- G.P.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Monday, February 2, 2015
Bury My Pride at Wounded Knee
Make medicine from suffering. That's a Zen koan that pretty much describes the best and worst of my life these days. Almost two months ago I injured my left knee from over-extending myself during yoga practice. I've torn a ligament on the inside of my knee, and now I can't do some of my favourite asanas (poses), which involve, of course, the knee. I can't sit cross-legged on the floor - my default resting/meditation position - let alone sit in the iconic lotus pose. And that really bugs me, because my ego has been hurt as much as my knee, if not more so.
I have a certain amount of natural flexibility, and since I began to practise yoga almost five years ago, it's become a point of too much pride for me. I enjoy bending into shapes that many people of my vintage can't. Some of my feelings about small accomplishments in my practice are very unyogi-like, because they're about my ego, and not my well-being. That's why I'm suffering. Aye me.
Using the word "suffering" to describe my situation is a typical hyperbole of mine, but it's because my hurt knee is constantly on my mind and in my face. Apart from feeling various degrees of discomfort and pain in ordinary, everyday activities, it has completely altered my yoga practice. To describe it from an egotistical point of view, I'm just not as good as I was before my injury. I'm lopsided and out of balance, because I'm able to do numerous poses reasonably well on one side, but look like a weeping, grimacing, aging, and aching novice when I attempt to do them on the side of my bum knee.
My injury has brought me to my knees, and I truly wish I meant that in the literal sense. This is one of those times I'm sorry a good metaphor doesn't mean more than that, because I enjoy kneeling, both in and out of yoga practice. I have a small altar in my bedroom, where I like to kneel and pray. And once a month I attend satsang (Sanskrit for "sacred gathering") to participate in some kirtan (call and response chanting), another place I'm unable to kneel, even though I normally do. It's ironic that the few moments I spend kneeling in the aforementioned circumstances are the only times when I feel genuine humility. The Universe certainly has a wicked sense of humour.
Louise Hay, author of You Can Heal Your Life, says that knee problems and injuries may indicate issues with ego and pride. I can't speak for everyone, but in my case it's an uncannily accurate assessment of my situation. I'm pursuing a course in yoga teacher training, and have met some very interesting and committed people. Although I don't know anyone very well yet, the two women I've had a chance to speak with on more than just a polite and passing level have both suffered far more serious knee injuries than me. I've listened to their stories and realise how I lucky I am, because both women required surgery, which I don't, thank Goddess. (I should also mention that neither women seem to have inflated egos. As far as I can tell, both lovely ladies are modest and unassuming. They got their respective injuries from falling off a bike and downhill skiing. I'm pretty sure they weren't showing off.)
Once again, Fate has sent me a couple of messengers in the guise of two of fellow yogis. Who else would I first get to know at Yoga U. but the very people who could help me heal? But the lessons from my other favourite school, Universe U., don't stop there. A few weeks ago I went to the local Y for some hydrotherapy, which included a whirlpool bath, sauna, and a swim in the pool. I knew the buffering effects of warm water on slow, gentle frog kicks would be good for my knee. I've visited the Y a number of times over the past few years, but this was the first time the life guard at the pool was wearing a large knee brace. I kid you not. It was a hell of a way to tell me that swimming was the right kind of exercise for my injury.
Up until a few days ago I wasn't really healing my knee. Thanks to misplaced pride I thought I'd "push through" the pain. I was in denial. I didn't want to admit that my injury was as bad as it is and did far more than my knee could bear, making it worse. I wanted to be able to do lotus again, and I wanted to do it now. Any sort of knee injury takes a while to heal, but I egotistically thought that I could be an exception to the rule. I've been childish, impatient, and stubborn, and made my knee worse than it was than when I first injured it. Pride goeth before a fall.
Okay. So I've learned a hard lesson, and realise that my injury was no accident. Christine, my Yoga U. teacher - a smart yogi and a wise woman - keeps reminding me that yoga is even more a mental discipline than a physical one. I knew that already, but as usual, I had to hurt myself so that I could heal myself. This is a pattern I'd really like to release. Sheesh.
Whatever the cause of our suffering, Zen teaches us that it is an opportunity to awaken spiritually.
- Timothy Freke
I've had a profound lesson in humility. It's taught me to let go of what I think I should be, or would like to be. Now I'm concentrating on being a doctor instead of a patient. My new mantra is Yogi, heal thyself.
- G. P.
Using the word "suffering" to describe my situation is a typical hyperbole of mine, but it's because my hurt knee is constantly on my mind and in my face. Apart from feeling various degrees of discomfort and pain in ordinary, everyday activities, it has completely altered my yoga practice. To describe it from an egotistical point of view, I'm just not as good as I was before my injury. I'm lopsided and out of balance, because I'm able to do numerous poses reasonably well on one side, but look like a weeping, grimacing, aging, and aching novice when I attempt to do them on the side of my bum knee.
My injury has brought me to my knees, and I truly wish I meant that in the literal sense. This is one of those times I'm sorry a good metaphor doesn't mean more than that, because I enjoy kneeling, both in and out of yoga practice. I have a small altar in my bedroom, where I like to kneel and pray. And once a month I attend satsang (Sanskrit for "sacred gathering") to participate in some kirtan (call and response chanting), another place I'm unable to kneel, even though I normally do. It's ironic that the few moments I spend kneeling in the aforementioned circumstances are the only times when I feel genuine humility. The Universe certainly has a wicked sense of humour.
Once again, Fate has sent me a couple of messengers in the guise of two of fellow yogis. Who else would I first get to know at Yoga U. but the very people who could help me heal? But the lessons from my other favourite school, Universe U., don't stop there. A few weeks ago I went to the local Y for some hydrotherapy, which included a whirlpool bath, sauna, and a swim in the pool. I knew the buffering effects of warm water on slow, gentle frog kicks would be good for my knee. I've visited the Y a number of times over the past few years, but this was the first time the life guard at the pool was wearing a large knee brace. I kid you not. It was a hell of a way to tell me that swimming was the right kind of exercise for my injury.
Okay. So I've learned a hard lesson, and realise that my injury was no accident. Christine, my Yoga U. teacher - a smart yogi and a wise woman - keeps reminding me that yoga is even more a mental discipline than a physical one. I knew that already, but as usual, I had to hurt myself so that I could heal myself. This is a pattern I'd really like to release. Sheesh.
Whatever the cause of our suffering, Zen teaches us that it is an opportunity to awaken spiritually.
- Timothy Freke
I've had a profound lesson in humility. It's taught me to let go of what I think I should be, or would like to be. Now I'm concentrating on being a doctor instead of a patient. My new mantra is Yogi, heal thyself.
- G. P.
Monday, January 12, 2015
Thursday, January 1, 2015
Colour Me Clean in 2015
As fate would have it, or karma, or whatever's operating overtime in my life right now, I had a crappy Christmas, both eve and day, and an unfortunately similar New Year's Eve. There was lots of unexpected conflict and barely-suppressed anger and resentment, and I wasn't even with my relatives enjoying the usual dysfunctional family Christmas. (I mean that in a good way - the way all families have no- holds-barred holiday get-togethers.) I thought since I'd be spending time with friends rather than relatives, certain protocols of behaviour would be in place. Boy oh boy I sure got that wrong.
So here I am on New Year's Day writing on my little web in the hope that I can shift gears and reset the tone for 2015. As this day goes, so does the whole year, and so far I guess I'm doing well enough to offset a wacko festive season and an awkward New Year's Eve. Writing a blurb for my blog is a good start, because it denotes work in my field, but it was all the stuff I did before I sat down at my computer this morning that turned things around before it was too late.
To secure a fresh start, I had to wash away all the crap that's come down for the last week or so. So I did. I cleaned the bathroom, which included the toilet bowl and shower stall. I scrubbed and rubbed and watched my anger get flushed down the toilet and flow down the drain. Then I washed myself. After that I threw out the garbage from my waste baskets and cleaned the front hallway entrance of the house.
The wyrd* thing about all this is that certain events in my life, which I've written about in the previous two blurbs, were eerily portentous of the cleaning and purging rituals I've undertaken on this first day of the year. After all, I never get interviewed to talk about my non-career, let alone in a bathtub, but that's what happened. All the lavender-scented soap and incense I've been washing with, and in, has taken on more significance than I originally thought. Yes, lavender is a lovely, soothing fragrance, but this morning's symbolic ablutions reminded me that the word lavender is derived from the Latin word lavare, "to wash." The French laver and English launder are derived from the same root.
Once again, the universe has been telling me for several weeks that I should literally wash away whatever crap's been collecting in the garbage bin of my unconscious. Although it hasn't been the best of holiday seasons - far from it - I love the synchronicity of it all. Sometimes all the signs that proliferate my life mitigate the unpleasant little stories they foretell, and so colourfully illustrate. Life is about the stories we live, and finding a common thread that connects them all inspires me, and fills my world and web with magic.
So I'm grateful that despite a bumpy start to 2015, I'm okay. By paying attention to the road signs on my journey through life, I've managed to make a significant and fresh start to the New Year. I wish you the same.
- G.P.
* wyrd - Old Norse word for fate, from which English weird is derived
So here I am on New Year's Day writing on my little web in the hope that I can shift gears and reset the tone for 2015. As this day goes, so does the whole year, and so far I guess I'm doing well enough to offset a wacko festive season and an awkward New Year's Eve. Writing a blurb for my blog is a good start, because it denotes work in my field, but it was all the stuff I did before I sat down at my computer this morning that turned things around before it was too late. To secure a fresh start, I had to wash away all the crap that's come down for the last week or so. So I did. I cleaned the bathroom, which included the toilet bowl and shower stall. I scrubbed and rubbed and watched my anger get flushed down the toilet and flow down the drain. Then I washed myself. After that I threw out the garbage from my waste baskets and cleaned the front hallway entrance of the house.
The wyrd* thing about all this is that certain events in my life, which I've written about in the previous two blurbs, were eerily portentous of the cleaning and purging rituals I've undertaken on this first day of the year. After all, I never get interviewed to talk about my non-career, let alone in a bathtub, but that's what happened. All the lavender-scented soap and incense I've been washing with, and in, has taken on more significance than I originally thought. Yes, lavender is a lovely, soothing fragrance, but this morning's symbolic ablutions reminded me that the word lavender is derived from the Latin word lavare, "to wash." The French laver and English launder are derived from the same root.
Once again, the universe has been telling me for several weeks that I should literally wash away whatever crap's been collecting in the garbage bin of my unconscious. Although it hasn't been the best of holiday seasons - far from it - I love the synchronicity of it all. Sometimes all the signs that proliferate my life mitigate the unpleasant little stories they foretell, and so colourfully illustrate. Life is about the stories we live, and finding a common thread that connects them all inspires me, and fills my world and web with magic.So I'm grateful that despite a bumpy start to 2015, I'm okay. By paying attention to the road signs on my journey through life, I've managed to make a significant and fresh start to the New Year. I wish you the same.
- G.P.
* wyrd - Old Norse word for fate, from which English weird is derived
Friday, December 26, 2014
Soap Flakes, Part II
The year is fast drawing to a close, so I'm writing this because I want to jack up the number of blurbs I've written in 2014. The piffle you read now is blurb number 23, which means the previous one is - drum roll, please - number 22!
I've written numerous times that 22 is my favourite number, and after writing my most recent blurb, I noticed that it was the twenty-second one this year. Post #22 included a link to my interview on BathTub Bran. Being interviewed by my friend Bran is a smart career move if ever there was one, at least for my kitty Lulu, and holds the promise of building a foundation for future endeavours. (In numerology 22 is the Master Builder number.)
I didn't know the previous blurb was the twenty-second one this year while I was writing it. Imagine my unmitigated glee when I made the discovery. And imagine the pleasure I feel right now as I have another reason to shout aloud (figuratively speaking) on this little web of mine, once more and with great gusto, It's a Sign!
Another reason for writing this sudsy bit of nothing was so that I could introduce my legion of followers to Bran's YouTube interview site a 2nd time, therefore widening his audience by at least 2 viewers. One hand washes the other.
But enough of the flaky observations. I think I`ll have a bath, with lots and lots of lavender bubbles.
- G.P.
I didn't know the previous blurb was the twenty-second one this year while I was writing it. Imagine my unmitigated glee when I made the discovery. And imagine the pleasure I feel right now as I have another reason to shout aloud (figuratively speaking) on this little web of mine, once more and with great gusto, It's a Sign!
Another reason for writing this sudsy bit of nothing was so that I could introduce my legion of followers to Bran's YouTube interview site a 2nd time, therefore widening his audience by at least 2 viewers. One hand washes the other.
But enough of the flaky observations. I think I`ll have a bath, with lots and lots of lavender bubbles.
- G.P.
Tuesday, December 23, 2014
Soap Flakes
Bran is a charming and gifted young artist who's a colleague of mine at the store where I work. One of his numerous creative pursuits is a YouTube interview show called BathTub Bran. He interviews local artists of different disciplines - many of them are dancers, because that's his background - and he interviews them in a bathtub. Yes, you've read that correctly, he and the interviewee sit in a bathtub full of suds.
Well, wouldn't you know, Bran asked me if I'd care to be interviewed. Since bathtubs are one of my favourite places to relax and unwind, I said "yes" right away. I also crave the attention (so what else is new?), and figured it couldn't do my non-career any harm.
Bran arrived at my home for the interview bearing gifts from the sponsors. He had beer - always welcome - and some lovely bath products, which included a bar of hand made soap, a luscious bath bomb, and a candle. All of them were scented with lavender.
If you're wondering why I mention such seemingly banal details about the gifts Bran bore, you aren't a regular reader, otherwise you'd know that almost nothing in my universe happens randomly. The lavender-scented products Bran gave me fit my little world and web perfectly, because the soap and candles I regularly use at home are lavender-scented as well. And don't try to tell me that it's just a coincidence, or not really strange because lavender is one of the most popular fragrances, and that I'm taking off again on one of my flaky, new-age, magical-thinking flights of fancy. Because you'd be wrong, and not in-tune enough to know that it's a sign! Oh yes it is. And consider this a big fat lavender-scented raspberry to any nay-sayers who disagree.
Anyway, sharing the tub with Bran was oodles of fun and having it recently posted on the Winter Solstice, which also coincided with a new moon (and the signs just keep on coming!) was the best solstice present I could receive. I now have my fifteen-minus-ten minutes of fame. I'm also delighted to add that Lulu, my inept but cute-as-a-button feline familiar, also makes an appearance in the interview. And if she steals the show, I forgive her, because she takes after me.
So if you're interested in watching and hearing me, rather than just reading about me, or would like to see Bran's terrific YouTube site, click here... (By the way, this is the first time I've ever used a link on this little web of mine, because I didn't know how. Now I do. I'm grateful to Bran for giving me a reason to learn another techno-tidbit of know-how in the wired world of social media and people under 12,000 days old.)
And while I'm here, let me wish all my faithful, fervid followers the happiest and most hyperbolic Season's Greetings, whatever festive season that is for you.
Blessed be.
- G.P.
Bran arrived at my home for the interview bearing gifts from the sponsors. He had beer - always welcome - and some lovely bath products, which included a bar of hand made soap, a luscious bath bomb, and a candle. All of them were scented with lavender.
If you're wondering why I mention such seemingly banal details about the gifts Bran bore, you aren't a regular reader, otherwise you'd know that almost nothing in my universe happens randomly. The lavender-scented products Bran gave me fit my little world and web perfectly, because the soap and candles I regularly use at home are lavender-scented as well. And don't try to tell me that it's just a coincidence, or not really strange because lavender is one of the most popular fragrances, and that I'm taking off again on one of my flaky, new-age, magical-thinking flights of fancy. Because you'd be wrong, and not in-tune enough to know that it's a sign! Oh yes it is. And consider this a big fat lavender-scented raspberry to any nay-sayers who disagree.
Anyway, sharing the tub with Bran was oodles of fun and having it recently posted on the Winter Solstice, which also coincided with a new moon (and the signs just keep on coming!) was the best solstice present I could receive. I now have my fifteen-minus-ten minutes of fame. I'm also delighted to add that Lulu, my inept but cute-as-a-button feline familiar, also makes an appearance in the interview. And if she steals the show, I forgive her, because she takes after me.
So if you're interested in watching and hearing me, rather than just reading about me, or would like to see Bran's terrific YouTube site, click here... (By the way, this is the first time I've ever used a link on this little web of mine, because I didn't know how. Now I do. I'm grateful to Bran for giving me a reason to learn another techno-tidbit of know-how in the wired world of social media and people under 12,000 days old.) And while I'm here, let me wish all my faithful, fervid followers the happiest and most hyperbolic Season's Greetings, whatever festive season that is for you.
Blessed be.
- G.P.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
No News is Good News
This morning I changed my routine on the web. (I refer to the world-wide-web, not the one you read now.) Instead of checking the weather forecast, reading a poem or two for the day, finding out how the stars will be configured tonight and learning about any astronomical events I probably won't be able to see, and then checking out some metaphysical correspondences with the physical ones I've just mentioned, (I love my signs!) I perused some news and current affairs sites. I don't feel any smarter or well-informed, just depressed. That's all I had to say.
I think you get the picture.
Have a good day anyway.
- G. P.
p.s. Happy Hanukkah to Cheryl, Gael and Shlomo
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