Tuned In and Turned On

I was so wired I was buzzing. I had just started an opening shift at the bookstore where I work, and feeling hyper-charged with supressed emotion. Although keeping my feelings to myself was hard, I thought I was doing a good job of it until things started messing up.
We have high-end, touch screen kiosks in our store, and the two that are in the Kids' section were being temperamental and refusing to power up. It just so happens I work in Kids', and of course all the other kiosks were working just fine. Sheesh and surprise. So, technopeasant that I am, I had to call the manager to come and save me from blowing up the tools of my trade. Within minutes of arriving, my manager had both kiosks up and running. As she worked I did my best to maintain a professional demeanour and not reveal the tightly wound inner workings of my mind. But my boss isn't just smart and computer savvy, she's also an enlightened, sensitive human being. Whilst fiddling about with the kiosks, she remarked that perhaps there was something about my energy that was affecting the systems. It was as if she were reading my mind, or at least feeling the great surges of my barely contained frustration. How cool is that? Here's a boss who talks my language in the foreign land of retail and materialism.
Anyway, I confirmed that I was indeed feeling stretched tight and wired. "It's a good thing you don't work on cash," she joked. She also suggested that perhaps I should release my energy on the Buddha board. And what's a Buddha board you may well ask? Turns out that Buddha boards are blank slates on which you paint an image of whatever you want released, and within minutes the image dissolves and disappears. It can be a negative influence you want to get rid of, or a wish or prayer you'd like answered. Either way, whatever you want, or don't want, is released and dispersed into the ether. It's a lovely, simple gift, and appeals to my minimalist sensibilities.
The store had a demo model on display, and I knew exactly what I wanted to release and let go. I painted a picture of a tower being struck by lightning, as in the dreaded Tower card of the tarot. That was pretty much the way I felt at the time - zapped by lightning. Drawing those emotions on a blank slate was liberating and fun, and an effective, creative way to rid myself of negative energy. I managed to enjoy the rest of my shift, feeling calmer than I had in several days.
I got home that evening, tired but relieved that I'd dispersed all the tension I'd been holding. I checked my emails and was happy to see one from my sister. She informed me that she had logged unto my little web that very morning, and lo and behold it had been tagged as a "malicious" website. Yikes! Normally I would have gone berserk, but the not-so-coincidental timing of my sister trying to access my "malicious" blog while I was feeling as if I were plugged into a light socket fascinated me. I checked my dear little web right away, and fortunately all was well. Thank goddess for that, because I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it except agitate myself and everything around me even more.
Now that things have settled down, I'm left to wonder, yet again and forever, about the nature of existence and our connection to everyone and everything. I've offered this quote here before, and it bears repeating now: Mens agitat molem - the mind moves matter. The longer I live the more I believe.
- G. P.

Mad about March

Happy first day of March! I made it. February is over, and the month that holds the first day of spring is here at last. And I managed to mark it with this little blurb in this little web of mine. If you've been keeping up to speed with the mundane little details of my life, you're probably aware that I've been in a bit of a funk lately, which is also why I haven't done my traditional first day of the month or year blurb for the last two months. But all that's coming to an end now, and a new cycle begins, which includes this little tribute to a month that holds so much promise.
I'm 22,022 days old today. That's special to me because I'm very fond of the number 22. It's stable and balanced, something I'd like to be. So naturally I'm not going to ignore the fact that today, on the Kalends of March, I'm 22,022 days old. Talk about stability and symmetry. It's a good foundation from which to build the rest of my life.
That's all I have to say for now. I just wanted to check in on my little web on this very special day, setting the tone for the month, and the rest of my life. So far so good.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the yellow roses. They were my mother's favourite flower.
- G.P.

Saving Grace

I've had the wobblies lately. That's why I haven't made many appearances on my little web. It was bound to happen, because until just over a couple of months ago I was on a real high. It was a fabulous year. But life and nature are all about cycles. All things pass, both good times and bad. There is an ebb and flow, and I've been experiencing a bit of an ebb lately.
I've had a bunch of little "accidents," have lost or misplaced things almost daily, and suffered a number of disappointments that just piled one on top of the other, with barely time enough to recover from one before I was assaulted by another. The long nights and dreary, grey days of winter haven't helped, either.
But I'm better now, because I have a plan - a plan for pulling myself out of the doldrums. It's a totally practical and practicable course of action, even though my little dose of depression has left me fatigued and uninspired. The string of rejections I've been through lately is certainly one of the more salient reasons for my recent funk. My self-esteem has taken a real beating. But my wise, compassionate friend and spiritual counsellor, Barbara, pointed out to me that I've got to start giving to others what I'd like to get for myself, things like acknowledgment and appreciation. Suddenly, when Barbara spoke those words - words and ideas that I write about all the time in this little web of mine, and chant to myself like a mantra - the light of reason came back on.
I frequently and consciously practise appreciation of others. I make a point of routinely complimenting friends or colleagues, especially if they seem to need some cheering-up. People like to be noticed for something they've done well. It's human nature. So now that I find myself feeling rejected and ignored, it's clear I've got to start paying a little more attention to the people around me.
The problem with even the mildest melancholia is that it can render a person very self-absorbed, which is why I'd lost sight of one of my more beneficial habits. But my eyes have been opened again and I'll resume taking just a tiny moment every now and then to notice something good or attractive in the world and people around me, and verbally acknowledge it. The ball's in my court and it's up to me to get it rolling. (Sorry for the mixed metaphor.) My sagacious friend Barbara had to remind me of what I'm always going on about - karma - the old what-goes-around-comes-around thing. So I'm going to make an honest effort to redress the recent imbalance in my life, which is why I'm making a vow right here and now for my legion of followers to witness - Every time I suffer another disappointment or rejection, I shall pull myself together at least long enough to express appreciation for someone else.
Concurrent with my recent spate of the wobblies has been my fixation on grace. I've been googling and reading about grace a lot these days, and my research has brought up numerous articles and books on breathing and the breath. What's the connection, you may ask? 
It's your spirit, your soul.
Breath and breathing are at the core of almost every belief system on the planet. It is the basis of meditation, where one can find grace, if just for a moment. The literal meaning for feeling inspired is being filled with breath. (Spiritus is the Latin word for breath). And wouldn't you know it, breathing happens to be one of my absolute most favourite pastimes! So I'm breathing deeper and longer than ever lately, and making room for grace to enter into my life. (It's no coincidence that Barbara is also a big fan of deep breathing.) Conscious breathing helps speed up the healing process, both physically and psychologically. Maybe that's why this most recent bout of ennui hasn't been as long or intense as usual.
Breathing has helped sustain my flickering faith. My faith has been truly tested recently, but I'm strong enough now to go out into the world and practise what I preach. I'm going to breathe deeply and make someone smile every day. I truly believe that if I continue to make this a constant, daily practise, sooner or later I will be rewarded for my efforts. That is my faith, and yes it's been shaken, but not destroyed. So I guess I must be stronger.
I would be remiss if I didn't mention noticing some sort of sign in the wake of my recent garden-variety depression. So here it is... A few days ago, after cutting up and disposing of my two tarot decks (I told you my faith was really shaken), and thumbing through an old journal before it made its way into the same place as the tarot cards, I noticed an abandoned Chinese fortune I'd found on a sidewalk somewhere. At the time, I remember thinking it was quite a boring message, but in keeping with my everything-happens-for-a-reason philosophy, I decided to keep it and taped it into my journal. Finding it again just a couple of days ago meant a lot more to me than it did the first time. The message read: Being kind to others will bring rewards. Is that a sign or what? Anyway, now I know the reason I kept that silly piece of paper. It came back to me just exactly when I needed my faith restored.
I'm on the rise now, like a phoenix rising out of her own ashes, reborn and renewed. Another cycle of life has begun. I'm ready for it, and grateful, too.
To my loyal followers, thank you. You rock, each and every one of you, whoever and wherever you may be. Just thought you should know.
- G.P.

Unfinished Business

I'm living out the rest of my life for two people, me and my mother. Ma died almost 13 years ago, but I can't help thinking that her spiritual journey while on this earth wasn't quite finished when she passed. I'm not talking about her journey in the next life, if there is one; I'm talking about me, her daughter. I'm part of her journey. I'm a little bit of what she left behind, and I'm going to do my best to leave this world having played my role in my mother's story as best I can.
When my mother died I wasn't exactly the sort of daughter my mother could brag about. I was broke, unemployed, and depressed. I know it was very painful for my mother to reply to questions from well-meaning people who asked about me and how I was doing. It's not that she was embarrassed or ashamed of me. Not at all. She was worried about me, and hated to see me hurting. She was my mother and wanted the best for me. But by the time she died, six months after being diagnosed with cancer, she was too sick to fret about me and my future. But that's how I was when my mother passed.
I'm a lot better now. If Ma were alive today she wouldn't worry about me as much. (I'm feeling so good these days partly due to a small inheritance left to my sister and me after Dad died over a year ago. I still have to earn a living, but lately things have been a lot easier for me, thanks to my parents' estate.) So yes, I might still be struggling financially if Ma were still alive, but I'm pretty sure I'd be dealing with difficult circumstances a whole lot better. I've changed because I've deliberately worked at it. I took responsibility for my life and took steps to change what needed changing. Now I'm in better physical, emotional, and spiritual shape than ever.
When Ma gave birth to me she started something. She started me. She begat a new life. No mother wants to leave her children until they know they're happy and well and able to take care of themselves. That wasn't the case with me. Fortunately, my sister was doing well. When Ma passed my sister had a beautiful young girl who is now a beautiful young woman, preparing to study medicine. So at least some of what Ma left behind was clearly good and right, and I'm sure she knew that. Not so much with me.
My sister and my niece are continuing part of Ma's journey, and they're doing a really fine job of it, too. However, I don't have any children. My part of Ma's legacy ends with me. That's not sad; it just is what it is. It was my choice and I have no regrets. But I'm still, and shall be for the rest of my life, an important chapter in the story of Ma's life, and I'll be damned if I don't give it a happy ending. I missed my chance to fulfill that role when she died, but I'm not making that mistake again.
Sometimes I feel my mother moving through me. I don't know how else to describe it. Maybe it's just memories of her surfacing when my emotions are most keenly felt. The deeper my feelings, about almost anything, the more likely I am to think of Ma. When I've accomplished something that makes me proud, I always talk to my mother about it. "Are you happy now, Ma? Are you proud of me?" My questions are typical of a child seeking approval from her mother, but that's not what motivates me. I just want to finish my chapter of Ma's life with grace and peace. Sometimes living a good life purely for my own sake isn't enough. Sometimes I need to make something or someone better. I'm not suggesting I'm making my mother better; after all, she's dead. Besides, she might be absolutely perfect wherever and in whatever state she is - if she's anywhere or anything at all. But I know I can make my part in Ma's story better. I am a living legacy, as all children are. So to honour the memory of my mother, and to fulfill my role in her legacy, I am living for both of us.
Blessed be, Ma. I love you still.
- G. P.

Easy Does It

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.
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. But vulnerability can be a powerful defense. Only the 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

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

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 what kind, there's a wide variety of hummingbirds in Peru.) Anyway, I was enjoying the dance the little bird was doing around a 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.