Walking Home

Nature is the greatest teacher of all.  I learned that again when I recently went on a brief but meaningful trip to a beautiful part of the world, just a few hours drive from where I live.  I hiked along trails with my sister-the-minister on the Bruce Peninsula in central Ontario, and took a boat ride to Flower Pot Island on Georgian Bay, where we swam off its rocky shores in crystal clear, blue-green water.
We covered a lot of ground in a few short hours each day.  It was by no means serious hiking; I just wanted to spend some time in spectacular scenery, breathing in fresh, woodsy air, and feeling glad to be alive.  Mission accomplished.

The short sojourn wasn't without its physical and emotional challenges, however.  My sister, who is an inveterate hiker, and who also served as my tour guide, took me along some very difficult terrain on the Bruce Trail.  She's familiar with the various trails because she's walked them numerous times.  And if that weren't enough to qualify her as an expert guide, two years ago she walked the entire 885 kilometres of the Bruce Trail from Queenston to Tobermory.  It took her two months and all her heart and soul.  No wonder she considers that journey a bona fide pilgrimage. 
The portion we walked along wasn't especially strenuous, but it was certainly difficult, even treacherous at times, due to very rocky, slippery ground .  Normally I enjoy walking, even if it's a tough physical workout.  However, the "walking" we did (at times it was more like clambering) proved to be more of a mental workout than a physical one.  It was slow going and required absolute focus and constant vigilance.  Looking up at the forest canopy or checking out the surrounding scenery was out of the question.  My eyes were glued to the hazardous, rocky path.  If I let my attention lapse for even a moment, I would slip and almost lose my footing.  Although I didn't really enjoy traversing those trails, I'm glad I did it.  Once we finished negotiating the rough patches I was able to relax and enjoy the vistas.
All in all, it was a rich and fulfilling time.  I gained a new respect for my sister, who's a talented nature photographer as well, and has the requisite sensitivity and patience for capturing rare, fleeting moments of the myriad wildlife that inhabit the lacustrine land we visited.  She interacts with wildlife galore on a daily basis, but her special animal and spirit guide is most surely the Turtle.
The road in front of my sister's home in the country is visited every spring by snapping turtles who lay eggs in the sandy earth on the side of the road.  The turtles were nesting there for many generations long before the road was built.  Their nests are a short distance from the Beaver River, where the baby turtles instinctively migrate soon after hatching.  This means they have to cross a fairly busy country road to get to the river.  As a result, there are several Turtle Crossing signs along the stretch of road near my sister's home.  My sister has saved numerous mother and baby turtles over the years, often getting out of her car to pick up a turtle or two that she's spotted making their precarious way across the road.  It has earned her the nickname "Turtle Girl," or Tg for short.

Despite my sister's penchant for finding turtles, we didn't encounter any on our various walks through the Bruce Peninsula and some of its marshes. Nevertheless we headed home after two solid days of the great outdoors feeling tired but happy.  We were just minutes from my sister's place when I noticed something reddish-brown in colour appear to fly into the front left wheel of the car.  From where I sat in the passenger's seat I thought it might have been a monarch butterfly; but when my sister suddenly swore gravely under her breath I knew we had probably struck a small animal.  It turned out to be a chipmunk. 
Chipmunks have got to be the cutest and most endearing animals of the rodent kingdom, so my sister and I were very suddenly plunged into the saddest of moods.  The timing couldn't have been worse.  We were mere minutes from home after a wonderful trip and in such good spirits, and then bam!  We ran over a little animal.  What kind of karma was that?
Well, it wasn't karma at all.  It was just plain bad luck. It's a part of life.  Shit happens. 
I suppose some of my regular readers might wonder how I can say that when I'm always going on about karma.  But not everything's always about karma and payback.  There are random occurrences in the Universe.  Lots of them.  All over the place and all the time.  Coincidence and synchronicity would have no meaning if there weren't randomness.  When the poor little chipmunk crossed the path of the car my sister and I were in, it was an accident without any meaning, which makes it even sadder.  And so, with just minutes to go before we arrived home, my sister and I fell into a deep funk.  Damn.

We sat silently lamenting the sad ending to a happy time when my sister suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road, only steps from her home.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
My sister didn't answer.  She jumped out of the car and ran back down the road.  I followed, and saw her stop and pick something up from the yellow median.  When I arrived a few moments later, I could see she was holding a tiny snapping turtle, perfectly formed and distinguished by its long tail. 
"How on earth did you spot that little thing?" I wondered aloud.
"It's what I do," was her reply.
Although I already knew that about my sister, I had now witnessed it for myself.  I mentioned the remarkable retrieval of the tiny turtle to her husband a few minutes later when we got home.
"She's got The Vision," he told me.  And he didn't mean her eyesight, because she wears glasses.  I couldn't help feel a little bit envious of my sister's special gift.  But mostly I felt proud, and happy again.  A sad ending to a lovely little holiday had been redeemed.
If the accidental death of the little chipmunk was random, saving the baby turtle from the same fate was not.  Neither my sister nor I deserved to have our time together spoiled, and somehow fortune intervened to set things right.  That baby turtle crossing the road at exactly that time was no accident.  Sure, baby turtles frequently cross that road to get to the river (although the little guy my sister saved was born very late in the season), but the placement and timing of the one that saved our vacation was just a little too perfect to be mere chance.
Accidents happen.  So does magic.  But magic, by its very nature, happens far less frequently.  Saving the baby turtle restored a sense of balance to my time spent with my sister. 
As spirit guides, turtles and tortoises represent patience, the way of peace, wisdom, and Mother Earth.  They are also keepers of portals into the Otherworld.  So I felt deeply blessed when my sister gave me the honour and pleasure of releasing the baby turtle on the river bank myself.
I learned a lot about patience and peace in my brief time in the woods with my sister, and I can't help thinking that the baby turtle appeared to make sure I never forget those lessons.  My mini-vacation taught me that I wasn't as patient or wise as I thought. 
The acquisition of wisdom doesn't have to be fraught with hardship.  Of course we can, and should, learn from our mistakes.  But knowledge is also derived from being still and silent.  Much wisdom is gained from deep listening.  I wrote about that very topic in my first book a number of years ago.  I'd forgotten my own words about a subject that's very dear to me.  So I shall end this brief meditation by quoting myself...
Take time out from the fast-paced, high-tech world to return to nature.  Like giant fir trees that have stood for hundreds of years, ostensibly doing nothing, reaching maturity and finding peace is a gentle process, and one that requires infinite patience.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Late Bloomer

Happy Autumnal Equinox.
I write this because I'm setting a pattern for the entire season, as well as the rest of my life.  Being the first day of fall, the seasonal routine I'm establishing is rather obvious, but I should explain how this sets the tone for the rest of my life...

Anyone who's been following me on this little web knows my obsession with the meaning of numbers, and 22 is my favourite.  It's a master number representing making and building, especially foundations, craftsmanship, magic, accomplishment, and dreams made manifest. 
Today is the 22nd of September.  The autumnal equinox lands on the 22nd frequently, but this year is especially noteworthy because when all the numbers of this date are tallied together they equal 22.  As a number that signifies a solid foundation it also means balance.  That's a nice coincidence to occur on an equinox, when the daylight hours are equal to night time.
I know full well that noticing such things is the purview of a magical thinker, but that's why I created this little web - to publicly muse upon strange coincidences and synchronicities.  So to mark this very special and personal equinox I'm writing this blurb.
I enjoy imagining that today is a turning point for me, when day and night are equal and my life is in balance. With two 22s embedded in this date, I move forward on sure footing. Today isn't just the beginning of the rest of my life, it's the start of the best of my life.  So mote it be.
- G.P.

Here's to Queers

Queer is one of my favourite words.  I like the way it sounds - crisp and short.  I also like what it means:  (adj.) strange, odd, weird, eccentric.  That's the perfect definition for a word that begins with an uncommon letter, because only .49% of the words in the English language begin with "Q."  And since I've always been fond of people, places, objects, or ideas that are slightly strange or outside the norm, the word queer meets all my criteria for favourite things.

The adjective queer was first used as a noun to mean "homosexual" in 1922.  Now it's in popular usage, as in the acronym LGBTQA.  (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, queer, asexual )  However, I find the acronym too long and somewhat redundant.  I prefer to call all people who love or gender-identify differently as queer.  It's an inclusive word with a fascinating etymology that describes contemporary queerness beautifully.
Sadly, my fondness for odd things and people is not shared by everyone.  The recent massacre of forty-nine people in a gay bar in Orlando, Florida is a tragic example.  Hate crimes against minorities are committed because the victims are not the same as whomever happens to be the majority.  The people who died in Orlando were killed because they love differently.
Queerness has a long history of being feared and ostracised, and I don't mean strictly in terms of gender-identity.  There are many kinds of outsiders who have been relegated to the periphery of human society for their differences: mad people, fools and clowns, poets, artists, spinsters, widows, the very young and the very old, and other "strange" folks who've been marginalised or disenfranchised in some way.  There have been cultures and periods of history, however, when many of these outsiders were respected and even revered for the very same reasons they were reviled.
Outsiders have a different perspective, and can offer a more objective point of view if they are allowed to do so.  But looking from the outside in can be dangerous as well.  Ancient soothsayers, bards, court jesters, priests and priestesses, or  anyone who was considered "touched" by the gods were taken very seriously by the powerful people they advised.  Unfortunately, such outsiders often sacrificed their lives if the truth they spoke displeased those in power.
The day after the Orlando shootings, I demonstrated solidarity with my queer brothers and sisters by dressing up in motley attire.  I walked to my yoga studio on a brilliant, summer's morning bedecked from top to bottom in multi-colours and patterns galore.  My appearance may have been eccentric, even outlandish, but I knew that whatever attention I attracted to myself (although that wasn't my purpose) was to support rainbow-souls everywhere. 
As I stood at a stoplight waiting to cross the street, I spied an attractive, hip, young woman on the opposite corner.  When the light turned green we walked across the street, passing each other midway.  She looked at me with a broad smile.  "You look so beautiful," she said. I smiled back and thanked her.  It was reassuring to know that there are people out there who appreciate and even admire weirdness and "otherness." 
The next day I wore clownish garb again.  While changing into my quirky clothes after yoga class, a septuagenarian yogi by the name of Wendy exclaimed "Your outfit's so bright and gay."  Wendy wasn't being intentionally ironic when she used the word gay to mean happy, because she didn't know my reasons for dressing so oddly.  I took great delight in telling her how fitting her use of the word gay was.
Mortal outsiders have always been favoured by Otherworld spirits.  Fairies, who are outsiders themselves, prefer weirdoes and oddballs to mortals who adhere to mainstream convention.  So it's entirely appropriate that the supposedly pejorative epithet "fairy" is often used to describe gay men.  How ironic is that? 
Magic is not the norm.  In fact, it's the complete opposite of anything that's normal or ordinary.  But just because something is weird doesn't mean it's wrong or bad.  It's just different.  And like my Otherworldly counterparts, I have always had a soft spot for eccentrics and outsiders.  Maybe that makes me a little weird as well.  I sure hope so.
I also hope that one day all the weirdoes of this world will be loved and appreciated and for their unique perspectives and distinct ways of living and loving.  Differences are something to be cherished and nurtured, not rejected or feared.  Different and diverse people add colour and texture to this manifold world. 

Where there is no diversity there is no life.  Mother Earth is a rare and special miracle in this vast Universe due to the fact that She harbours life - a great variety of life.  It's called bio-diversity.  Earth is a living, breathing organism.  If you want everything to be the same all the time, go to Mars.  It's been the same, arid, unchanging planet for eons.
So I'm writing this as a tribute to the forty-nine queer folk who died because they loved differently; and to honour all eccentrics and outsiders who grace this world with their wildly, mildly divergent ways. 
May all of you stay weird and wonderful, and above all, stay true to yourselves.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

Free Flow

When there is no desire,
all things are at peace.
Those are the last words of one of the brief chapter/verses of Stephen Mitchell's version of the Tao Te Ching.  I long for peace, and these wise words remind me that maybe it's the desire for peace that's preventing me from achieving it.  Longing is not a peaceful state.  Despite this knowledge, I've always found non-attachment or not longing for goals and dreams a tough call.  (Not desiring material things is relatively easy for me.)
Lately I've made some headway on the process of detaching myself from the outcome.  And wouldn't you know, it's made my life a little easier, a little simpler.  Non-attachment is something you can't work on.  That defeats the purpose.  In order to let go of longing and desire, it's easier to work on something else, preferably on what is.   That's another way of being fully present, or paying attention to the journey and not the destination.
These are popular aphorisms that are bandied about a lot these days, therefore easily dismissed as New Age clichés.  It's only since recently rediscovering the ancient wisdom in The Tao that I've finally been able to make it work for me.  On any given day I might be lamenting growing older and having failed at this or that, with all the accompanying issues, yet twenty-four hours later I'll experience moments of clarity and equanimity, but nothing's different except for the way I feel.  The feeling comes and goes as my life flows along, but when it happens, it sure feels good.  Lately it's been happening more often and lasting longer.
The previous blurb may seem to belie my claim that I'm finding my way to a more balanced life, because I wrote about crying almost daily.  That sure doesn't sound like a happy person.  But as I mentioned, crying isn't always an expression of sadness or despair.  Sometimes it's a release, and I think that's why I've shed more tears than usual lately. 

Since I began to follow The Tao a few months ago, slowly but surely I'm learning to accept things as they are, loosen my grip on longing, and just let things flow.  Going with the flow has allowed me to let my tears flow without judgement or sorrow.  As a writer and a diviner of signs, I love that letting tears flow is a lovely metaphor for my new-found knowledge.  In fact, on the day I made up my mind not to cry (and I don't know why I thought that was a good idea), I ended up being angry and mean.  I blocked the flow.  I resisted what is. 
The shedding of tears is cleansing.  When water stops flowing and stays still for too long, it becomes stagnant and toxic.  So from now on I'm sticking to The Way.
- G.P.

A Time for Tears

Karma rocks.  It's reassuring to know that what goes around comes around, sooner or later.  I almost always experience the inevitable return of words and deeds, both good and bad, sooner rather than later.  That's a good thing.  It keeps me accountable for my actions.  When I've screwed up, karma lets me know just how badly, and then puts me on the road to setting things right.  Sometimes that means a simple, sincere apology, and at other times some serious focused action to make amends.

Last night, thanks to an ancient sacrum/hip injury, I was unable to sleep because it was acting up again - big time.  I deserved that sleepless, painful night because I'd been a horrible person at work all day.  I was bitchy and even mean, and my karma was almost immediate.
I'm not normally a mean-spirited person, but I was trying very hard not to cry, and that part worked.  I didn't cry all day for the first time in weeks.  Crying isn't necessarily a bad thing.  It can serve as a release of tension and fear.  But instead of releasing my anxieties through tears, I unleashed them on a friend as well as a couple of strangers.  I behaved in a way that is not conducive to maintaining good relationships, or my job.
A good night's sleep might have reset my system, but no such luck.  The karma dump truck was on hand to fulfill its duty.  When I finally crawled out of bed, bleary-eyed and sore, I knew exactly why I'd had a painful, sleepless night. 
There are a very few coincidences in my life, and I like it that way.  The first thing I did was have a really good, purgative cry.  Then I apologised via email to a friend at work I'd slighted.  Yoga would certainly have helped my mood, but I was physically exhausted and my hip was, and still is, too sore and stiff for a physical workout.  But it's a glorious spring day out there, so I treated myself to a big, fat breakfast at a local diner instead.  Then, as a sign that I forgave myself, I bought a bouquet of flowers.  Now I'm writing this blurb.

I'm taking full responsibility for my actions.  I'm going to cry if I need to cry.  I'm not ashamed to shed tears - embarrassed maybe, but not ashamed.  Shedding tears softens the heart.  But yesterday I didn't allow myself to weep, and ended up feeling frustrated and blocked.  The tears I withheld turned into anger.
I shall end this blurb with one of my all time favourite quotes from Charles Dickens, one of the most quotable writers to grace the  English language...
Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. 
- G.P. 

Mother Love

This morning, which happens to be Mother's Day, I looked out my back window at the empty, unused birdfeeder and was suddenly stricken with sadness.  Until a number of weeks ago there would have been many birds, mostly sparrows, gathered around pecking away at the seeds I left out for them.  But I had to stop doing that because the seeds were also attracting a rat that lives under the porch next door. 

Fortunately, I haven't seen the rat since I took away its food supply - although I'm sure it's still around. But now my little birdies are gone as well.  Occasionally I see one or two of them come by to see what's up, but there's no longer a party of chirping birds in the yard brightening my day.  I miss them.  I think of them as my babies (as I do my sweet kitty) and felt personally responsible for them in a small way.
I'm not suggesting that the tiny bit of care I gave to my backyard birds is even remotely close to what a mother of a human child does.  But it's the nurturing feeling I get when I see the little ones that reminds me of what it means to be a mother.
A day doesn't go by when I don't think of my own mother who left this world seventeen years ago.  I still miss her.  I miss being mothered, even at my not-quite-advanced age.  I'm pretty sure I wouldn't need mothering so much if I were a mother myself, but that's a choice I've made, and I don't regret it.  Nevertheless, it's Mother's Day and I can't help getting misty-eyed.
Happy Mother's Day to everyone.  It doesn't matter whether you're a mother or not, because the surest way to save the greatest mother of us all, our beautiful Earth, is to nurture and care for all living things.
Blessed be.
- G.P.

A New and Ancient Way

When you are content to be simply yourself
and don't compare or compete,
everybody will respect you.
The words above are from the ancient Chinese text Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, translated by Stephen Mitchell.  I recently "discovered" this venerable poem and now carry it with me everywhere I go.  For many years I'd occasionally pick up a copy and read a little, but it was always too obscure and inaccessible for me.  Then I found Mitchell's beautiful version of it and was hooked.

Tao Te Ching means The Book of the Way, and was probably written contemporaneously with  Confucius (551-479 B.C.E.).  It's a poetic treatise on the art of living, and a precursor to Zen.  Perhaps Mitchell's translation made sense to me when all the others didn't is because as well as being a scholar and a poet, he's practised Zen for many years.
So now I have a new book from which to practise my bibliomancy.  Every morning I randomly open the slim volume and read the verse that lands before me, and invariably feel as if The Tao was written just for me.
The words from The Tao at the beginning of this blurb have become a mantra of mine.  They help me with my OCD (obsessive comparison disorder).  Still, I find it very hard to be content simply being myself, because it simply means to be.  Easier said than done.
The Tao is about loving what is.  (Stephen Mitchell also co-wrote the book Loving What Is with his wife, Byron Katie.)  Sure, sometimes what is isn't pleasant or good, but non-judgement and surrendering to the present is a better and stronger place from which to deal with any situation, no matter how difficult.  It's called going with the flow, an aphorism derived from The Tao, which was   popularised during the cultural revolution of the sixties.  I admit that I've been using that phrase a lot lately, almost to the point of cliché, but it's because now I truly appreciate it.

There are many verses in The Tao that give me pause while exciting me at the same time.  As I sit very still and ponder the words of The Tao I can literally feel myself vibrating with the thrill of new knowledge.  The most exciting thing I've discovered from The Tao is that no one or nothing is ordinary.  It simply is, and that alone is a miracle.  Such is the magic of following The Way.
- G. P.