Singing the Body Electric

This morning I woke up with a cold sore on my lower lip. It wasn't there when I went to bed last night.  But the pursed lips, clenched jaw, and furrowed brow I've been waking up to for over a week now still were.  Lately my night life has been peppered with disturbing dreams of resentment and unexpressed anger. 
I find that practising yoga is effective for  relieving these frustrations and worries, so the first thing I've been doing every morning is practising what I call "face yoga."  I've been stretching the muscles in my face and gently massaging my jaw and forehead to release the tension that's stuck there.  So I'm not entirely surprised about the appearance of the cold sore. 
Cold sores can be a physical manifestation of angry words that either have been spoken aloud, or quietly supressed.  In my case it's the latter, which means that my anger was bound to burst out sooner or later, one way or another.
I've been getting cold sores - clinically known as herpes simplex - since I was a young girl.  Cold sores, also known as fever blisters, can be caused by excessive sunlight, fever, or stress.  There are a number of ways stress can manifest in the body: high blood pressure, head aches, insomnia, diarrhea and constipation are some of the more common symptoms.  Grinding teeth and a clenched jaw are also indicative of stress, which I had for the week before my cold sore popped up.  All my symptoms, including the tightly pursed lips, were centred around my mouth, the human instrument of speech.  Signs of stress could have turned up anywhere in or on my body in a variety of ways, but the stress I've been experiencing was about being unable to express myself.  So it makes perfect sense that my anger erupted as a cold sore on my mouth, whence issues thoughts and feelings uttered out loud.  It's the wonder of the body/mind connection.

The body speaks louder than words, and is a billboard for some of the most important signs that have shown up in my life.  Although I can't say I like having a cold sore, it still makes me marvel at the intelligence of the body and all the signs and symptoms it conveys.  The cold sore on my lip is much more than a virus.  It tells me exactly how I'm feeling, and that suppressing those feelings isn't good for me. Unfortunately I just can't cut loose with my anger, it would only create more conflict.  I know it wouldn't clear the air but clog my soul instead.  So I have to find another way to quell my righteous indignation.  And I have, right here on my little web.
Okay, I'm not specifically ranting about what's bugging me, but I'm expressing myself nonetheless. The proper use of words for speaking my mind is important to me.  Who knew that a blister on my mouth could give me another reason to write?  It's a gift. 
I know that may sound preposterous, but hey, I'm a magical thinker, and find magic in the most unlikely places.  It's a lot more fun to attribute metaphysical significance to something as unpleasant as a cold sore than to simply write it off as a stress induced virus.  Besides, I happen to know I'm right.  The resonance I feel within  allows me a certainty I can't otherwise explain.  And that makes me feel better.  So I must be right.  Right? 
If I were able to offer tangible evidence that what I say is so, then it wouldn't be magic.  It would be boring, and I hate boring.  So I shall conclude this little opus with the wise and skillful words of poet Mary Oliver.  Although she isn't a magical thinker, she's most definitely a deep one...
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Love Stuff

My birth tarot card is The Lovers.  When I discovered this a number of years ago, I was mildly shocked, because being half of a loving couple has eluded me all my life.  But The Lovers in the major arcana of the tarot does not necessarily mean finding true love with another.
When I read tarot for young people in the throes of hormonal upheaval (frequently confused with the search for a soul mate), they get very excited and think they're about to bond with or meet their one-and-only.  That's true only part of the time.
The primary meaning of The Lovers is union, harmony of opposites, and resolution of inner conflicts, often referred to as the "inner marriage."  Self-love means a person is whole and complete unto themselves.
When I finally embraced my status as a spinster, I knew I was on the road to loving and forgiving myself.  So today I celebrate self-acceptance and self-love.  I wish you the same.

To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.
- Oscar Wilde

Blessed be.
- G.P.

Swan Flake

I'm obsessed with swans lately.  It's another sign, totem, spirit guide or what-you-will that's entered my life and is now taking up a lot of space in my mind.  I don't have a problem with that.  Swans are beautiful, graceful creatures, and dwelling on the qualities of grace and beauty is far preferable to worrying about things like global warming or the Syrian refugee crisis.
This lovely turn of mind happened because I came upon a poem by Rilke called "The Swan."  The particular translation I first read is by Robert Bly, and since I found the words both meaningful and mellifluous, I'm using Bly's exquisite version here.  It adds some class to this little web of mine.

The Swan

This clumsy living that moves lumbering
as if in ropes through what is not done,
reminds us of the awkward way the swan walks.

And to die, which is the letting go
of the ground we stand on and cling to every day,
is like the swan, when he nervously lets himself down
into the water, which receives him gaily
and which flows joyfully under
and after him, wave after wave,
while the swan, unmoving and marvelously calm,
is pleased to be carried, each moment more fully grown,
more like a king, further and further on.

There are several subtle layers of meaning to this beautiful piece, but what moved me first and foremost was the image of a creature of beauty and grace "lumbering" on land to reach his element - water.  Though awkward and ungainly on land, he is still a swan.  He is the ugly duckling of Hans Christian Andersen's tale, growing and moving towards the graceful creature he is destined to be, and always has been.
As a spirit guide the swan represents the already mentioned attributes of grace and beauty, as well as commitment and love, because swans are monogamous animals.  Swans are sacred in many diverse cultures.  They are associated with balance, divination, intuition, and spirit.  Coming into one's own with Swan as a spirit guide is to find equanimity, beauty and grace.
Rilke's poem inspires me.  It reminds me that as I stumble and struggle on my path to finding my bliss, to going home, I will eventually find peace and gentility in the place where I truly belong. 
And need I mention that after reading "The Swan" just over a couple of weeks ago, images of swans keep turning up in my life?  They're proliferating like crazy and I'm paying attention.  And even if I were magically challenged and didn't ascribe any significance to the swan's appearance in my life, at least I'm blessed with numerous images of a beautiful bird. 

Valentine's Day is coming up so I'm seeing a lot of them on greeting cards because I work in bookish retail, but Swan is appearing in less likely places as well.  Last week one of my yoga instructors referred to an asana usually called "pigeon" as "swan."  I'd never heard that term before to describe the beautiful, hip-opening pose done lying on the mat.  Although I have nothing against pigeons, I much prefer "swan" as a name for the asana, especially in light on my current obsession. 
I've been having hip and lower back problems lately, (sometimes aging can be very inconvenient), so what would normally have been a comfortable, easy position for me was painful and difficult to do.  The irony did not escape me.  I felt like the swan of Rilke's poem lumbering to reach his true home; out of his element, but a swan nonetheless.  As usual, my concern for the state of my aging body was pleasantly mitigated by a lovely bit of synchronicity.  I managed to smile and wince at the same time as I held the pose.  
Coming to bliss is taking a long time, my whole life it seems, and though I often feel like a lame duck, I'm not singing my swan song yet.  I'm not doing that until I'm good and finally home. 
Blessed be.
- G.P.

The New Rude

I don't own a cell phone.  That's right.  You've read that correctly.  No cellphone.  I neither want nor need one.  I've never felt the urge to rush out and get one, just as I never felt driven to get my driver's license. (I don't drive, either.  But that's another story. And yes, the pun was intended.)
It's not that I flatly refuse to ever get a cell phone, but why should I if I don't have the need?  If I had a job that required it, and many jobs do these days, of course I would.  But I don't.  And I don't have children or aging parents to consider.  I've heard those reasons for carrying cell phones, and I get that.  But once again, they don't apply to me.

And yet I don't want to feel as if I'm out of date and out of touch.  Left behind.  A dinosaur.  But sometimes it's hard not to feel that way when I'm constantly reminded that I'm one of the few people I know of any age who doesn't own a cellphone.
There have been a couple of times I could have used one, like being stuck at a gas station/bus stop in the middle of nowhere wondering if and when the bus is coming.  A cellphone can be very convenient, especially when travelling.  But for the few times I would like to have had access to a cellphone, the trouble of remembering to keep one on my person at all times wouldn't be worth it.
I have cogent reasons for keeping my land line (remember those?) and staying clear of cell phones forever.  I don't want to be uber-attached to another "thing."  I've observed that many people spend a lot of time with their heads buried in their phones, completely oblivious to their surroundings.  Cell phones are supposed to keep people more connected and in touch.  Maybe cell-phoners are in touch with faceless, disembodied voices, but they also seem to be completely unaware, and often dangerously so, about what's going on all around them and in plain sight.  Just how connected is that?

And maybe it's just me, but I get very annoyed and even personally offended when someone sitting next to me at lunch in the staff room answers their phone without so much as an "excuse me," and then starts broadcasting the banal details of what they're planning to do after work more loudly than the people who are trying to have a conversation at the table.  People speaking on cell phones act as if they're the centre of the universe.  Anyone within their visible range suddenly disappears in favour of the precious device they hold in their hands.  I call it the new rude.
The new rude is bad enough, but what baffles me even more me is why all these cell-phoners don't seem to mind that other people, friends and strangers alike, can hear them talk about their personal lives.  Don't people have any sense of privacy anymore?  Whatever happened to boundaries?  It's truly ironic that by being forced to hear other people's supposedly private conversations, I feel as if my privacy's invaded.
Another reason I don't think I'll be getting a cell phone any time soon is that's it's just another thing to worry about losing, like keys or an umbrella, except that losing a cell phone seems to be much, much worse and results in far more serious consequences to one's physical and mental health.  In fact, there's even a name for it.  Fear of losing or being without the use of one's cellphone  is called nomophobia. (a conflation of no + mobile phone + phobia.)  That's at least one thing I enjoy about cellphone culture - as a result of a phobia that's prevalent among younger cell-phoners, mostly the millennial generation, a cool new word has been added to the English lexicon.  I'm all about words, and nomophobia is a fabulous new one that I love using whenever the opportunity arises, which is a lot these days. 
I like being slightly "outside," yet in tune enough to know what's going on.  It's like watching from the sidelines - getting a good view without getting involved.  Not owning a cellphone/android thingy puts me right there.  So I guess I'm complaining about something that's given me something to think and write about, and I enjoy both thinking and writing, especially at the same time. 
I'm just fine without a cellphone.  I've got my laptop and little web.  I'm wired enough for what I need and want.  I don't have it all, but I have enough.  So I'll end this blurb with a bit of ancient Chinese wisdom that I've quoted here before... Enough is as good as a feast.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Sign of the Times

Not all the signs I see are good ones.  Today I saw a very pretty, but very sad sign indeed.  As I walked home in the bitter winter cold from my morning yoga class, I passed two
lovely, robust robins on a snow covered lawn just s few houses away from where I live.  Their red breasts were a vivid contrast against the light layer snow on the ground.  Both birds were searching for food in the frozen earth.  It was a beautiful and disturbing sight at the same time.  It's not yet mid-January and these birds had clearly made their migration back to their northern breeding grounds at least a full two months too soon.  Or perhaps they had never migrated south in the fall in the first place.  It's hard to say.
Today's wintry weather was a welcome change to the unseasonably and unnaturally warm winter we've had in these here parts of the true north strong and freezing.  I've fretted for many weeks now about global warming and the serious imbalance in the rhythms of nature.  Seeing the two robins today brought that point home.  I also marvelled at how those birds could have known that we've been having an exceptionally mild winter up here, which would explain why they arrived so early.  How is that possible?  Nature can be as weird as she is wonderful.
There are at least eight weeks of winter weather to endure yet, and despite the fact that it's a freakishly mild one, no doubt there will be a few spells of "normal" winter weather that will likely kill those hapless birds.  Even if they can withstand the cold - and robins are pretty tough as songbirds go - finding food will be a major problem.  They will probably perish from starvation.  Worms, their major food source, stay well below ground level in cold weather.

Those two robins standing on a blanket of snow made a pretty picture, like something you might see on a Christmas card.  But it was also a cautionary sign of more strange and unnatural things to come.  It looked good, but it wasn't right.  Things are terribly off-kilter on this planet of ours.  I fear it might be too late to reverse things.  We will need a miracle to save her, which would be nothing less than all of humanity getting together to change the way we treat her.  That would be a miracle, indeed.
I notice signs.  I heed them.  This is one I wish I hadn't seen.  I pray for those two beautiful birds.  I pray for Mother Earth.  I pray for us all.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

As the Day Turns

I am 23,432 days old today.  That's a numerical palindrome; it reads the same forwards and backwards.  It's another pattern I've observed as I walk the road of life.  Noticing patterns and signs such as the ostensibly inconsequential number I'm discussing here keeps me aware of the passing of time, and especially how I spend my time, from day to day, and even moment to moment.
This is not the first time I've told my rabid readers of my age in days, nor is it the last.  I expect I'll keep track of my age in days for the rest of my life, and make note of it right here on my little web.  I'm well aware that these observations are noteworthy only to me, and are probably some of the flakiest blurbs I write.  But I just can't help sharing this silly bit of information, because it's part of the universe I occupy. 
It also happens to be a new moon.  That's a good sign.  Starting the first lunation of the new year with a very special diaversary* bodes well.  To quote Maya Angelou,  This a wonderful day.  I've never seen this one before. 
(*Diaversary is a word I invented, pronounced dee-a-versary.  It's composed of the Latin words dies for "day," and versus, the past participle of vertere, "to turn."  Hence it refers to the "turning of the day."  Similarly, anniversary is derived from anno for "year" + versus, meaning the "turning of the year." )
As we travel on this journey called life the days of our lives keep turning, until sadly, one day they don't.  But until that inevitable day, I shall continue to count mine, one by one, and marking each one of them as a special occasion.  So allow me to wish myself, as well as all my fervid followers, Happy Diaversary!
- G.P.

Enter Stage Right

Entrances matter to me.  There are all kinds of entrances - making an entrance, walking through an entrance, writing an entry, entering a new year. They mark the beginning of things.  They set a tone.  They are symbolic of whatever follows.  So I'm writing this entry as I enter the New Year.  I haven't written anything in this little web of mine for almost three months.  But today, the first day of 2016, is the perfect time to resume a semi-regular writing routine.  Gossamer Penwyche has re-entered the blogosphere. 

I also care about the appear-ance of the entrance to where I'm living or staying, because it's the first thing I see upon entering my home or lodgings.  If it's been a long, hard day, and I'm feeling muddle-headed, I like the hallway to be clean and clear.  After a hectic day, entering a cluttered vestibule does nothing to improve my mood.  Coming into chaos is no way to empty the mind. 
For several years now I've been troubled by the increasingly cluttered front doorway of the house where I live.  I stopped dropping hints to my housemate/landlady about clearing out the books and newspapers that have been piling up over the six years I've been there.  It only causes arguments.  So for several weeks leading up to this New Year's I was fretting more than usual about  the clutter in the entrance, which was reaching critical mass. 

Clearing "stuff" out of one's life is one of the most effective ways to begin anew, and I was worried that my entry into 2016 was going to be littered with bad signs.  Then fate made a welcome entrance.  Yesterday, on December 31, my housemate moved a lot of the stuff from the front hallway to a pantry in the back room, well out of sight.  I hadn't said anything to her.  I didn't dare.  She just up and cleared the space on her own.  So when I entered my home on New Year's Eve, the tiny hallway was as free and clear of clutter as it's ever been.  It was the best sign I could possibly have received upon beginning a brand new year. 
My housemate has no idea how deeply grateful I am for the gift she gave me.  It left me feeling so light of heart that observing the first day of the year by being and becoming the best possible me was a breeze, and culminated in this long overdue entry on my little web.  And for that I'm grateful, too.
I've entered the new year on the right footing and in the right frame of mind.  I can read the signs as they guide me on my way to the rest of my life, and Goddess willing, the best of my life.
Blessed be.
- G.P.