The Last Laugh

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

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!

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

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

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

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

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.