, cherishing a fleeting moment is the last thing on my mind. Under such circumstances I'm more likely to pray that the moments pass quickly, without dwelling on how precious time is.
Boredom, however, is not to be tolerated. Better I should dwell on one good thing I have or do, even if it's as simple as breathing or walking. Fortunately, I'm able to enjoy both those things together again, without pain or discomfort, after several weeks of being robbed of the joy of walking due to an injury.
Breathing and walking aren't rare, but genuinely revelling in them isn't ordinary, either. It requires sensitivity and gratitude on a moment to moment basis. Life and time are like rivers that are constantly flowing, whether you take note or not, which is why you can never put your foot into the same river twice.
I want to spend today, the first day of December, the last month of the year, the month of the Winter Solstice, Hanukkah, Christmas and New Year's Eve as if I were marking the way I will spend the rest of my life. So that means I must write, to express myself in some way. I choose to spend all the moments on this first day of the rest of my life, which also happens to be on a full moon, so that it matters.
Doing nothing is not a waste of time as long as I'm fully conscious and appreciative of all the quicksilver moments, and of all the things that are happening to me, around me, and within me. I breathe, my heart beats, my blood flows, I see, I hear, and my mind moves from one thought to another. I'm making choices all the time. So much is happening every single moment. All I have to do to make those moments memorable is notice them.
Sometimes I fret that my life is ordinary. In many ways that's true, and I'm often unable to do anything to change the circumstances that make me feel that way. But I can observe, listen and think. I'm not without imagination, and as long as I'm capable of using it, I have enough. So I'd like to finish this simple little blurb on this seemingly most ordinary of days with another ancient Chinese maxim ... Enough is as good as a feast.
- G. P.

A Day in the Sun

2009-11-18T07:04:00.000-08:00

A magnificent sunbow graced my view as I sat on the back patio a few days ago. It was a new moon. I was awaiting the arrival of my friend, Doe, to come and help me celebrate my birthday. It was probably the last time I'd be sitting in the back yard this season, because it was an unseasonably mild day for mid-November.
I wasn't doing anything but sitting in the sun and enjoying being still. And breathing, of course. (See previous entry.) It was just past mid-afternoon, but the sun was already low in the sky. Then I saw it, on the right side of the sun - a partial, vivid sunbow, or sun dog, as it is also known. It displayed all the colours of the spectrum. It looked like a rainbow turned on its side. It remained in sight for almost ten minutes. I've seen sunbows before, but seldom as colourful as this one.
I like to think that I appreciate beauty and wonder any time they are present, but if the time happens to be significant as well, I put a magical spin on the whole experience. So what little spin did I put on my most recent encounter with one of nature's wonders? Easy! Rainbows mean hope, rebirth and new beginnings, especially after a storm. New moons signify endings and beginnings as well. And birthdays, unless you're a miserable, life-hating curmudgeon, should be a day to celebrate life - specifically your life. (I get the "I celebrate life everyday" argument a lot from those who moan and groan whenever their birthdays roll around. I have found that those kind of people are usually the last ones who genuinely celebrate life. But I digress...)
Sitting alone, breathing, feeling the remaining rays of sun warm my face, and watching the sunbow shift and shimmer with such subtlety and nuance, was a quiet, soft and solitary experience. Those precious moments would have been memorable at any time, but it wasn't just any time. Timing may not be everything, but it matters. As a result, my pleasure and memory of that incident were enhanced. I'll always remember the time and the place and what happened on that day. And more importantly, I'll remember what it meant to me.
- G.P.

The Spirited Life

2009-11-12T06:49:00.000-08:00

Breathing is now on my list of favourite pastimes. That sounds rather absurd, I know; but ever since I hurt my foot and have been forced to curtail my frequent walks, I've had to find another way of enjoying what I have, and what is. The act of breathing, which is part of the autonomic nervous system and therefore involuntary, also works in tandem with the conscious mind. I love that part. Since I'm breathing anyway, and can control it, I might as well enjoy it, right? I find myself more sedentary than I would normally choose to be, and so I am forced to get as much enjoyment out of my indisposition as possible. Apart from the usual stuff like reading and writing etc., I don't want to lose touch with my body. I can't do a lot of calisthenics, but I still breathe.
Getting in touch with the breath is the basis of meditation, which I'm not entirely unfamiliar with. However, I never brought the wonderful lessons and feelings of breathing meditation to ordinary life. Even as I sit here and type out these words, I'm deliberately paying attention to my breath. Talk about multi-tasking! I joke, of course, because my conscious breathing actually makes me feel as if I'm doing less, not more. By slowing down I'm able to focus more. Every time I finish a sentence with a period, I stop and take a deep breath. (Pause to breathe.) It's wonderful. It makes me feel better. It calms me, soothes me. It clears my mind, and makes me appreciate the beauty and wonder of something I do all the time anyway. What's not to like?
If I'm in conversation with friends, I can still breathe consciously while they're talking, and thus listen with more intention and patience, because I'm clear-headed and focussed. Reading, listening to music, or watching a movie have become physically beneficial as well. No more couch potato.
Spiritus is the Latin word for breath, breathing, or life. A spirited person is full of life. Until I discovered the joy of conscious breathing, I was frequently dispirited by my indisposition. And I can't say enough about taking deep breaths when you're upset or losing your cool. The fact is, breathing is good for you. To quote a favourite acting vocal coach of mine, "if you don't breathe, you're dead." One can go for a few weeks without eating, a few days without water, but only minutes without breathing. (Pause now to enjoy a slow, deep breath. Nice, eh?)
It's too bad I had to injure myself in order to appreciate the most basic, automatic act of living. I thought my background in theatre and music had taught me just how important breathing is. I didn't think I took it for granted. And I never thought I could look forward to walking and breathing at the same time as much as I do now. I'll let you know how it goes. I have a feeling it will be truly spiritual.
- G. P.

Everything Matters

2009-11-04T06:43:00.000-08:00

A storm was raging within me yesterday. It passed, as all things do, and left a moment of illumination in its wake. I had spent several hours on this web of mine, writing about the up side of being down, because I've been laid up with a bum foot for almost a week now. Despite my injury and incipient ennui, I looked for the good things that came out of being indisposed, and thought to share them with you here. It was not to be.
I am a technopeasant, and my lack of understanding about all the ins and outs of something as basic as my little web can frustrate me to no end. (Please note I am not a Luddite, because I like technology. It's just that I'm clueless about it.) Suffice it to say, after several hours and numerous drafts of recording my not-so-deep thoughts, I was left with nothing on my web to share with the world. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I was not a happy camper.
So-o-o, I shut down the computer, took a deep breath, and hobbled to the mailbox, where I'd been expecting to find a cheque from one of my acting gigs. I knew a little cash would lighten my dark mood. Well hey! Guess what? It wasn't there! Oh for joy for joy. My foot was throbbing, my neck and shoulders in spasm from hunching over a computer for so long, and now a few of the things I rail against every so often, i.e., computers, the postal service, and no $$$, were proving to me just exactly who or what had the power. Clearly not me. Aargh!
Normally I would have taken a long, brisk walk in the chill autumn air to work out and/or walk away from my fury. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Indeed, it was a large part of the problem. Okay, so what else could I do? Drink. That was coming, believe me. But I first wanted to express my rage. After all, I'm an artist, right? That's what we do, express ourselves. Screaming loud and long was the first thing that came to mind. I wanted to run out into the back yard and scream at the top of my lungs. Despite the inner storm that obscured my judgement with big, black clouds, I knew that idea was a bad one. I've got a pretty good set of lungs and I knew neighbours would come running over to assist me and/or be calling the police. So I had no option but to fuss and fume in the kitchen, swearing loudly whilst looking for a corkscrew. I was suddenly stopped in my tracks with a loud bang and clatter from the laundry room which adjoins the kitchen. A metal shelf which supported all sorts of laundry room accouterments had collapsed. The shelf had given way because the screws that held it in place couldn't bear the weight anymore. It had obviously been ready to collapse at any time for quite a while. However, I found it curious that it collapsed just exactly when it did. It could have fallen last week, or tomorrow, but it fell just when Hurricane Penwyche stormed through.
Strangely, this little accident made me feel better. Instead of raging even more as I put everything back in order, I mused about the timing of a seemingly random domestic mishap. I had been so angry I was shaking. I definitely had very strong "bad vibes." If a butterfly can flutter its wings on one side of the planet, ultimately creating a tornado somewhere else, then maybe my palpable rage could make a shelf collapse. With this realization I suddenly felt I had some power again. I no longer felt out of control.
Eventually I put everything back in its place, including my mood (although the shelf still needs fixing), and settled down to a glass of wine. (Okay okay, three glasses.) But my sense of connection to the Universe was back. A minor domestic upset had restored my faith.
The beauty of this little yarn is, that for now at least, I don't feel like some new age flake who writes blurbs on a hokey blog. I experienced first hand that what I think and feel matter, that energy effects matter. One of my favourite aphorisms happens to be the motto of the distinguished Eindhoven University of Technology in the Netherlands, Mens agitat molem. Translated from Latin it means the mind moves matter. If a bunch of geeks use that pithy little maxim as their motto, then it's good enough for me.
-G.P.

Working the System

2009-10-28T07:38:00.000-07:00

Witnessing true gratitude can be as good as feeling it yourself. I didn't realize that until a few days ago, when I was at the bookstore where I work. We had a little event for kids, celebrating the launch of a new book, and a dozen or so children showed up. The mean age of those in attendance was around ten. The kids were a smart, lively bunch. We had several prizes to hand out, most of them little tokens for games of trivia about the book series. There were also two bigger prizes, a bright yellow t-shirt, and an autographed copy of the book, which the staff and I decided would be given away by luck of the draw, just to keep things completely fair.
One of the young boys collected a lot of the smaller prizes because he was really quick calling out the answers during trivia. He was as sweet as he was bright. When it came to playing for the two biggest prizes, we had narrowed the players down to that boy and a girl, because they had tied for accumulating the most points in the previous game. The winner for the t-shirt was to be selected by picking a number between 1 and 10. The young lad in question won by guessing the exact number, which happened to be lucky number 7. He was positively thrilled by his win and said thank you like someone who did so often. It was a pleasure to see.
The second of the "grand" prizes, the autographed book, was given away by drawing names from a hat. Sure enough, the same boy who had been cleaning up, by both wit and luck, won again. When he won yet again my first thought was that something strange was going on with this kid that day. I know statisticians and number crunchers would have had a logical, scientific explanation, claiming that the odds weren't really that great against him winning both prizes. I wasn't using my reasoning faculties, however, when I reacted in my typical now isn't that weird? fashion. I turned to the boy's mother and said something to that effect. Well wouldn't you know, she replied in my language. "He's been lucky all day," she said, "ever since he got up this morning he seems to have been in tune with the cosmos. There's some kind of cosmic connection, for sure." Her words were music to my ears.
This little incident already intrigued me, but what made it even more special was the boy's reaction to his streak of good luck. He wasn't just happy, he was deeply grateful. First he hugged himself with glee, and then proceeded to hug me and two of my colleagues who helped facilitate the event. I've worked with enough children at the store to know that he reacted in a spontaneous and more deeply felt way than most children his age would have done. It wasn't just a case a good manners. This kid's extraordinary, contagious expression of gratitude was genuinely moving. His mother clearly understood that we're all connected in some small way, and although she's probably never spoken about it to him in exactly those terms, he had obviously learned the lesson. He has a good mother, and it shows. His good fortune didn't just make him happy, or his mother proud, it also lifted the spirits of people who didn't even know him.
That beautiful young boy is off to a good start. As he goes through life, it won't always be easy, and it won't always be good, but this kid has a solid foundation for dealing with whatever crosses his path with fortitude, grace and wit. Bon voyage, young man.

Ladybug Day

2009-10-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

Ladybugs bring good luck and carry our wishes out into the world to be fulfilled. Or so the story goes. Maybe it's because they're attractive and eat plant-destroying aphids that they're such a popular, fabled insect. This past summer I saw only one ladybug the entire season. Only one! And believe me, I was looking. I always enjoy their appearance and confess to making wishes on them whenever I see them. (More magical thinking. But hey, that's me.) When summer came and went and I'd only spotted one ladybug, I thought there must have been some blight on these benign bugs. Fortunately, I was wrong.
Yesterday, as I sat right here at my computer, I began to fret about the usual things I fret about, followed by the usual prayers and wishes to make everything right. Just as I was finding the perfect words for a brand new wish, I happened to glance over at my study window, which overlooks our back garden, and saw several ladybugs clustered on the window pane. More ladybugs kept arriving as I watched. Suddenly I saw more of them on my window pane then I see in an average summer! It was a mild, Indian summer day, and maybe they were gathering together to nest for their winter hibernation. Or maybe they had all come out of early hibernation because of the sudden warm weather. Whatever the reason, there were ladybugs galore.
Being prone as I am to seeing signs in almost every mundane little event that comes my way, the timing of their appearance lifted my spirits, of course. I took their timely arrival to mean that my wish would be granted. As if that were not enough to satisfy me, I jumped up and grabbed my tarot/totem cards. (It's a tarot deck with a picture of a different animal totem on each card.) I wanted to know if my just-wished wish would come true. (I know, I know. How many wish-granting signs and portents does one need?) Nonetheless, I was feeling connected to whatever was going on around me, and pulled a card. It was the 9 of cups, traditionally known as the wish card, and the creature depicted on the card was the ladybug. The words inscribed at the bottom stated "wish fulfilled." Nice, eh?
A little while later I went for a walk in my lovely, leafy neighbourhood. I was surrounded by red and yellow everywhere, and not just because of the turning leaves. Dozens of ladybugs flew all around and crawled over tree trunks and city walls. I'd seen hundreds of them by the time I finished my perambulations a couple of hours later. Even without my propensities for wishful thinking, the experience was a memorable one. It was something I don't see everyday.
A few hours later, with the delightful ladybug episode fresh in my mind, I met a friend for dinner. As she spoke of her recent travels, and places she's planning to go next, I kept remembering the not-so-ordinary day I'd had right in my own backyard. I haven't been anywhere for quite a while, and unless there's an unforeseen twist of fate coming my way, I won't be going anywhere very soon, either. I could easily have fallen into longing and dissatisfaction if I hadn't just had my ladybug day.
Well, as I sit at my computer a scant 24 hours later, I can see the ladybugs have gone. But my good mood hasn't. Of course I don't really know if my wish will come to pass. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I feel more light of heart than if the ladybugs had never made an appearance. And yes, I can just see magically-challenged people roll their eyes at my ostensibly naive and childish survival mechanisms. So it is with as much good humour as I can muster - and right now that's a fair bit - that I offer all the nay-sayers of this world a big, fat, juicy raspberry. Yum.
- G. P.

A Certain Spin on Words

2009-10-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Sharing my thoughts in writing with strangers is not new to me, but still strikes me as a little odd. Nonetheless, I've grown very fond of this little web of mine. In the past week I've spent more time telling whomever happens to read my words about myself, specifically my on-going "talk less, listen more" experiment. Maybe the fact that I'm talking less these days is why I'm spending more time expressing myself here. I'm also pretty sure there aren't any real "strangers" who are reading this. I suspect only a couple of friends who know about this web might stop by every once in a while.
In fact, "blogging" as it's called (a word I will never use again because I think it's so ugly) has always puzzled me. Why would anyone think that the minutiae of their life is so fascinating to complete strangers? Yet, here I am, doing exactly that. I've pondered this notion a lot lately, and have come to realize it's because I'm an actress, writer and storyteller. I want, and need, to express myself.
I still write in my journal almost daily. I love holding a good pen in my hand and feeling it roll smoothly over paper. I write my deepest, most personal thoughts in my journal. But they are not meant for anyone else; they are not meant to be shared. On the other hand, I have this lovely web of mine to communicate ideas and stories I want to tell.
I also know that my web is one of literally hundreds of thousands out there, and that only a handful of people know about it, and even fewer actually pay me a visit. But I write here nonetheless. The possibility that someone out there, someone I've never met and probably never will, can read my words and follow my thoughts pleases me. It validates me as an artist. I also know that most of my friends and family, people I love and who love me, do not visit me here. I understand that. They are busy, vibrant people with rich, full lives. My little "hobby" (another word I dislike, but there it is) is intended to entertain me, not them. Fair enough. But the artist in me, the person who needs an outlet for self-expression, also needs to be heard.
I'm fully aware that the time I spend here may be no different, i.e. in terms of being heard, than writing in my journal. But there is one crucial difference. If someone were to read my journal (goddess forbid!), they would be exposed to parts of me that are not particularly attractive. This web of mine, however, is meant to express only the best of me, the part of me I don't mind revealing to the rest of the world. In fact, I find it very odd that a perfect stranger might come to know the best of me - but certainly not all of it - when some of my nearest and dearest aren't abreast with what preoccupies me, or lifts me up and out of the so-called ordinary, day-to-day life they see me living. How weird is that?
I also know there are at least a few friends who do visit me here, and I want to thank them publicly. So thank you Rebekah, Cheryl, Barbara and Susan G. Your interest in my web, my stories, and me, touches me deeply. Your expression of friendship and respect for me, and who I am, makes the time I spend here worth it. And don't forget, my dears, and anyone else who may be an unknown member of my legion of followers, what goes around, comes around. Attention is always rewarded with information. And knowledge is power. I wish you well, as I do all people of good will.
- G. P.

Child's Play & Bird Brains

2009-10-14T06:23:00.000-07:00

There was an old owl who lived in an oak.
And the more he listened, the less he spoke.
The less he spoke, the more he heard.
Why can't we be like that wise old bird?
I happened to open a book of nursery rhymes at the bookstore where I work on the first day of my "speak no evil" experiment. (See previous entry.) The above nursery rhyme was the one that turned up. Upon arriving at work, I had completely forgotten about my vow, and then a bit of child's verse reminded me of my mission. I've made it my mantra ever since. This rhyme used to be told to children as a reminder that they should be seen and not heard. (How Victorian!) But there is deep wisdom in those words that is useful to people of any age. When I consciously follow the advice in this seemingly innocuous children's rhyme, there tends to be less conflict, less discord.
I guess you can tell that my recent promise to myself still preoccupies me. In fact, it's a full-time fixation. In order to be successful, it has to be, because it requires constant awareness. I hope it's not complaining to say that I slip up every now and then. Sheesh. However, my recent rediscovery of this little gem has given me something to chant to myself when I'm inclined to say something that isn't constructive, upbeat, or at least neutral. So I often find myself walking around and muttering the little rhyme to myself, or suddenly blurting it out loud, much to the befuddlement of others. Sure, I end up looking like an odd bird, rather than a wise one, but I figure that's better than being objectionable.
I've also learned that by not saying anything that's negative or unkind, I'm talking less, of course, and more importantly, listening more. So how do I know when to speak? There is a Native North American saying that answers that nicely. Speak only if you can improve upon the silence.
- G. P.

ReWired

2009-10-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

I'm testing myself today. I've made a vow to speak only good and kind words, to myself as much as others. And to make three strangers smile. This may not sound like much, but it means that I can't complain about anything at all in any way for the entire day. It's not as easy as it sounds. Go ahead, try it yourself. Make an effort to go a whole day without a single word of complaint, without uttering anything that smacks of negativity.
Anyway, that's what I'm planning on doing today. I'm up for the challenge, and shall report back here when my day is done. Since I'm working at my place of employment, a bookstore, I'll be meeting strangers and working with friends and colleagues. It will require constant awareness of my every thought, word and deed. A worthy plan, I think. So we shall see what we shall see ...

the next morning ...

Well, it's 24 hours since I made a vow to go an entire day without complaint or negativity, and I am pleased to report that my mission was accomplished. It required constant vigilance and awareness, and although a couple of times I slipped into a judgemental mode at the bookstore when I witnessed unseemly behaviour from spoiled customers or miserable colleagues, I refrained from expressing myself. Of course, I'm not supposed to react aggressively to rude patrons, but I didn't complain about them to fellow workers afterwards. And believe me, I really wanted to.

Being mindful of staying positive and non-judgemental got easier as the day progressed. I guess my brain is already getting used to a new way of functioning. I'd catch myself reacting habitually to certain sticky situations, and then make a concerted effort to change my thoughts. I must have started to set up a whole new neural network. Awesome. By the end of the day I was less tired than usual, and felt more kindly disposed towards the world in general. It's nice to see karma working so quickly.

As Anne of Green Gables would say, "Today is a brand new day, with no mistakes in it." So I'm determined to keep up this little experiment for today as well. I want to finish installing this new program of mine. If I'm as successful as I was yesterday, then I'll go for it again tomorrow. And then I'll do it again and then again, until one day, even if I'm surrounded by disagreeable people or circumstances, I won't have to make such a conscious effort to be a peaceful and pleasant person.

- G. P.

Try to remember ...

2009-10-01T08:24:00.000-07:00

September has come and gone and I didn't add a single yarn to my little web the entire month. I'm not sure why. I think I was waiting for a magical moment I felt worthy of sharing. Well, I guess I really am a fool. The whole point of this web is to help myself, and whomever else passes this way, to realize how precious and special each and every moment is, even the bad ones. Because let's face it, this life is all we have right now. Well, I've learned my lesson, so I'll try not to worry about how remarkable my life should be before I consider it noteworthy. With that in mind, here's a brief summary of some of the ordinary miracles I observed last month ...
A hummingbird visited my backyard. That's two hummingbirds I've seen in the city this past summer - the first two I've ever seen in the many years I've lived here. I spotted both birds within a few months of marking the tenth anniversary of my mother's passing by getting a hummingbird tattoo on my ankle. (See previous entry.)
I walked, without an umbrella, face up, in the gentle, late-summer rain. During that same walk a vivid red dragonfly landed on my arm to rest for a while. On yet another walk through our glorious neighbourhood park I spied a great blue heron, poised and motionless in the pond, within feet of the shoreline where I stood. And just a few feet from the heron a cormorant was perched on a wooden post, its wings spread wide, in full sun-worshipping mode.
I also met with a dear childhood friend whom I hadn't seen in eight years. I had called her up on whim, no doubt brought about by a powerful full moon that day, to wish her a happy birthday. It was good to hear her voice when she returned my call a couple of days later, and we caught up on our lives shortly afterwards when we met for lunch. Meeting with her after so long reminded me that life and learning goes on, with all its joy and sadness, fortune and tragedy. It will go on, even if we choose to not fully engage in it. And sometimes, tragically, it forces us to be fully engaged in the most difficult of ways. Grief is a price we sometimes pay for deep love. But Susan, my beautiful and enduring friend, is wiser and lovelier than ever, and has come back from great loss to live more fully and deeply than ever. It was a rich and rewarding experience just to sit with her.
I've learned that life doesn't have to smack me in the face with beauty, joy, misfortune or loss to make me appreciate all the rest of the small and seemingly inconsequential moments. I'm grateful for all of them. I'm an actress and a storyteller, and this much I know for sure - life is not a dress rehearsal.
- G. P.

Ma

2009-08-26T08:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I paid a visit to my personal "bodhi tree" in our neighbourhood park. I don't pretend that I'll suddenly become enlightened if I sit there often or long enough, but it's a favourite place of mine to just sit and ponder life, nature, the Universe, or nothing at all. There's a labyrinth nearby where I can watch the occasional visitor slowly walk the path to the centre and back out again. All in all, my little corner of the park is a good place to be still for a while.

Anyway, as I sat under my tree, my thoughts wandered to my late mother, who died ten years ago on a blue moon. I often think about her when I'm surrounded by green and growing things, because she was an avid gardener. The front deck at the family cottage was always festooned with a riot of colourful, trailing petunias. Since the bright colours attracted hummingbirds, Ma kept a feeder of sugar-water out for them, just feet away from where we sat. Whenever I see a hummingbird now, I'm always reminded of my mother.

So there I was, wistfully thinking of my mother, when, for no apparent reason, I turned my head to look behind me, and saw a ruby-throated hummingbird hovering in and amongst a bunch of black-eyed Susans. I saw it only moments before it darted away, no doubt seeking better nectar. It's the first time ever that I've seen a hummingbird in the park, but not the first time Ma has "appeared" to me when I've been thinking about her. I don't know for certain why I looked behind me at that moment, but I've a pretty good idea. Suffice it to say, I'm glad I did. Thanks, Ma.

- G.P.

Tree of Heaven

2009-08-12T08:35:00.000-07:00

There is a tree of heaven in our neighbours' back yard that dominates the view of the western horizon from our back garden. It is magnificent, and makes a striking silhouette against the indigo evening sky. This past weekend my part of the world had one of the most spectacular, destructive thunderstorms in years, and our beautiful tree was a victim of its force. It was struck by lightning and split in half. So now one of the loveliest features of our view will have to be taken down for obvious safety reasons. My housemate witnessed the lightning strike. The sound of the lightning cracking open the tree was as terrifying as it was deafening. A fire started, but was quickly extinguished by the torrential downpour.
My sister, who happens to be a church minister (yes, it's true! it takes all kinds of people to make up even a small family unit!), was the person who identified the tree for me one day last month as we sat on the back patio. The irony of learning the name of the tree from a person of religious persuasion amused me very much. And then fire from heaven paid a violent visit to my beloved tree from heaven. More irony, to be sure. It was also my multi-talented minister sister and former professional gardener who pointed out to me that a lovely birch on the property immediately behind the tree of heaven was, as she put it, "on its way out." The birch is my favourite tree, and was referred to as "the lady of the woods" by the ancient Celts. Last week, as I was working at my computer, I heard the sound of a chainsaw very nearby, but thought nothing of it until yesterday when I was gazing dolefully upon the shattered tree of heaven, and realized the birch that used to stand behind it was gone. Aye me.
I've now learned that the tree of heaven was introduced to North America from China, and is considered by some to be rather invasive, wreaking havoc in urban settings with its damage to sidewalks and building foundations. The location of our tree rendered it relatively harmless, until lightning struck. All I saw was its beauty, and how it was so tall that it truly did seem to reach up to heaven. It is the same tough, enduring tree that author Betty Smith writes about in her classic coming-of-age novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
I promised myself that when I started up this little web of mine, all the yarns I weave into it would be upbeat and optimistic. Well, I can't find much to be happy about in this little story of mine, but I want to commemorate a grand and gracious tree which has given me many heavenly moments of pleasure in the first happy months in my new home. Good bye, dear tree. I shall miss you.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Summer Sounds

2009-08-04T06:50:00.000-07:00

The thrumming buzz of the cicada heralds the arrival of high summer for me - that time of year associated with lazy, hazy days spent sitting on a deck and sipping a beer. Well, it's early August, and goddess knows I've spent many happy hours with friends on the patio drinking all sorts of inebriants, but they have not been accompanied by cicada song. In my part of the world the summer has been wet and cool - not so much that I haven't been able to enjoy the aforementioned pleasures, but enough to retard the parade of summer blossoms. Everything is late this year, including the sweet sounds of the cicadas.
I always make note of the "firsts" of each season: the first robin in spring, the first butterfly, the first dreaded, albeit beautiful, red-gold leaf (I guess you can tell what seasons I prefer), and of course, the first buzz of the cicadas, signifying the dog-days of summer. I usually hear the cicadas by the end of June or early July. After seventeen years underground, the nymph cicadas rise up out of the earth, then climb trees to finally emerge from their membranes as fully formed adults. I was beginning to despair that this year's generation of cicadas wouldn't complete their life cycle. What would happen if it was just too cold and damp for the cicadas to rise and shine? This is a question of biology I'm not equipped to answer. Fortunately, I needn't have worried.
Yesterday, which happened to be a warm and glorious summer day, I went for a picnic in the park with my good friend, Doe. I had just finished voicing my concerns to her about the delayed song of the cicadas, when lo and behold, the joyous buzz of summer landed on our ears! We looked at each other and laughed with glee. It was like hearing an old, familiar song. We revelled in the perfect synchronicity of the moment. How could the day go wrong after that? And it didn't. It was the perfect beginning to a perfect day.
Seventeen isn't just a very good year for old-fashioned crooners, it's a good one for cicadas, too. They crawl out of the dark earth into the light of day, and all those soft summer nights, serenading us with song that's a reminder to celebrate summer, and life itself. Blessed be.
- G. P.

Follow Your Bliss

2009-07-27T10:04:00.001-07:00

I was waiting for a subway train when I heard a happy voice call out my name. I turned to see Susan, a committed and enthusiastic member of Cantores Celestes, the choir I used to sing with. (See July 6th entry.) We caught up briefly on each others' news, and by the time the train arrived we were deeply engaged in more serious conversation. We entered the car together, still talking.
I told my former fellow chorister about my reasons for leaving the choir. It was a hard decision for me to make, but I needed to devote more time to developing my career as a writer and actor. And then Susan told me about her younger sister, who had had a successful career as a doctor when she decided to give it up and follow her life-long dream of being an actress. Now she's putting herself out there and busy writing and performing for fringe festivals and local theatres.
I've known a number of actors, unable to cope with the rigours and insecurities of living life on the edge - working now and then, hustling, auditioning, and doing odd jobs between gigs - who have given it all up and gone back to school to study law, and yes, even medicine. But I've never met someone who did it the other way around - going from a well-paid profession to the vagaries and uncertainties of a life as an actor, or an artist in any discipline, for that matter. Sure, there are established professionals who are happy to pursue their artistic interests as hobbies, but giving up a good living for a life in the arts? Wow! Now that's following your bliss.
I couldn't help admiring this woman's courage and commitment. I found it truly inspiring, and it emboldened me to persevere. Okay, sure, Susan's sister has a great job to fall back on, and does so between gigs, whereas most actors' "straight" jobs offer them only minimum wage, myself included. But Susan's sister is a committed artist who has obviously worked and studied hard to get where she is. She's truly earned all the breaks she can get. (Susan is also an accomplished woman - she has a law degree and teaches law at university. Her creative outlet is singing in the choir.)
Fulfilling our potential and achieving our goals can take our entire lives. Hearing Susan's story about her sister made me wonder how many people live what Thoreau refers to as a life of quiet desperation - a life of longing and yearning. Many people don't even know what it is they really want - what fires them up and gets them going. The people who know what they want out of life are truly blessed, and those who actually get out there and pursue it deserve as much luck as fate can dispense.
I'm glad I bumped into Susan and got a chance to hear her sister's story. It gives me hope. So I'd like to say to her, and indeed, to anyone who is brave enough to walk the often bumpy, difficult path to living your dreams - break a leg!
- G.P.

Good Vibes

2009-07-06T08:08:00.000-07:00

I sang in a women's choir for 14 years. My time with the choir was filled with music (of course!), camaraderie, study, practise, joy and angst. Each season culminated in a concert for an audience of 600 people. Standing on stage, shoulder to shoulder with almost 50 women, our voices all raised in song, I could feel a powerful connection with the audience and each other, even though our eyes were on the director.
The connection between the performers and the audience is palpable. When everything is just right - notes, pitch, volume, expression, focus and intention, the audience is engaged on a deeper level than just listening. A performing artist in any discipline can tell if that connection has been made long before the audience responds with applause. In order to achieve that ideal performance level, ensemble performers must first connect with each other. For musicians, it is on a physically quantifiable, vibrational level. When I sang with my fellow choristers, the perfect blend our director always sought would be achieved when we vibrated in perfect harmony, even if we were singing in unison.
Harmony is defined as a state of perfect balance and proportion. It is a term applied to music, mathematics and mood. When something is harmonious, it is either beautiful or peaceful, or both. (I make the distinction because music like Beethoven's Ode to Joy is certainly beautiful, although not necessarily "peaceful" in the strictest sense of the word.) When the heavenly bodies of the sun, moon, planets and stars were erroneously thought to orbit the earth in perfect concentric circles, the movement of these celestial bodies was believed to create the "music of the spheres." As fate would have it, the choir I sang with is called Cantores Celestes, which is Latin for "celestial singers." How perfect. In order to create music that sends one's spirits soaring, there must be complete accord amongst the singers themselves, at least musically. I met many beautiful, gifted and special women during my time with Cantores Celestes. A number of them have become dear friends I will cherish all my life. In different circumstances - in an office, for example - I doubt very much I would have made the same intense connection with some of these women, because we are so unlike each other. It was music that brought us together. Despite differences in outlook and beliefs, when we sang together, i.e. vibrated together, we were connecting on a quantum level. Now that's really deep, both physically and metaphysically.
Everyone and everything in the universe vibrates. The human body is a living, breathing, vibrating instrument. When we choose to raise our voices in song rather than anger, we become instruments of peace. That is why music is known as the international language. Sir John Tavener, choral composer and English mystic, says that "if the world is to be saved, it will be saved by beauty." Amen to that.
- G.P.

The Child and the Fan

2009-06-15T10:15:00.000-07:00

A small child sat with her father across from me on the subway train. She appeared to be about three years old. I had just rushed onto the train and was hot and flustered. Although I was a harried sight as I fumbled through my pack sack for the book I was reading, the little girl paid me no heed. No doubt she regarded me as just another old lady of no consequence. Boring for sure.

I had difficulty finding the book in my overloaded bag, which made me feel more over-heated and muddled than I already was. To cool myself off I pulled out my Chinese fan. I always carry one with me for just such occasions. I snapped it open and began to fan myself. It's a pretty fan, made of white silk and decorated with pale pink and purple flowers. An Asian woman sitting adjacent to me smiled knowingly. I smiled back. But it was the reaction of the little girl that pleased me more. Not only did she smile, she was positively enthralled. She looked at me as if I were someone who had given her a special gift. A fan was something she had probably only seen in pictures, or heard about in fairy tales. But here was a real, live lady using a real fan in the most prosaic of situations. I admit that I continued to fan myself because I was enjoying her happy attention. A few station stops later her father took her by the hand and led her out of the car. She strained to catch a last glimpse of me as they walked away.

I use a fan frequently for practical reasons, but I had a brief exchange with a small child who found it magical. The entire incident lasted only a few minutes, but the pleasure I felt from unintentionally giving a child a few moments of enchantment lasted me the whole day.

- G.P.

Rainbow Magic

2009-06-03T06:43:00.000-07:00

The sun was shining low on the western horizon, and there was a light sprinkle of rain after a heavy downpour. Conditions were perfect for a rainbow, so I poured myself a glass of wine and went out on the front porch, which faces east, and waited for the rainbow to appear. I was not disappointed. A few minutes later a complete, unbroken 180 degree rainbow arched across the eastern sky.
I was thrilled. I had been sipping my wine and muttering little prayers to myself that, should a rainbow appear, a certain wish I've had almost all my life would come true. I've wished that same wish, or a variation of it, many times under similar "if-this-or-that-happens-my-wish-will-come-true" circumstances. Well, guess what? After all these years, I'm still wishing it.
Yup. I'm a magical thinker. The term "magical thinker" sounds as if it should be a good thing, but it's almost always used in a dismissive, derogatory way. Flaky is a word I've heard often to describe those of us who indulge in such modes of thought. Intelligent, informed people do not. But there I was standing on my front porch waiting for a rainbow, and my dreams to come true.
So why was I so thrilled if I've wasted so many precious moments in wishful thinking? Firstly, because a rainbow is a beautiful natural phenomenon that doesn't happen every day. That's why I ran across the street, glass of wine in hand, exhorting passers-by to look upward and behold a wondrous thing. Most of them were thankful I pointed it out, but there were also a couple of people who looked up very briefly, responded with a banal "uh huh" or "oh yeah," and then continued on their mindless way. As for me, I gazed at that rainbow until it disappeared.
I can't see a rainbow without being inspired. Apart from its beauty, it is surely one of the most storied of natural wonders. It is the return of light after a stormy night, a place where you'll find a pot of gold, a bridge between heaven and earth, the royal road of Iris the Greek goddess, the necklace called Brisingamen of Freya the Norse goddess, and the heavenly sign that told Noah the flood was over at last.
So now we know that a rainbow is created by the refraction of light through the prism of multiple raindrops into the seven colours of the spectrum. This fact does not make seeing a rainbow any less magical for me. Indeed, it only enhances my appreciation and understanding of it. Upon first sight of a multi-coloured archway across the sky, my eyes still widen, and a smile still crosses my face before I have time to think at all, magically or otherwise. I'm always left in awe.
Sure, I've been disappointed many times by obsessively associating every natural event to some aspect of my life. But for a few moments I'm spending time in another world - a world of natural wonder, myth and legend. I have no problem with that. And thank goddess for the way the mind filters memories. The disappointments are almost always forgotten, but the joyful recollection of the rainbow remains.
As for the rainbow that prompted these notes, I will always recall the place and the time, because it was significant - to me. I'm finally feeling truly at home in my new digs, and have much to look forward to. The future looks bright, and I'm grateful that the Universe agrees. For now, at least, all the pieces seem to fit, and everything's coming together. If noticing that my inner and outer worlds intersect so perfectly for a brief moment in time makes me a magical thinker, well then, so be it.
- G.P.

Night Life

2009-05-28T06:38:00.000-07:00

Sleep is one of my favourite pastimes, although it's probably better to describe my pleasure as falling asleep. I love those moments just before I drift into unconsciousness, when I am neither awake nor asleep. After a hard day of work or play, and if I'm not worried or upset about anything, I look forward to retiring to my bed, so that I can experience that delicious feeling of floating between the realms of wakefulness and slumber. While my body drains of its tensions, my mind wanders freely in the space in-between. Visions appear, even when my eyes are open and I'm staring at nothing in particular in the semi-darkness.

These visions are known as hypnogogic hallucinations, (from the Greek words hypnos for "sleep," and agogeus, meaning "guide.") The hallucinations experienced when one transits from sleeping to waking are called hypnopompic. I've experienced both these transitory states for as long as I can remember. I'm in good company. William Blake, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Edgar Allen Poe, Lewis Carroll and Carl Jung are just a few individuals who explored this state and used it as a source of inspiration for their writing. (I wish I could cite a famous female artist, but my research hasn't turned any up!)

The semi-conscious state of falling asleep is the only time I really enjoy a "sinking" feeling, both physically and mentally. I swear I can feel my bedclothes fold around me, as if protecting me while I fall deeper into sleep. These ideal conditions for fabulous sleeping don't always happen, because I am subject to stresses and worries just like everyone else, but whenever I hit the sack feeling pleasantly drowsy, I look forward to the safest, most natural trip down the rabbit hole I can imagine. Strange, inexplicable, and beautiful images float before my eyes. Sometimes I forget that I'm hallucinating, and will sit up in bed and try to grab the illusive visions before me, especially if they appear to be at least a little "normal," such as a bird that has flown through a window and flutters about the room. However, seeing dozens of tiny spiders crawling across my pillow in the wee hours of the morning can be a little alarming, to say the least. Those sort of visions have a way of bringing me back to full consciousness very quickly. So I collect myself for a moment, shake off the cobwebs, and lie back down for another late-night show.

These in-between states are just a prelude for what's to come. The night is still ahead of me, and with it, dreamtime. But that's a topic for another time. Until then, I wish you sound and restful sleep, and a magical journey arriving there.

-G.P.

2009-05-04T18:02:00.000-07:00

Excerpt 1 from my upcoming picture book,
The Lady in The Woods

It was in the early spring, on a day full of hope and promise. Feeling courageous and carefree, I had stepped off the well-worn path that wound its way through the woods, and found myself in a whole new world.

Oh, but it was grand to go where I had never ventured before! The earth was moist and pungent with new life just waiting to be born. A profound longing drove me onward, though I knew not where.

Eventually I came upon a bright clearing, deep in the heart of the woods. In the middle of the meadow was a charming stone cottage that seemed to glow with a light all its own. The bushes and flowers that surrounded the little house were in full bloom, weeks ahead of the nearby woods.

Book illustration, design + layout: Shauna Rae — www.shaunarae.ca

2009-04-05T17:20:00.001-07:00

“The Lady in The Woods”
Book illustration, design + layout: Shauna Rae — www.shaunarae.ca

2009-04-05T17:20:00.000-07:00

Excerpt 2 from my upcoming picture book,
The Lady in The Woods

September’s arrival meant the beginning of a new school year and no more daily visits to the Lady in the woods. Fortunately, my newfound enthusiasm for learning eased the sorrow of our separation.

After I had settled into the new routine at school, I paid another visit to Una. I was so excited about seeing her again that I dashed through the forest, barely taking notice of the fiery autumn splendour all around me.

My first glimpse of Una saddened me instantly. An old woman I barely recognized greeted me. She had aged not just by weeks or months, but many years. Her hair had turned gray, and her face was etched with fine lines. It was only when I looked into her dazzling, multicoloured eyes that I knew for certain it was Una.

She listened attentively as I told her about life at school. It wasn't long before I forgot how much she had aged. I felt as if I had known her all my life.

“The Lady in The Woods”
Book illustration, design + layout: Shauna Rae — www.shaunarae.ca

2009-04-01T06:31:00.000-07:00

A Gossamer Web

Greetings everyone!

Welcome to my web. My name is Gossamer Penwyche and this is my forum for discussing things that matter to me, and making connections with people who feel the same way. If you respect and revere our beautiful Earth, are in awe of the magnificent Universe, seek out magic in the mundane and poetry in the seemingly prosaic, then this is a web you won’t mind being caught up in for a while.

I’ve written a couple of books, with another one on the way, and one glance at my web will tell you what you need to know about my interests and sensibilities. Just know that nothing I believe belies any physical laws of nature. But some of what I have faith in isn’t scientifically quantifiable – yet. Ah, the pleasures of pondering the unknown!

This web of mine is about what I know, and would like to know. I won’t always have answers, but maybe you’ll enjoy some of my questions.

So please, smile as you browse my little web. It’s supposed to be fun.

Blessed be.

– GP

Illustration: Shauna Rae — www.shaunarae.ca