All the Stars in Heaven

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

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

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

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

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

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

"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.