Lost and Found

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.