Post 38 of 92

Doing everything I can to procrastinate.  The Queen of Procrastination.  A recurring, even dominant theme throughout my life.  It's a form of self-sabotage.  I don't understand why but suspect, when all is said and done, it is fear which underlies this weird action resulting in non-action.

I know a man, an extremely creative man.  He paints and his paintings sell, he composes and his compositions are played in the public arena, he writes and his books are published.  Obviously he is naturally, one could say preternaturally talented, but he is also disciplined.  He allocates time to each of his creative talents.  He says it's because it's because he has a mortgage to pay but I suspect it's more than that.  Being fearful and procrastinating is kind of shitting on the gift one was given.  I'm no genius but I was always one of those kids that could draw - not as well as others in class but enough to get asked occasionally to draw something.  (Colleen Moore, wherever you are, you were the one that could draw - what did you end up doing?  I heard you took your drawing and your flute playing and went to Africa).  At any rate, I admire this man and his discipline.  I also find him a bit scary.  He's as gentle and nice a man as can be but the will which underlies that discipline is iron.  And he's courageous.  Not afraid of failure, not afraid of having a go  - or not afraid in any way that matters.

Joined a new yoga class this morning after a few tryout classes.  This studio has mirrors.  Oh the brutal truth of wall to wall mirrors.  Looking out from behind these eyes, catching my image in the odd window or from the waist up in the bathroom (avoiding the mirrored doors of the closet) I thought, eh 62?  not bad for my age.  Oh, the lies I tell myself.  The mirror on the yoga studio wall...the first class, after the initial shock, I managed to pretty much avoid seeing myself focusing instead on the floor or the ceiling, the instructor or some vague indeterminate point in the middle distance. 

But the truth will not be avoided.  In the scheme of things with war and famine and global warming my body image matters not one whit.  And yet, and yet.  It is everything too for it reflects the person I am - a bit lazy, a bit lacking in will power, a bit sloppy, a lot overindulgent. 

So I decided today to look squarely at myself in the mirror.  I was next to a floor lamp so couldn't really avoid it as I was well lit.  

In my long life I have made many resolutions, some of which stuck, most of which have fallen by the wayside like so many banana peels.  One thing I haven't done however is give up.  So I try again, to not be afraid of what might be beneath this fear, this comforting layer of fat which I use to protect myself from life's hard knocks, and to - what a horrible phrase - be all I can be...or better, be all that I already am.

Oh scary!!

Post 37 of 92

Had a fleeting but profound sensation of the unreality of reality this week.  It's been a week, two weeks actually, of elderly cat dramas.  One having a hiccup after a routine dental and the other having profound and critical pancreatitis for which he was hospitalized for 4 days.  Matisse, the Siamese, has, I think and hope and pray, turned the corner.  Brought him home yesterday, profoundly depressed as he is not a cat who copes well with changes in routine. and being sick AND being hospitalized has taken its toll.  It's been a stressful and expensive two weeks ($2000+). 

Yet, despite or perhaps because of this, while feeling weepy and overly sensitive, worried to the point of feeling sick to my stomach, there was this other sensation, The Observer, which saw this for  what it was; ripples on the surface.  The depths are unaffected.  Save for taking note of the surface disturbances, nothing changes in the Is-ness of it all. 

Feeling that helped somewhat - even though I am caught up in the drama of apparent reality and am reluctant or unable to let it go. 

It's humbling to have your own advice dropped back on you.  At the gym one day recently one of the staff was crying in the ladies bathroom.  She was talking to the woman who oversees the creche and had obviously been crying for awhile as her face was very blotched and swollen.  As I walked past I said, whatever it is I'm sorry.  This woman, not hard and fit and smilingly conscious of her physique, on the contrary wears glasses, is slightly overweight and when she smiles her smile is genuine.  Have always liked her.  While the others seem decorative she exudes infrastructure.

I had my shower while listening to their murmured voices and the occasional hiccuping of a crying jag not yet finished.  Had no idea what was wrong.  It was none of my business but as I walked out I touched her shoulder and said, this too shall pass.

And so it does.  Joy, grief, excitement, ennui, love and loss.  All surface ripples over the serenity of the changeless depths.  Even sick cats.  They either get better or they pass away. 

But I'm glad he's on the mend.