Scroll-by Blurb

I've got to make this fast.  I don't have time to write a serious blurb, nor do I have anything to say right now, but I want to put something out there just to see what happens.  How am I doing so far?  Nothing's coming to mind and still I keep clicking away at the keyboard. 
I come here to stay in touch with myself and my place in the world - whatever that is.  I know there are others out there who read these words from time to time, but I have this little web mostly for me.  I'm not trying to change the world.  No delusions there.
If I can get through life on this beautiful planet, leaving her none the worse for wear, I figure I've done something.  But it might be too late for that.  Maybe I've hurt her and some of creatures more than I realise.  So I come here to ponder these thoughts and enjoy Earth as much as I can without doing any more damage to her or any of her children.  Sitting here and writing is quiet and unobtrusive.  That's good enough for now. 
So I'm off to yoga.  Didn't say much at all.  I didn't change anything, either.  No matter.  It's my little web and I won't change a thing if I don't want to.  I also sincerely apologise to anyone who's bothered to read this blather and feels I've wasted your time.  But I'll leave a quote, attributed to John Lennon, which makes me feel better about this silliness.  I hope it does the same for you.

Have a great day.
 - G. P.

Enchantment

I tune my body by practising yoga.  And when I say tune, as one would a musical instrument, I mean it literally.  At the end of a yoga class, when I lie on my back, arms at my side and palms facing up, in the final meditative pose called savasana  (corpse pose), I'm able to feel the vibrations of all the sounds around me.  I especially enjoy it when the instructor plays some meditative music or chant.  The deeper the notes, the more my body vibrates.  It's utterly blissful.
The practise of yoga has fine-tuned my body to the point that now I enjoy physically feeling music as much as I do listening to it.  I feel as if I'm a radio receiver or a tuning fork.
The human body is made to be sensitive to sound.  Hearing is one of the first senses to develop in utero, and the last one to go before we die.  Our skin is the largest organ of our body.  Because it's all over us and completely exposed, it's also one of the most sensitive, which is why we're able to feel waves of sound (vibrations) on our skin.  Water conducts sound 4 times faster than air; and humans, depending on their weight and age, are about 65% water.  Little wonder sounds affect our moods.
Earlier this year I began chanting with a few different groups as a way to satisfy my desire to sing.  Until a few years ago, I sang in a women's choir for fourteen years.  I didn't miss all the work involved in preparing for 2 major concerts a year, but I missed the simple joy of singing.  I felt that chanting with like-minded people would fulfill that need, and I was right.  I also got a lot more than I bargained for.
Chanting in any cultural or religious tradition is a deeply meditative practise.  For slaves and agrarian peoples who worked at hard, repetitive, back-breaking labour, it eased tedium and tension, briefly freeing them of mundane burdens.  For religious devotees, the purpose of chant is to clear and quiet the mind, thus entering into a state of peace and transcendence.

The rhythmic, repetitive practises of chanting, drumming and dancing are trance-inducing.  It's easy to see how one might become enchanted listening to deep drones (think om) or shamanic drumming.
When people chant, drum or dance together, a sense of community and unity is created. Boundaries between the worlds and each other break down.  The same goes for soldiers marching and chanting in unison.  The rhythmic, rhyming chants called out by soldiers while training on long hikes and marches keep them in step with each other.  Just watching a parade of large groups of people marching in perfect synchronization can be quite stirring for the observer as well.  Observers can feel the pulse almost as much as the participants.  That's what parades are for - to celebrate community.  And feeling the beat of drums and feet is the primary way it's achieved.
Vibrations can both stir and soothe one's spirit.  But not all sounds heal.  Loud, irritating noise can do considerable damage to our eardrums, which are very sensitive, delicate membranes.  Most people can tell when noise is damaging them, because if it's too loud or high-pitched, it actually hurts.  Feeling the healing effects of sound isn't as obvious, however.

The parasympathetic nervous system, which is the part of the body that calms the nerves, is stimulated by yoga.  As a result of my practise, I experience deep sympathetic resonance.  Everyone resonates with sound to some degree, because everything in the Universe vibrates.  We are connected to everyone and everything on a quantum, vibratory level.  And for those brief, blissful moments when I feel sounds of peace wash over me as I resonate in kind, I know I'm a part of All That Is.
- G. P.

Do No Harm

It's not always easy being good.  It seems to me it should be, but there are times when I find it hard to not to offend or hurt someone.  This morning is an example whereof I speak, and the reason I write this now.  I had an appointment for a haircut, even though I had it cut just over a week ago, when I went purple.  The fact that I had my hair coloured is obvious, but the cut was not.  I didn't get my money's worth, because it wasn't what I wanted, and honestly, I didn't really want all that much, just a haircut.  Maybe the guy who cut my hair was afraid of cutting all the purple out, but the final results looked as if he hadn't cut my hair at all.  So after a week and a half of being angry about it, I went back to the hair salon and asked for a proper cut.

I know this is a problem only a person living in a developed nation complains about. (It's real hell, let me tell you.)  It certainly isn't the sort of thing I like to dwell on because it's such a consumer-based issue, but it presented a very real moral dilemma for me this morning.  Nick, the nice, older chap who cut my hair, was working there today, and that was the problem.  The manager of the salon had booked me with another younger, hipper hairstylist.  I fretted that Nick would see me getting it cut again with somebody else so soon after he'd done it.  I mentioned my concerns to the manager when he booked my appointment, but he told me not to worry, it happens all the time.  It's part of the business.  Nonetheless, I had misgivings.  I simply didn't want to hurt Nick's feelings.
As I walked to the salon I kept praying that Nick wouldn't be anywhere around to see me.  But of course he was.  I wore a hat (purple hair is easy to spot) and kept my head low.  When I arrived at reception the manager was there and greeted me.  I told him I felt awkward about Nick seeing me.  The manager told me to chill and keep my hat on.  So I did, keeping my head buried deep in a book.  Joanna, who was the replacement hair cutter, arrived shortly afterwards, fully apprised that she was there to reshape the cut of a dissatisfied customer.  Joanna is young, funky, and urban.  I knew she'd give me the cut I wanted the first time around, and I got it.  But I had to leave the premises walking right by Nick.  By that time he'd seen me, even though I hadn't made eye contact with him.  I left in a hurry, whizzing by his chair as if I had no idea he was there.
I know he was hurt and offended.  And that really bothers me.  I also realise the situation didn't look good with his employers.  Dissatisfied customers don't go over well with businesses trying to meet the bottom line, and in a consumer, capitalistic system I have every right to ask for my money's worth.  But I felt crappy anyway.  Aye me.
So what does this have to do with the opening statement of this little blurb?  It means I really do have a modicum of compassion.  It means that I'm aware I might be hurting people's feelings, even when I don't want to.  And even though I feel really bad about what happened, I'm glad to have learned something good about myself.  I guess that proves that valuable lessons are similar to being good - they aren't always easy.
- G.P.

Purple Power

I've gone purple - not all of me, just my hair.  I know that's not unique or original any more - like you know, it's so last week - but this is my first foray into purpledom.  I spent three and a half hours at the hair dresser's, and a scary amount of money to do it.  But it was worth it, because I really like it.  And it seems other people do, too.

The day after my dip into the purple pool I was taking a stroll in my neighbourhood.  As I passed a couple of women who looked to be about my vintage, one of them raised a friendly fist in solidarity and shouted "I love your hair!"  A few hours later I was walking by a high school where numerous adolescents lay strewn across the school yard, and suddenly one of the the guys hailed me with "You've got cool hair, random lady."  Random, indeed.
The longer I live the more I'm attracted to the colour purple, and consequently, the more purple things I acquire.  (N.B.  To keep what I own to a minimum, I always liberate at least two items for every new one I acquire.)  Anyway, this purple habit of mine is not happening consciously just to play out a popular poem from the sixties that begins When I am an old woman I shall wear purple.  But I can't help noticing that it's happening, consciously or not.
Purple is the colour associated with the top of the head - the crown chakra.  (Each of the seven chakras has a corresponding colour of the spectrum.)  It's the most spiritual of the colours and associated with wisdom, insight, creativity, and clairvoyance.  It's also regarded as a colour of royalty, whose members supposedly have the wisdom and insight to rule.  (hmm...)  As a result of the aforementioned attributes, purple is seen worn by the Crone in numerous images, which is a nice departure from her more traditional black.
Now that I'm officially ensconced in cronehood, both chronologically and physically, I find it very curious that purple has now supplanted green as my favourite colour.  It's happened gradually and I swear I didn't do it on purpose to join some fashionable trend.  If anything, that would be a reason for me to avoid it.  All I know for sure is that purple makes me happy these days.  It's a small, silly pleasure.  When I'm feeling a little blue, I google "purple" and look at the images that come up. It lifts my spirits.
So for my legion of lovely, faithful followers - purple is also associated with loyalty - I've included a couple of cool images that evoke the power of purple.  Enjoy.
- G.P.

The Road Home

At last I can say I'm a traveller.  I came to this realisation very recently, and only after a lot of thought on the matter.  However, my definition of "traveller" isn't what most people mean when they use the word to describe themselves.  I define myself as a traveller in the sense that we're all travellers - journeying down the road of life.  (Now that's a cliché if there ever was one! I should be embarrassed to use it, but it's exactly what I mean to say.)
I've written about my views on travel before ("A Grain of Sand," 9/5/12), and I still feel pretty much the same way.  Travel is a privilege much more than a choice.  Sure, there are people who have the wherewithal to travel and choose not to, but they are greatly outnumbered by the vast global majority who are unable to do so due to personal and/or political circumstances.  Travel is a privilege enjoyed by a fortunate few.
I've been reluctant to think of myself as a traveller because there were many years I was unable to get out and around due to financial constraints.  I felt imprisoned by my physical and monetary conditions, and was jealous of my successful, well-travelled friends and acquaintances, which only engendered more bitterness.  My life was in stasis, both physically and spiritually.  And the longer I stayed still, the more l was left behind, which made me feel as if I were moving backwards.  
Most of the movement I experienced was inward, and it wasn't always to a good place - full and diverse, maybe - but not where I'd deliberately choose to visit.  Eventually, in one of my more misanthropic moments (and there were many) it dawned on me that everyone's inner journey ultimately leads to the same destination - Death.  That came as a comfort to me, and not just because I thought like a depressed person.   I realised that even the happiest, most successful people end up dead, just the way I will.  Death is the Great Leveller.
My penetrating glimpse into the obvious still didn't compensate for my lack-lustre personal journey to meet the Grim Reaper, but it gave me moments of sadistic pleasure when I was forced to endure mean, disagreeable people by reminding myself that one day they'd be dead, too.
What can I say?  I was just as miserable and mean in my own way as they were.  But not anymore.  I'm still glad that we all die - natural cycles and all that - but I don't dwell on it with the same bitter relish that I used to.  Now I focus on living a large life, rather than a petty, small one.  And getting to this point has been the longest, toughest part of my path.
Now I feel as if I've travelled a fair distance, but it's neither the route nor the destination I had imagined for myself when I first began.  Finally I can say that's okay with me, and it's probably the best thing about what I once would have thought was failure.  Although I still have the bad habit of comparing myself to others, I understand that just because I may not have travelled as far and wide, maybe I've travelled just as deep.
- G. P.

Wear Purple and Walk Tall

I was addressed as "Miss" this morning.  That's unusual these days, because I've been hearing "Ma'am" for many years now.  On the odd occasion, as happened this morning, I do get Miss, and it always makes my day.  I consider myself a feminist (and yes, despite the fact that it's out of fashion, I still like and use the word), so I ought not to be concerned with appearances, especially in regards to my gender.  At my age I'm supposed to be above and beyond all that.  But I'm not.
I know this makes me sound shallow and vain, but right now I don't care, and what's more, I admit to feeling that way more and more as I get older.  However, my vanity does serve to keep me looking as good as I can, which isn't such a bad thing.  My obsession with my looks keeps me healthy by practising yoga and eating well, balanced by frequent indulgences in things that aren't so good for me.
I also become conscious of my looks when I see people carrying themselves poorly (read unattractively) or being unaware of how their deportment doesn't just look bad, it's bad for them.  So what's that to do with me?  Well, it makes me aware of how I'm looking.  Am I slouching? Schlepping?  Dragging my feet?  Picking my nose?  You get the picture, and so does anybody else who happens to be looking.  Fortunately for me, but unfortunately for the person I'm observing, when I see someone who's moving, standing or sitting in a way that's detrimental to their health, I'm pulled right back into my own body and make an internal check on how I'm looking.  It happens a lot, because there are a lot of people out there who don't seem to notice their bad physical habits.  As a result, I'm constantly realigning myself, which, as I've already mentioned, is good for me.
Look at the people around you, especially older ones.  Their youthfulness, or lack thereof, isn't determined so much by their wrinkles or loss of muscle tone, but their carriage.  In yoga, the measure of a person's age is determined by the condition of their spine.  So if I'm feeling and looking with-it enough to elicit a "Miss" from someone, rather than the usual "ma'am," I'm flattered, not offended.  I don't immediately assume I'm not commanding the respect of a mature, experienced woman, but have given the impression of being youthful rather than young.  It usually happens when I'm wearing vivid colours or prints, which might be considered slightly eccentric or cute.  Even old people can be cute without being gaga or in their second childhood.
So yes, this blurb is about something as ostensibly superficial as appearances and obsession with youth.  But I wanted to have my say on this topic because I couldn't help noticing how a one-syllable word changed my mood.  It proved to me that even when my energy's low, I can still walk tall. 
When it comes to lifting one's spirits, artifice isn't always superficial.
- G.P.

Mother's Day

I'm mothering myself today.
I'm being kind and gentle to my body and my soul.  I'm taking care of myself.  It's Mother's Day, so I'm nurturing me and my precious little Lulu, my feline baby.
I'm doing this to honour my late, lamented mother, as well as my late, great goddess-mother, Gita Tante, because they loved me and wanted the best for me.
I'm doing it to honour All Mothers Everywhere and for All Time.
I do it for the Divine Feminine in all of us.
I do it for Mother Earth.
Blessed be.
- G. P.