Upside of Down

Today is a quiet one.  It's damp, mild, and grey outside.  But I don't feel the same, which pleases and surprises me, because I'm laid low with a bum foot, and my sciatica has flared up again.  Lying and sitting down hurt me much more than standing on my feet, so I haven't been able to do some of  things I enjoy, like sleeping, reading, and writing long enough to get some much-needed rest, or get into a productive groove.  Thanks to my smashed tootsie, I can't take a joy-walk, either.  Yoga's out of the question for the same reason.  But for all that, I'm feeling at peace.  The gentle, grey day has muffled the sounds of a big city and makes me feel as if I'm encased in a cocoon.
I have nowhere to go, no one to see, and no commitments to meet.  It's truly a day off and away  from busy-ness and activity.  And I'm okay with that, too.  I want to do less these days anyway, even when I'm healthy and fit.  But right now I don't feel guilty that I haven't been out for many weeks to take in a movie, or an art exhibit, or anything that supposedly vibrant, interesting people do.  Until this morning, when I awoke feeling strangely at peace, I lamented my flagging interest in interesting things, even before my recurring and recent injuries forced my present seclusion.  Today I don't feel remorse for my acquiescence, nor do I envy keener, busier people. Today is a gift.  And that is at it should be.
I'm making do with writing a few sentences at a time, then rising up out of my chair to alleviate the discomfort of sitting for too long.  Like most people who work at a desk, hunched over a computer, I spend too long in the same unhealthy position.  Now my body is making sure I don't.  In fact, I'm almost grateful for my current indisposition.  When I'm hale and hearty I feel as if I have to be doing something all the time, and then end up feeling like a loser if I'm not.
It's taken me a while to find a sense of stillness with my present circumstances.  At first, apart from the physical pain, I was resentful and bored.  I lost some hours and wages at work, as well as the required hours of practice for the yoga teacher's certificate I'm pursuing.  Eventually I got tired of feeling crappy, and realised there was no rush to do anything anyway.  It finally occurred to me that I'm fortunate that my life isn't rigidly structured or scheduled.  If my situation had happened to someone who's always out and about, doing things because they must or choose to, it would disrupt their lives far more than it has mine.  I'm not a type A personality.
I think and talk a lot about living a simple, mindful life, but don't really practise it.  A fall and a twist of fate have changed that, at least for now, and maybe for good.  It's a lesson learned the hard way, because it seems I wasn't able to learn it otherwise.
There are no accidents.  With my recent losses I now can see what I have left.  My instincts for living more deliberately, slowly, and simply have always been right, but I've always felt pressure to do more in order to appear worldly.  How shallow is that?  But I'm grateful for that unflattering realisation as well.
Quiet, self-contained people have always fascinated me.  I admire and respect such individuals, but seldom envy them, which makes me hold them in even higher regard.  They are invariably the humblest people I know.
My current situation has humbled me.  I'm forced to live with myself and ostensibly do nothing now that I've been laid low.  I don't look or feel my best, but somehow a little bit of the best of me has emerged. Changing the landscape is a privilege a fortunate few can afford, but with enough desire, anyone can change their soul.*
Namaste.
- G. P.
*  with thanks to Emerson and Thoreau.

Flaky, Part 2

I am 22,822 days old today.  Twenty-two is my favourite number.  I also love the perfect symmetry and balance of 22,822.  The number 8 is beautifully framed by 22 on either side, creating a solid foundation for the 8 in the centre, which is totally awesome because 22 represents "master builder" in numerology.  All four 2s in 22,822 add up to the number 8, which turned on its side is the infinity symbol.
Sometimes I'm glad I'm a new age flake.  This is one of those times.  
It's a great day to be alive.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Really Really Reaching

I haven't been here for a while so I'm taking a few minutes to write something just for the sake of writing something.  So now, dear reader, you have my permission to log off, because I have nothing to say, even though I'm still moving my fingers across the keyboard just to see what comes up.  I've done this before and the result is always the same.  It ends up being a silly blurb and a waste of my faithful followers' time.  I'll lose all two of you if I keep this up. 
To complete this blurb I have to find some picture on the big Web to put on this little web o'mine.  That's usually fun, but it means I have to find the right image for what I'm saying, and so far I'm not saying anything.  Instead of this tomfoolery I could be using my time to write my most personal thoughts, the kind I don't share with anyone (yes, I actually have those, contrary to all appearances) in my hand-written journal, but I'm here now and am curious to see what happens...
                          Uh, so far - nothing.
Sheesh.
If you've stuck with me this far, loyal readership, I salute you.

Now we'll take a short break to enjoy a couple of deep breaths...
                                                                           
I'm back.
               Are you?
                               Thanks.
I'm still desperately hitting the keys, hoping and waiting for some wise and wonderful bit of wordsmithery to come out of what so far appears to be a pointless exercise.
It's taking me a lot longer to write this business down than it is for you to read it, and still I blunder on.
I'm fully aware that this is now becoming repetitive and tedious.  But let me assure you, if that's how you readers are feeling, I'm feeling it even more so.  And what makes all this even more embarrassing is that I'm determined to post whatever shit I write anyway, because I'm conducting a very serious, writerly experiment, with every intention of publishing the results, for the edification of all and sundry who pass this way, and no matter how much I may humiliate myself and ruin my reputation as a blooger.
(Heavy sigh.)

Well, I've been at this for thirty-five minutes and nothing noteworthy has emerged, except for my willingness to make a fool of myself.  Hmm... That's the first half-decent observation I've made during this drivel.  Writers, or artists of any discipline, risk making fools of themselves when they express their thoughts in the public forum, just as I've done now.
But I'm bringing this bit of blurbishness to a halt now, and not because I haven't got more to not say.  I'm simply out of time.  I knew I had a limited amount of time when I began this blurb, which was also part of the experiment.
I've managed to get this posted before leaving for yoga class, which is right now, so this exercise hasn't been a complete failure, although I can't say I haven't appeared like a complete fool. 
The End.
- G.P.

First Days and Fresh Starts

Happy Vernal Equinox!  I'm writing these few words hoping  that doing something productive at this auspicious time will set the tone for the whole season.  It doesn't matter that I've nothing of real interest or importance to say, it's the effort that matters.  And believe me, it's taking a lot of effort for me to do this, because I'm still feeling the effects of a long, hard winter that refuses to go away.

Almost two weeks ago we had a day that held the promise of spring, and I felt like a completely different person - happy, hopeful, and spirited.  I still have hope that I'll be that way again, because spring is surely coming, despite the dull, grey skies and lingering, winter chill in the air.  The earth continues to tilt on its axis towards the sun, and shall continue to do so until the summer solstice.  And the closer it leans towards the sun, the warmer the weather will be.  Thank Goddess for these constants.
Writing on this little web of mine isn't the only thing that I'm doing to establish a pattern for better days.  Today I've thrown out garbage, refilled the bird feeder, watered my jade plant (it didn't need it, but it's a symbolic gesture), and filled out an application for another performance project I'd like to do.  I've done all these things with the intention that this spring, like all springs, is about clearing out and letting go, rejuvenation and rebirth, growth and productivity.
Now I'm going to soak in a hot, soapy, lavender-scented tub.  That will remind me of the warmest and most peaceful nine months I've spent on this plane of existence.  I won't have to do anything but breathe and feel my heart beat.  For the brief time I spend in the bathtub, doing nothing but feeling soft and safe in warm water, nothing on the outside affects me.  
There.  I've done it.  I've written a few words about the symbolic little acts I'm performing to mark this day.  Okay, I know, it's a pretty ordinary day and nothing to really write about, let alone read, but it's a start, and spring is all about fresh starts.
Blessed be.
- G. P.

Lady of the Turtle Totem

Monica was magical, and she was my friend.  Although she died too young, she lived much longer than almost everyone with her congenital heart condition normally does.  She lived on borrowed time, and she knew it, which is why she lived so wisely and so well.  If she ever felt sorry for herself, I never saw it.

I've mentioned a number of my friends on this little web of mine many times, but Monica was the only one about whom I wrote an entire entry, twice.  (See Dec. 15, 2009, and Aug. 20, 2011.)  I didn't realise that fact until after she died.  Slipping into my web so unobtrusively, not just once, but twice, was typical of her quiet, gentle ways. And now she's here a third time.
I learned a great deal from her, just by her example.  She was a true listener, which is my favourite kind of person.  She moved very slowly and carefully, because her heart couldn't withstand undue exertion.  Her cautious, measured manner served her well.  She always thought before she spoke, and she spoke less than most people, which is why others always took special note of what she had to say when she finally said it.  She was a peace-keeper.

But what made Monica extra-special for me was her magic.  I don't know if everyone was aware of just how magical she was, because she didn't talk about herself very much.  Besides, she had her priorities, like staying alive.  Her spirit guide was most surely the tortoise or turtle; creatures who move slowly, carefully and live long lives. The "borrowed time" that was given to her was because she followed their ways.  And her quiet, gentle demeanour gave her access to the unseen world, where magic abides.  She brought me there on several memorable occasions, leaving me with stories I shall cherish forever.
But she wasn't a wuss, that's for sure.  She spoke her mind when it was necessary, and I paid attention.  Everyone did.  She was a social worker and a counsellor, a calling that suited her well.  I found it easy to share my deepest feelings with her; feelings I never spoke about with other friends, even though they may have seemed closer to me.  She understood me, warts and all, and didn't fail to call me on them.  She was a deep listener when it came to hearing me when I hurt.  In fact, we became friends during a time in my life when I was hurting a lot.  
Ironically, Monica died at a time when I'm hurting again.  Her passing distracted me from myself for a few weeks.  So for a while I've been grieving the loss of a friend, rather than dwelling on my own petty concerns.  It's not uncommon for people who suffer from depression to get snapped out of it by a tragedy, disaster, or a death utterly unconnected to their personal woes, if only temporarily.  Monica was a trained and sensitive counsellor who understood that completely, and so she understood me.  And I'm pretty sure she'd understand what I'm feeling now.

The long, brutal winter and a string of lesser heartbreaks have taken their toll on me.  That's why I'm doing my best to muster up memories of my quiet, willful, magical friend to remember what gratitude truly means.  Monica lived with a great deal of gratitude, and was rewarded for it with many special, happy times and many people who loved her, not the least of whom were two good men in her life - Michael, her husband, and her son Oliver.  I want to acknowledge them as I write this, lest I appear too self-absorbed in my struggle to work my way out of my current funk.  And that's the irony of losing my friend.  Just when I thought I would have used my loss as another excuse to muck about in more misery, remembering Monica pulls me out of the ditch, and forces me to focus on what counts.  She lived her life deeply, gratefully, thoughtfully, and well.  Remembering Monica lifts my spirits.
Thanks, Monica, for showing me what really matters.  And thanks for bringing some magic into my life.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Enough Already

Slowly but surely, sadness is seeping into me.  And by sadness, I mean SADness, as in Seasonal Affective Disorder.  My previous blurb was about how much I'm not enjoying winter, and how it's affecting my moods.  They're fluctuating less now, because I'm more consistently miserable and cranky.  A regular practise of yoga would help that a lot, but I've also already complained  that the harsh, cold weather has prevented me from walking to classes.  (Getting to classes via public transport is unreliable and indirect, and includes a long wait in the cold.)  Alas and alack, I thought I was made of sterner stuff.
When I first began this little web of mine, lo these not-so-many years ago, my mandate was that it would be a complaint-free zone.  That unofficial rule was scuppered long ago, and this winter is testing me more than usual.  I've been noticeably more cranky, but at least I warn people in advance.  Simple greetings like "how are you," which are meant to be answered with an equally simple and non-committal "fine, thanks," or the grammatically incorrect "I'm good," are answered with the unpleasant truth, which no one wants to hear.  But I do that to let people know I don't really feel like talking, because my conversation is mostly about the weather and how miserable it's making me.
Although it sounds as if I must be complaining a great deal these days, it's not nearly enough for my mental health.  I'm keeping a lot more in than is good for me, which is why you gentle readers are stuck with this ornery entry.  But my frustrations have to go somewhere, so I'm dumping them into my little web, for which I apologise to whomever happens to be scanning these words right now.
Whenever I spend some time thinking "aloud" on this web of mine, and ultimately sharing my thoughts, it's with the hope that putting my feelings into words benefits me - and my audience - in some way.  Expressing myself in writing almost always serves me well, and I want it to do the same for anyone who pays my little web a visit.  Otherwise it would be simply self-serving and indulgent, which isn't exactly what I'm going for here.  So with that in mind, I'll enumerate some reasons for my seasonal funk, which can pretty much apply to just about anybody who suffers from SAD.
1.)  Extreme weather keeps people cooped up inside.  Sure, cocooning can be a good thing, but after a while, too much time stuck inside can result in mild cabin fever, even for urban dwellers.  Being bored and restless combined with a lack of exercise and fresh air leads to inertia and indolence, which is the flip side of anxiety and hyper-tension.  Both sides suck.
2.)  Cold makes you shiver.  The body's reaction to cold is to contract and tighten the muscles.  It reacts the same way to anxiety and fear.  So it doesn't matter whether the cause for shivering is physiological or psychological, the body's reaction to cold is the same.  Even if you're not literally anxious about anything, when you're cold for extended periods of time your body is behaving as if you are, and your mind follows.
3.)  Not enough vitamin D.  Although some bitterly cold days are very sunny, people still aren't being exposed to enough sunlight and vitamin D, even if they are avid outdoorsy types.  Sunlight deprivation is one of the major causes of SAD.  Sunlight warms the body and "lightens" the soul.  (For a scientific explanation, there are dozens of websites you can google.)  Suffice it to say, lack of sunlight dulls the psyche.

4.)  We're literally spending too much time looking down and in instead of up and out.  When people are outside battling the elements, check out they way they walk and carry themselves.  To protect themselves against the cold, even if they're dressed adequately, they're hunched and tense.  (See reason #2.)  Ever notice how much taller and more open people are in warm weather?  That's an excellent example of the body/mind connection, and it's why I've been stretching my arms over my head and exposing my armpits a lot these days - indoors, of course.  One of my yoga teachers incorporates that position a lot into her classes lately.  She says that if we show off are armpits more we'll be able to ward off depression.  Stand as if you're joyful, and you might eventually feel that way.  Same with smiling.  It's what actors do for a living. 

Now that I've spent some time explaining why I've got the winter blues and blahs, I feel a lot better, because I've been doing something I like to do - writing.  But my shoulders are tense and sore from hunching over the keyboard, the way I'd be against a cold wind.  See how that works?  So I'm going to stand at my study window overlooking the backyard, and stare out at the bright, brittle, bitterly cold day, arms raised and armpits exposed.
Sol Invictus!
- G.P.

Thoughts on my least favourite season...

Winter sucks.  I guess you can tell I don't skate, ski, snowboard, snowshoe or any of the other sports and pastimes that make some people I know actually look forward to this time of year.  Mind you, I have done some of these things in the long past, but not anymore.  Maybe if I did, I wouldn't be so grumpy in the winter.

In this part of the world we've been having a brutal, temperamental winter, and my mood has been fluctuating right along with the weather.  This morning, not for the first time in the last month, I got bundled up to walk to yoga class, which takes almost 25 minutes on a good day.  I was outside for three minutes and realised there was no way I could tolerate the entire walk there.  So I turned around and came home.  I've missed a lot of yoga classes in the last six weeks, and that makes me even grumpier.  And it's all been because of cold and snow and ice and all that other stuff that makes walking unpleasant, if not downright dangerous.  I've come close to falling a number of times on icy sidewalks.
The irony of all this is that I've been worried for a number of years now that climate change has robbed these here parts of a proper winter.  Unduly mild winters set me to fretting about rising Arctic waters and drowning polar bears.  Then we finally get a good old-fashioned winter, the kind I remember as a kid, and it denies me the pleasures of walking and yoga that I enjoy in my not-that-old-yet age.  So here I am, missing out on yet another yoga class and complaining about it on my little web.
Okay.  I'm still feeling out of sorts, but not as much.  Sometimes talking things out with my legion of loyal followers accompanied by a hot blast of caffeine soothes my shattered nerves.  So I'm going to pour myself another cup of coffee and make an appointment with the vet for my little Lulu, who has licked off all the fur on her belly, legs and flanks.  Maybe that's her way of complaining about the weather, too.  Anyway, she looks the way I feel, and it ain't pretty.

Aye me! Now I'm cranking myself up again.  So I guess I better go.  Although I haven't finished complaining, it must be deadly for you fab folk out there to have to read about it.
Oh! Wait!  I just thought of something positive to say about winter in the true north strong and freezing.  It reminds me that Nature rules, and so I respect her moods and obey her commands, even if I don't like them.  (Simple stuff like wear a hat, shovel the snow, don't walk on thin ice.)  If I didn't I'd be even more miserable.
Mother Nature has the power.  And as far as I'm concerned, that's cool.  Or maybe I should say c-c-cold.
- G.P.