Post 49 of 92

Tried to be more open today.  What I read in Maria Popova's blog was an excerpt from Marion Milner's A Life of One's Own.  Milner spent 7 years experimenting with how to live.  It became a search for an authentic life.  We are so programmed to lead the lives required of us by others, including the ever pervasive media something Milner didn't have to contend with in the 1930's, that we lose sight of who and what we are.

What makes me happy? 

I'm not sure.  I think the first few steps out of the house in the afternoon or early morning when I leave the ceilings behind and come into (or out of) the great dome of sky.  Before I start to think, when the infinity of space first collapses the boundaries, I am free of self.  It might be for a nanosecond or long enough to take that obligatory deep clearing breath but it is there.  Then I fetter myself small with thoughts and half tos and plans and all the chains which take me away from the infinite now.

I think that's when I'm happiest.  Not attaining, not accumulating, not doing, just being. 

So yoga class.  Hard work.  She's a good instructor.  Knows her stuff.  At first her continuous commenting annoyed me.  Now I don't mind.  She is sharing what she knows and if she doesn't know it, what she should know she shares.  We're all on a journey of some sort or another.  Noticed today she conducts most of the class with her eyes closed.  I love that.  At home I do most of my practice with closed eyes.  Today she echoed what Milner wrote about, the opening up to the world, the being in the world, the happiness which comes from that. 

There are other kinds of happiness, certainly.  The giddy joy of falling in love, the quiet happiness of lives shared in complete trust, the happiness of danger averted (or sickness or loss, etc.).  There is also the happiness of creating.  Painting/drawing when the signposts are there and it is the bringing into being the complete pix within those hard fought parameters, being lost in that creation.  That is also joyful.

And there's the happiness of gratitude.  Gratitude which bubbles out from an excess of spirit.  Not the gratitude of rote.  I must be grateful for this and I must be grateful for that.  It's a gratitude of excessive life energy or love. 

The Power of Cranky Prayer

Raining. 

I give thanks a lot.  It is not so much a thought but more a sort of visceral breath which emanates gratitude.  I say this to contrast it with the exasperated prayer of yesterday.  My prayer was, 'Just make it effing rain, right?' 

 For days, nay weeks, I have watched the radar as  storms brew up to the west, march toward us in a wall of blue and yellow and orange only to split and pass to the north and south, reform on the other side and carry on to the coast.  I try, I really do try, to remain composed and indifferent to the vagaries of the weather, I try to remain aloof and non-judgmental when neighbours burn the living crap out of their land year after weary smoke filled year.  I try to welcome all that is as It Is What It Is and I'm damn grateful to be here experiencing another 'ordinary day'.  But sometimes, just sometimes, I get fed up, shake my fist at the sky and in bad grace invoke grace.

And it worked.  Despite a totally different forecast, I woke to the sound of rain and although at 2:30pm, it is just about finished, it has drizzled all day. 

Wonder if I can invoke, 'just let us win the damn lotto,' would have the same outcome.  Or 'sell the damn house!' 

Sometimes I coast along quite happily here (especially after it's rained) and don't mind that we are not on the coast but other times it's a hunger.

Coincidentally, a program on the community TV about an eco-village in Currumbin Valley.  Wouldn't suit us as we've all the animals but I could feel the coastal vibe.

Bring it on!  Right?

Constant Vigilance until Death

Constant vigilance.  That's how life seems to be lived at times, as though I am standing sentinel at the gates of my experience.  Does this thing I'm about to do or think pass muster?   Is it good enough, does it align with the rules I've set for myself and if not what price in guilt will I pay?  A momentary 'bugger' and move on or will I think about it the next day and the next?  How much guilt is enough guilt?  And if my thoughts are not always generous and kind, unselfish and loving, how much self disgust is enough?  Even if I don't act on those thoughts, the very fact that I've had them proves how bad a person I am. 

I often feel trapped now.  I won't leave Richard, I'll see it through but what I envisioned for myself and what I've got, especially in the future, is not the same.  Sometimes I feel as though I can't breathe.  I long for positions with long vistas and height.  I want big sky and lots of air around me.  I know why this is and why I am so anxious to move.  Then I feel guilty for thinking these things, for feeling these things when I have so much and most of the world has so little.  How dare I complain?  How dare I even feel these things?  Hence the vigilance.  Gratitude is a constant mantra.  Mostly it works, sometimes it doesn't.  Sometimes joy, under a blue sky with infinity beyond, imbues my very being with song.  But joy isn't summoned, it just arrives, unannounced. 

And I'm alone.  No parents for advice, no best friend that I can burden with the 'badness' of my honest feelings.  I know Richard senses my restlessness.   He is more loving, more vocal about his love for me than ever before  - and he has always been a loving man.  If he loves me enough I won't leave him to face the future alone.  He's scared too and God knows what he's going through.  I think he's still of the belief that Parkinsons isn't progressive.  That how he is now is how he'll always be. 

But I know it ain't so.  And that looming oppressive cloud colours much.  My vigilance includes him.  I listen for him.  Has he made a noise in the shed, is that a gate closing, did I just hear him speak to one of the dogs?  After he fainted last year, I listen.  What if he collapses and I don't know?   His health is good other than Parky but still, he did faint and no one discovered why.  So I remain vigilant.  Always vigilant. 

And frankly, I'm sick of it.  I want to relax into my life, into myself.  So I'm not perfect, I think bad selfish thoughts, I allow myself to get scared, I eat too much sometimes or have too much wine occasionally, so what?  This life is over so quickly.  Hell, I'm nearly 60 now (and how the hell did that happen?!?) and before I know it I'll be breathing my last.  I don't want to regret the past and think, well crap, why did I waste so much time worrying about everything?  THIS dying, now this is something to worry about except this is my last breath so it's too late.  Oh cra....

breathing back and gratitude

Read a couple of days ago, or rather reread, about the importance of gratitude.  I am grateful and express it every day but suspect REAL gratitude arises on each and every breath during every waking moment.  For when you think about it, that's just it, isn't it?  As I read somewhere else recently, "Thank you Universe for another ordinary day."  But if one actually Sees each moment, there is nothing ordinary about it.  Each moment is a miracle; grass growing, coffee steaming, breathing, cats sleeping, air against skin, thoughts, senses, breathing breathing breathing.

So with this sense of the world being softly supported in its orbit and all things on it as they should be (despite appearances), Richard and Helen found a candidate for our new home yesterday at Burringbar.  Even Richard was pleased and that's saying something.  If Helen likes it I'm sure I will too.  Have always liked the photos although it wasn't one of my favourite saves.  Beyond that I have a lame horse (Pagan, offside hind, no obvious sign of injury) and I've done my back again - this time by the strenous activity of sweeping up broken bits of soapstone from Kwan Yin's halo. 

I spent fifteen minutes on the couch wondering how I was going to get up.  What started as a little tweak morphed into a major spasm so painful I couldn't take a deep breath.  Thought about calling Richard to come home but of course, if I could make it to the phone then I could make it.  Worst episode yet.  Don't know why I get these things.  It's not spine it's muscle.  Today it's much better although I'm moving very carefully and with forethought.  No sudden moves.  Will try yoga but a modified version. 

Looking at art work on line, especially the quite creepy Laurie Lipton.  Quite creepy but quite brilliant.  Started doodling a bit yesterday but don't really have any idea of what I'll do.  Just want to DO something.  An itch that needs to be scratched.  Practice drawing, while valuable, doesn't satisfy nearly as much - rather like drinking decaffeinated when looking for that caffeine hit.  I want to be absorbed into the work. 

Late Night Musings and what that entails

Late at night.  Almost too tired to sleep after driving 6 hours in the rain, much of it in holiday traffic.  (Why do we do this to ourselves!?).  Know I need to sleep but have stumbled on Pandora, something I didn't even know existed, a place where they play beautiful music or at least music of your choice.  I chose 'yoga music' so have, at the moment, David Evenson and the Soundings Ensemble.  What joy.   And for free! 

Feel like I've stumbled into a like- minded community.  My friends don't live nearby so there is little to no chance for long coffee or wine fueled chats.  And it gets a bit lonely here sometimes.  I am in transition from wife and lover and best friend to carer.  It's not a role I like but it is what it is and as I'm in this marriage for love and for better or worse, I'll take it.  He is my Richard, still my Richard after all.  But, sometimes it's a bit lonely as I am losing my best friend.  So it's a pretty good deal to find Rabelle Society and Yoga by Candace and Pandora.  Everyone needs a support group even if that group is anonymous and no more aware of me than I am of the fly on the stable wall.  Just reading their thoughts, that there are people out there who think like me, that are introverts and are okay with that.  Well, that's just plain marmalade!

In fact, it's all fine.  As I said to someone today at the Great Annual Family Get Together, if I think about the future I get frightened and depressed but right now?  I'm fine.  Richard's fine.  Met a neighbour on the road yesterday.  He asked whether I'd had a good christmas.  I'm upright and ambulatory, I replied,  so I'm good.

Even Peter Greste, writing from an Egyptian prison, managed to find the good in Christmas.  If he can what complaint dare I make? 

None at all.  And for that I am truly grateful.

Non Smoking Zone

Sometimes it just hits me.  How insanely fortunate I am.  Food, shelter, love, companionship, satisfying pursuits, sanity, health, (just noticed I put food first.  Typical).  There's a dull patina of guilt associated with the above list.  What did I ever do to deserve them?  Must come from a past life as I've certainly not led an unselfish, unsullied life this time around.  Nevertheless, there they are.  Blessing beyond measure. 

Since quitting smoking 2 1/2 years ago, even my breath has been the source of a healthy dose of gratitude.  When I think of it, breathing, I have to take a deep chest full with unbearably gratifying breath.  How good is that?  I could be dead (no breath), hooked up to a respirator or suffering from asthma or emphysema or some such thing where breathing is an ongoing fight.  Instead, despite over 40 years of smoking, I've been given a second chance and boy, don't I know it!  When I am mindful (read - when I am here and not lost in some storytelling popcorn eating haze of daydreaming) I gulp big lungfuls of air just for sheer delight.  It's so delicious.  Perhaps people who have never abused themselves with cigarettes can't understand but when you smoke your lungs lose elasticity.  You can't take a deep breath.  Impossible.  You inhale so far and it's as though you've hit a wall.  Here and no further so there is no satisfying stretch, like stretching cramped too-long-sitting-muscles.  It is quite awful.  I used to almost get there by opening my mouth and trying to stretch using chest muscles in a poor and ultimately frustrating facsimile.  Now I don't have to.  Sure, there's a long way to go.  Forty years of smoking damage isn't undone in two but the difference even now is profound.

And I feel so sorry for the people I know who smoke.  Can't help them, can't even say anything because I know what it's like when you smoke.  You're addicted and mentally turn off anything that damages the fragile reasons you've made to give yourself permission to smoke.  I did it so well, so thoroughly for so long.  Nothing anyone could have said would have made me change my mind.  So they smoke and they cough and they smell and they have to budget for their smokes as it's unbelievably expensive now and I am sorry.

I am free and oh, isn't that breath SWEET?

Right Now I'm Grateful

"Right Now"  I am enjoying this exercise as it gets me writing again.  Read yesterday that 80% of people would like to publish a book.  I used to but now realize it's not something I care enough about to make the effort.  It's like drawing/painting - the joy is in the doing not the doing with one eye on a publishing contract or a gallery show.  Sure, I would love to be 'discovered' but it ain't gonna happen so may as well settle back and enjoy the ride.

Recently I'd been getting anxious about the state of the world and the monumental stupidity of humans.  Thinking 'good thoughts' wasn't working nor was the anxiety eased by recalling the many wonderful unselfish caring acts of everyday people.  Those thoughts were swamped by global warming, fracking, Syria, Somalia, Egypt, the USA (esp,. the USA which should know better!), Tony Abbott, Putin, Cambell Newman, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, ad nauseum, even ad infinitum!  The world committing a slow and excruciating suicide when we have the means, the know how, the intelligence to turn it all around.   All we lack is the will.

Even me.  Had an email from GetUp Australia.  Would I organize a rally for November 17 to protest against global warming?  No, I would not.  It still bothers me that I'm one of the guilty ones who allow evil to flourish because good women do nothing.  I sign every peition, write letters and send money but don't really put myself out there.

More anxiety.

Then I remembered the sure fire, fool proof way to happiness.  Gratitude.  I'd forgotten to be grateful - grateful for everything from my breath, to my bed, to my food, husband, this house, this table - and the storms coming our way, possibily severe according to the news, but which will bring much needed rain.

I've joined deviantArt.  Will take photos of most of my work and upload it.  Why not?  Be nice if others see it.  Have already learned something.  If it's going to photograph decently will have to make my darks darker and my lights lighter.  Wimpy in life, wimpy in art.  Make a statement!
     Severe and damaging storms yesterday.  Lots of damage in Logan Ipswich area.  While walking the dogs watched the back of the storm  march away to the east.  Don't think I would've wanted to watch the front bearing down on me.  Even the back of it was huge, terrifying and beautiful.  Stark clenched clouds slow exploding into cerulean blue.  In the distance wet clay slabs of grey rain pressed upon the land.  On the way home we were helped along by the wind being sucked into the storm.  Isolated groups of clouds joined forces, became one huge front.
     When I got home, after feeding everyone, looked at the radar.  Scary.  Angry red splotches like sores scratching across the map.  All to the east of us.  After dark we got a downpour, 14mm in 15 minutes.  Very pleased as we needed the rain but we didn't need damage.  Lost power for an hour.  Read The Jane Austen Book Club by Karen Joy Fowler by candlelight with a glass of red.
      Overcome by gratitude while watching that storm.  Beauty, incredible wondrous incandescent beauty surround us  if we only open our eyes.  Standing beneath overarching wattle trees watching a dozen monarch butterflies flitting between the branches.  Don't know what attracted them but what a sight it made with fluttering leaves and fluttering butterflies with roiling white clouds overhead.  Didn't loiter long.  Thunder coming from the west as well as the east.  Don't mind walking in the rain, do mind getting caught in hail.
     Dice-ing yesterday and again today.  Repotted mature adenium plants.  Amazed at what was hidden beneath the soil - huge hard yellow white, can't even call them roots, more like storage tanks with filigree roots sprouting off the sides.  Had no idea.  Repotted the remaining 14 baby adeniums.  The table is groaning under the weight of baby adeniums.  Have given away dozens.  Overloaded friends and acquaintances with adeniums.  Worse than giving away kittens. 
     Dice had me on the yoga mat during the hottest part of the day.  Cleansing sweat I guess.   But as I hadn't eaten I wasn't attempting a headstand on a full stomach.  Eased back a bit on a few poses.  Very sore lower back and pelvis.  Don't know why.  Better today.
     Carry a small sketchbook in my purse.  Used it to draw Natalia.  Her upside-down-head-under-paw pose and mature-cat-dignified-nap pose.  Caught her too, at least in the upright pose.  Not just any cat sleeping but Natalia sleeping.  The other sketch, as most of her face is hidden under her leg, isn't as clearly her.  Pleased with them.  Fun to do too.  Only 5 minutes or so. 
      Conversely haven't touched the pastel drawing on the easel.  Like the bird, like the horse...well the horse is okay, not perfect, otherwise stuck.  Have these elements that don't work but don't know what to do instead.  So keep retouching horse and bird and leaving the rest.  Waiting for inspiration to bite. 
      Have a egg yolk painted gesso primed canvas waiting.  No tooth.  Need to make a mark and see what it looks, feels like.  That will determine, in part, to what can be painted on.  If it doesn't 'take' the medium, will have to keep it simple and sketchlike.  If it does, what fun!