How does one exist in the moment while simultaneously thinking/planning/dreaming of the future?  Mindfulness is all very good.  Getting oneself back to the living breathing infinity of now to counteract the centrifugal pressures of information overload. 

Sometimes I think it would be better not to keep up with current affairs.  After all, it's always and again, 'wars and rumours of war'.  Humanity hasn't changed, we just wage our wars on a bigger scale and with better news coverage (with instantaneous real time video).  With the continuous onslaught of how horrible we are to each other, to the earth and to all living things, I need to bring myself back to here and now.

There's no better way to do that, for me anyway, than to be in nature.  I'm a lousy meditator and have pretty much given up trying to meditate.  Later on I'm sure, I'll drag out my pillow and set the clock and focus on my breath but after round after round after round of practice with little change I have had enough.

(as an aside:  One is instructed to just be aware of the coming and going of thoughts, like puffs of air on the surface of water, while not getting involved with them.  Even that is beyond me.  When I'm thinking a thought, I'm the thought.   I can't stand outside the thought to observe the thought wafting about on the surface on my mind   It may occur to me later that I'm thinking and I'll let that particular thought go, so I can sense the dichotomy of the thought and me as the thought.  Nevertheless, that little bit of meditation wisdom is beyond my ability).

But in Nature.  That is another thing entirely.  I become like a sponge.  I can almost feel the buzz of life; trees growing, grasses growing, insects munching, walking, flying, eating and being eaten, the continuous hum of life.  The very air seems alive.  My ears seem to expand until they are the size of dinner plates.  I look up and there is the sky.  The Sky!  A continuous look through infinity if we'll just raise our gaze.  And the clouds, like white schooners, solid yet amorphous, drifting over me, me looking up and making them real by seeing them.  How little we take in.  It is much easier for me to BE when in nature.  It is easy not to be defined by thought for all my thought is defined by the boundless Self in Nature. 

Sometimes when I've been inside for a long time and I step out under the sky, I can feel my spirit expand to match the limitlessness of it.  Until that moment I didn't realize I was constrained, constricted and made little by four walls and a ceiling.  It is those moments when planning or dreaming of a future is just a game to amuse the human element.  The spirit is always infinite.

Post Parting Regression

It would take at least a week of solitude to fall into myself again.  But I only have until Monday.  Today is Saturday. 

When did I lose the ability to think, to follow a thought thread to a conclusion or at least an opinion?  I think in thought bytes.  Nothing more substantial than a quick acknowledgement of 'Oh, that might be important!' before moving on to the next ephemera.  I'm one of those multi-taskers that multi-task themselves right out of the ability to stop and think.  I equate busyness with meaning when busyness is keeping idle hands and idle minds occupied so I don't have to confront the emptiness and fear and shame which knocks at my idle mind. 

And I'm so damned hard on myself.  I'm going on 60 and I'm still flogging myself daily for not having a perfect body.  Isn't that nuts?  When will I let all that crap go?  I exercise 2 hours a day (1 hour yoga, 1 hour walking) and enjoy the benefits of health and flexibility yet what I really want is physical perfection. 

It is breathtakingly sad.

Yesterday I dug out my huge art book in which I've stored all my loose drawings, paintings and sketches that aren't framed and hanging on the walls (the grandkids counted 51 pictures on the wall, most of which is my stuff).   Anyway, I was surprised and pleased by the amount and variety and yes, talent displayed in these works.  Not all were good, some were, many more weren't, but they were mine, they were individual and creative.  And numerous!  I have a serious body of work developing.  Won't matter one whit after I'm gone.  I'm no Grandma Moses, discovered and made famous in her dotage.  (But I'm vain enough to want to be).  The importance is in the doing.  I've always said that.  But do I believe it?

Or is my real worth to be measured in my ability to be unselfish and care for Richard?  I blame him for part of my inability to settle.  I listen now.  Since he fainted all those months ago and was carted off to hospital in an ambulance, I listen.  Part of me has become a sentinel, watching for the Enemy.  Of course it's not his fault and he doesn't know that part of me is always at attention. 

So while he is away for a few days I try and discover myself again.  Try and quit flicking between windows (just read about Clementine Hunter, a poor cotton picking black woman from Louisiana who taught herself to paint), try and be a bit more forgiving of myself for my imperfections. 

And try and start another painting before he gets home.  Drawing is more calming than meditation.  I find like repetitive detail, something to lose myself in.  Something to fall into while I'm alone.
 

Meditating and Charlie Hebdo

Grey and green outside, like being underwater.  Absolutely still.

Not 100% on my New Years Resolutions (I had a second bowl of salad for lunch today which, considering the size of my bowl isn't as harmless as it sounds), but am being more consistent with the meditating.  The only way to improve is to keep at it. 

But difficulty arises from an unexpected direction.  Chattering monkey mind is one thing.  Suspect with time I'll get a handle on it and be able to focus more effectively for more than a nano-second.  But Restless Body Syndrome is something else again.  Anyone who has ever experienced Restless Leg Syndrome will understand what I mean; that irresistable urge to move the legs to relieve an uncomfortable impossible to ignore feeling of itchiness/creepy crawliness..

That's what I'm experiencing at the deeper end of meditation but it's not confined to my legs.  My entire body, including my brain, is awash with this most miserable of sensations.  Other times the discomfort has been so intense that I've quit the meditation.  Today I decided to see it through, no matter how awful it felt.  There must be a coming through this to the other side.  If there is I didn't make it today.  I held on, poised between that feeling of being in a meditation and that yearning awareness for the end-of-session chime to go off.  The chime sounded but I was no closer to the other side than I was at the beginning. 

Would like to know what it is  and why it is happening.  Feel like there must be some sort of breakthrough at the end.

Like there must be some sort of breakthrough with the human species.  Late yesterday afternoon, during the daily whippet walk, I stood in a hollow made green by looming trees, and listened to the sawtoothed drone of cicadas  punctuated by the sharp melodious crack of a whipbird.  While the three of us stood there listening, absorbing the feeling of  Aliveness which surrounded us, a black butterfly with red epaulettes bounced on invisible air currents across the road.  Life, beautiful LIFE surrounds us.  Paradise for the price of awareness yet we insist on strapping bombs to 10 year old girls to blow up shoppers at a market place in Nigeria, or shoot cartoonists whose sense of humour is the schoolboy humour of Mad Magazine made political.    The only danger the cartoonists represented was the danger to good taste.  Sure their cartoons are offensive.  So is porn or a badly made omelette.  Big deal. 

But that's not the purpose of this violence.  It is to instill fear, so that no place ever feels secure again.  Happily over a million copies of Charlie Hebdo are being printed this issue.  I would love to blanket the world with the offensive images.  More than that I would love to find a way to laugh directly at ISIL.  Evil can't stand humour.  It robs it of its power.  Guns kill, humour, satire and belly laughs disembowel.

Resolving the New Year Resolution

I never make New Years Resolutions.  Can't think of one I've made so can't think of one I've kept.  But I'm 59 now and suppose it's not too late to try.  If nothing else making a resolution will help in mindfulness, that small itch of discomfort when I'm about to ignore it.

1.  I make more of an effort and fewer excuses about meditating.  It has been all too easy in the past to make no effort to meditate if that 15 minutes doesn't come immediately after completing yoga.  That will no longer do.  Meditation practice, even my sporadic attempts, makes a difference in ways I wouldn't have imagined.  For instance; usually I am quite (but quietly) resentful about the big family xmas do.  This year I just flowed with it.  I didn't have to try and overcome antipathy, it just happened.  I've noticed that about a few things.  It's a small change, this flowing with life, but significant, like driving on a road without having to brake for self-created speed bumps.

 2.  I don't do seconds.  Second helpings, that is.  I am 5'4" and weigh 56 kg.  Usually weigh 55 but it's crept up and stayed there.  Have to get it under control.  The banning of second helpings is one step.  Portion control another.  It's as though I don't feel full unless I am really FULL, which is not conducive to weight loss or even weight maintenance.  It's a mind thing.  If I can successfully quit smoking I can come to grips with this. 

3.  And finally, I will write more.  Was going to say write more honestly but how can I when writing the unvarnished truth has the power to hurt others.  Can't do it. 

That's it.  Happy New Year.

Still Here

There's a tightening in my core, like I'm pulling in and concentrating my energy.  We're going to get out of here.  Have almost convinced Richard to drastically drop the price on the house, in total taking $76,000 off  so we can sell up and move.  In 7 months we've had exactly one inspection.  One.  Obviously we're not meeting the market.  Dropped it $26,000 and still no joy - but that's by the buy (a typofreudian slip - so want someone to BUY this place). 

Haven't written in ages - computer dramas of dire proportions (lost most everything).  Still not 100%.  Have been far more disciplined after getting sloppy, gluttonous and feeling the effects of less energy, less self esteem.  Only put on a couple of kilos but always felt bloated.  I have the willpower to quit smoking but have trouble controlling portion size.  No problem in eating good, nay excellent food, just eat too much of it.  Or did.  Not too many slips now and the result is little short of amazing.  No, not in suddenly being a size 6 but in how I feel.  Much more energy.  Think when one is bloated it's because food is lounging around in the gut taking energy for digestion that could go into living.  Not advocating anorexia just common sense.  My enthusiasm for everything sometimes goes awry and since I've learned to cook (still can't believe that I love to cook after a lifetime of believing it a most vile activity) I love what I create. And eat it too!

Still.  Some other factors.  Much more consistent with yoga.  More like 7 days a week rather than 5.  Went to Woodford to visit Gabi and attended a couple of yoga classes.  Learned and practiced the 5 Tibetan Rites (http://www.lifeevents.org/5-tibetans-energy-rejuvenation-exercises.htm) at one of the classes and have incorporated them into my practice, more to encourage Richard who is also doing them, then because I need to add on another 10 minutes into a practice that already takes an hour.  There are, however, two of the exercises, No. 2 and 4, which illustrate how weak I am in those areas. 

The other thing is running.  Thanks to yoga my nearly 60 year old joints can cope with the concussion without aching so much they keep me awake at night.  Have attempted to take up running  half a dozen (or more) times in the past 20 years and have always been defeated by the pain.  There is still pain (I'm so unfit!) but it's a good pain which will lessen with time.  Somewhat embarrassing however.  I've got the two whippets, Jamaica and Radar, with me while I *run*.  When I'm *running* up a steep hill, Jamaica keeps trotting but Radar gives a big sigh and walks.  It's a fast walk but even so! 

I ran for years and gave up because of  a) the smoking finally taking its toll and b) the pain in my hips.  So far so good and I'm so chuffed.  I love the way running makes me feel and I want that fitness again.  Now that I don't smoke (will be 3 years in May) I feel that I've earned the right to those running induced endorphins.

More consistent with the meditation attempts.  After how many years? I should be an 'experienced meditator'.  Ha.  Still a flibbertygibbett but had a tiny experience which had me googling scary meditation (nothing really, a flush of energy through my body which was hard to contain).

There's another reason for this get fit regime.  It's Richard.  Things are good health wise.  He's eating well, taking the Parkinson's medication, walking, and as mentioned, doing the Tibetan 5 Rites 4 or 5 times a week.  But his mind isn't as it should be.  Sometimes it's scary.  We had to buy a television as the old one crapped itself.  Took measurements for the cabinet so that the new tv would fit.  He saw that televisions are measured diagonally so that a 32" is a diagonal measurement across the screen.  He panicked, certain that our cabinet measurements, width and height, wouldn't work.  He forgot how to put batteries in the remote, well not forgot but put them in wrong, something he never would have done before.  I had to draw a diagram in the dirt yesterday to show him which yard gates would be open and which closed to let Balthazar out overnight but keep the other two in.  He's been yarding and unyarding the horses for 20 years.  He forgets names and places and it scares him.  He is more loving than ever and although I know he loves me, part of it I think is needing reassurance.  It must be frightening to know that things are not as they were.  I can't save him from it but I can be there for him.  At the same time, sometimes it is a little claustrophobic and the space allowed by yoga and walking is necessary for my peace of mind. 

But it's all good.  We are still blessed.  Healthy and loved and loving, the animals good save for the untimely loss of Tony to an intruding brown tree snake (found the hold, bandicoot made and sealed it).  So can't complain - except that we have no house buyers!

"Right Now" I am taking refuge in the Towoomba City Library from a) the heat and b) more bush burning at home.  When I heard John was ging to burn the corridor across from Horrocks' where  two pheasant coucals and a whipbird live I got upset.  Again.  Useless to cry for what was going to happen.  Then hearing Peter Horrocks was going to burn the creek (which doesn't belong to him) gave rise to a real rant.

So, here I am; in the air conditioning (it's 36 in Mt. Whitestone, probably 32 here) with a full tummy from a Jilly's salad and with my caffeine levels topped up with a very bitter soycino.

Started reading Turning the Mind Into an Ally by Sakyong (which translates as Earth Protector) Mipham - which only goes to illustrate how much of an antagonist my mind is because of the suffering experienced BEFORE the burning even took place. 

Still one has to start somewhere.  I don't meditate every day, even when doing yoga there's usually an excuse I can find to postpone it.  Two to 4 times a week probably.  And the little I do and the inconsistency of it doesn't make for a mind I'm in control of.

This book will make a big difference.  After a rough start I'm pretty consistent with yoga because the benefits are so obvious and addictive.  I feel better.

Suspect that regular meditation will reap the same reward.

Beyond that -found The House, the Purple House (so called because of it's purple painted front facade and deck) which appeals to R and I.  Two hours from Brisbane which is its main drawback.  But nevertheless it's a winner.  100 acres at Lillian Rock between Kyogle and Murwillumbah.  $650,000.  Affordable.  Private.  Beautiful.  Even wrote to the realtor.  Who knows?  I do know we will find the best place for us.  I do know, or think I do, that it is time to leave DGR.  On the way home from the ride this morning (through burnt out overgrazed paddocks) saw men in fancy casual clothes and expensive 4 wheel drives - 3 of those - returning from a look at the quarry site.  It mght have a price tag of $9.5 million but some rich investor will buy it as a tax break and future investment.  Anyway the signs are there, from the quarry being on the market to endless torching of the bush to a proliferation of motorcycle traffic even to hoons doing donuts at the end of our driveway - and squealing as they did it - not the motorcycle engine but a chubby young man, squealing like a pig and so engrossed in making donuts he didn't see me standing there staring at him.

Another of the many symptoms of my untamed mind.  I judge all the time, form opinions all the time.  Catty things - just then a young woman, long blond hair pulled into a ponytail, black t-shirt and jean shorts, great bone structure, honey coloured skin - and obsese.  I make alot of silent judgements about obsese people.  Not how horrible they are but how sad.  But no matter whether it's catty or commiserative it's still a judgement call.

I don't experience reality as it is.

Wonder if they've finished burning yet.

Then there's a whole 'nother chapter titled Richard and the almost daily manifestations of his rapid aging (he's only 67!).  Forgetting things, dullness, not following through with a thought or action.  I'm starting to check up on him, make sure things are done properly -without him knowing.  This morning the flyveil  lay unwashed by the tap.  He'd taken it there and then forgot about it.  One of the feed buckets was still in the yard, the hot water tap was not turned off properly so that it dripped, the dishes were done but no counters were wiped (if I cook he does the dishes which as I'm doing almost all the cooking means he does the evening dishes all the time.  I do lunch.  He does breakfast).

Pen dying, time to quit - buy a new pen!

.
   A few days ago I noticed, when walking the dogs, a particular feeling in my groin, an irritation, as though a pubic hair had worked its way inside me and was digging in.  Didn't think too much about it until having a wee upon my return and noticing frank blood.  Haven't had a period for 15 years so this was abnormal.  Did nothing, said nothing, thought alot.
    Richard left the following day for an errand in town.  I was ready.  The irritation was now accompanied by a feeling of 'fullness'.  Can't describe it any better than that.  It was as though I'd put on a few pounds 'there'.  Once he'd left I got the hand mirror and the standing lamp with the flexicord.  Put the lamp on the floor, got the mirror, dropped my drawers and had a good look.
     The problem was, of course, I'm not familiar with that terrain.  What was I looking for?  There was no errant pubic hair.  There was nothing that I could see save for a slight bluish darkness at the furthest reaches.  Was that supposed to be there?  Or was it the visible manifestation of something far more sinister?  None the wiser, I pulled my pants up and got the yoga mat out.
     The mind is a wonderful thing.  My mind, when frightened, is a wild  banshee howling incoherently in the wind.  Even yoga was difficult.  Kept forgetting where I was in the sequence because of fear.  Fear of cancer.  All that sex, all those partners.  It was bound to catch up with me.  All those years of smoking.  All those times I wasn't nice, thought bad thoughts, did bad things, I was going to pay for my sins now.  My mind had got the bit in its teeth and was off.  Every lurid horrible detail; doctors, hospitals, needles, fear fear fear.  In downward dog I thought about putting my feet in stirrups while some entity in a lab coat tut tutted at the most intimate and vulnerable part of my body. 
     I started to cry. 
     So I stopped it.  Lay back on those reins and pulled my mind up short.  This has to stop.  I have always believed that you create what you fear. If I was going to fear this, by god, I was going to make it true. 
     In a kind of breathless panic which masqueraded as meditation I tried to fill my body with light.  Between Half Moon pose and Trikonasama I created a whirling ball of white light and pushed it into my pelvis.  Throw everything at it, positive think it right into oblivion, crush that mother with the weight of nonbelief. 
     But that was just fear with makeup on.
     When I finally sat to meditate, when I finally pulled the over-caffeinated hamster off the wheel and breathed, the words, 'Stay Calm, It's All Right' came into my mind.  I seized them like the rope thrown to a drowning man.  And hung on.  And breathed.  And made them my mantra.  After a while, I was calm. 
     I made my mind up about a couple of things.  My health was/is my responsibility.  No doctors.  The revulsion, total revulsion of my being, against doctors and their offices, would cause more harm than any illness.  Doctors are best avoided if  possible.  The next thing was, I can change this, whatever it is.  I'm made of energy, energy is malleable.  This creation, while loved and accepted, (yes, my thinking changed that much!) had to go, had to be recycled elsewhere.  So every time I sat down for a pee, I visualized peeing this thing away.  Not with hatred but with love.  I'm not ready to go yet.  I'm never ready for a long drawn out illness.  I will die peacefully in my sleep when my responsibilities are met.  Right now, Richard needs me, the animals need me, and I need me. 
     Today, no funny feeling, no blood, no fear but alot of gratitude.  And love.  It came to teach. 

Sunday morning of the Queen's birthday long weekend. I swear the local wallabies know when it's the weekend. They are more numerous on the road during the day. We've had five killed on our short 6km dead end street already this season. Have a suspicion who is the culprit but of course it can't be proven. Desire to erect a large billboard saying Humans 5, Wallabies 0. But that would only inflame those who didn't give a damn before into upping the score. In favour of humans.

We have a new bird hanging around. A scarlet robin. The first year we moved here we saw a rose robin. Once. Like the Regent's bowerbird. Don't know what changed in the environment to make them disappear but disappear they did. So it's a real buzz to see a brand new (for us) bird in the center round garden. And he's very beautiful. Scarlet and black. Bold too, not very shy of me and I was only 4 or 5 feet away from him.

Another snippet in our wildlife scene. It's winter here yet we have a very determined frog calling Tok Tok Tok through the night and sometimes through the day. He lives in the fernery. When it is very cold his call is slow. I counted 23 to 36 seconds between Toks. When it is warmer, it's anything from 2 to 6 seconds. His Tok sounds like a mallet gently tapped against a hollow log. Have no idea what kind of frog (or toad for that matter) he is but admire his tenacity - and am a little alarmed that he's working so hard at a time when he should be taking it easy.

My dizziness has not disappeared yet. Because I think that dis-ease can reflect what's going on subconsciously, I wondered what the spinning out represented. The description 'spinning out' describes it; a mind out of control. My attempts at meditation, while regular are sporadic. Might start and find that Richard has returned or is banging about inside. Was going to close the wooden external door as a message that I was meditating but just can't be that cruel to confine him to the cold while I'm in the (relative) warmth. And that's another problem. It's too cold in this house, even with the heater going, to sit still for any length of time without getting chilled. So at any rate, while I do try and meditate it's not as regular or as long a session as I'd like. But there is an unlooked for side effect of meditation, even if the meditation is unsuccessful: awareness of thought. What's come to my attention are the layers which operate at the same time. I've never noticed before that there is the topmost layer which is the layer I'm writing this blog with. Beneath that might be a snatch of a song on an endless repeating loop and beneath that is a word or phrase. The other day it was Sam Stosur the tennis player, her name repeating like a mantra beneath the few notes of some old song (which always comes to the fore during the white noise of vacuuming). I had no idea so much mindless activity was going on with my mind's desperate bid to be kept busy. Why? Why must the mind always be kept busy? What's so scary about silence?

So that was a revelation, that my mind could and did work on many levels. At the same time I realized I was having these flashes of silence, when all the layers were quiet and still. Perhaps that was always happening but I hadn't noticed it. Those brief respites from chatter stand out by their sheer peacefulness, so much so that I start thinking about what's happening and lose it!

What has that to do with dizziness? I'm not sure. It has improved. I've managed to do backbends during yoga again although I must do it in stages. I've also managed to look up towards my outstretched hand during half moon and triangle poses. I notice the dizziness is worse when I look up over my left shoulder. I cannot quite look at my hand, only toward it but figure I am retraining myself so that is only a matter of time. I do a lot of deep breathing, hoping to breathe through this little health hiccup. Having always had low blood pressure I don't believe it is high blood pressure nor do I think I have an inner ear infection or a tumour or some such thing. The vertigo is an anomaly which is a helpful guidepost to illustrate something I need to bring into awareness. At least that's what I tell myself and mostly believe. The alternative is not a pleasant prospect.

Sulawesi Breath

I often listen to a CD of birdsong from Sulawesi while doing yoga. On the last track there is a recording of a bird singing near dusk or night as there is a frog chorus in the background. I suppose you couldn't really call is singing, more of a calling, in a breathy descending minor key, of two and then three notes. It is the loneliest sound I have ever heard. There is no answer to that yearning hello. Just this waiting for a reply that never comes. The bird finally stops, the frogs chirp on but the silence and the infinity of the night is deafening.

I don't know what kind of bird this is and knowing it's name would not make it any dearer to me. It's all tied in with 'if a sparow or a leaf falls, would God know'? This bird symbolizes, for me at leat, all that we've lost, all that we could lose, if we don't clean up our act. What sound did a Dodo make? A Carolina parakeet. It's wretched that we will never know, that those sounds are lost forever. And this bird sings in the wilderness for a mate that never replies. Is that how it feels to know yourself to be finally and forever alone?

While I was meditating today and concentrating on my breath I could hear Tony the budgie talking to himself on the verandah (I love you, The Regurgitator, pretty pretty PRETTY bird). In the poinciana outside this room Felicity was lamenting her (to my mind at least) on off again relationship with Suki. Her calls didn't sound like contact calls but more of a lament. Suki came home yesterday but is gone again today. As I hovered in the indescribably state which may be a percursor to mditating it occurred to me that the breath which was the focus of my concentration and which was starting to define that oceanic feeling I sometimes get while meditating, was the very same breath Tony and Felicity were using. We were united by breath. In and out, no matter the rate, the air flows from one through another.

Listening to Words of Peace the other day, Prem Rawat spoke of how this planet, this Earth, is as far as anybody knows the only place with life on it for millions and billions of miles. He spoke of the miracle of meeting another who is alive and breathing This Day, and how we should greet each other with that shared miracle in mind. No one from 150 years ago is alive. No one today will be alive 150 years hence (barring medical miracles). And this Earth? A teeming, violent, buzzing, symphonic, fragile, resilient, chaotic yet ultimately precious place is the only place like it anywhere. This tiny tiny little light, this soft soft little sound in an infinity of empty space yet we live as though there are billions of Earths just a footstep away.

Moment of Vanity

Have just written in Balthazar's blog about his first friendly overture. After we'd finished our clicker training session, when I was hanging out with him, he in the paddock, me on the other side of the gate. It was about intention. When we 'train' I am in training or teacher mode. When we hang out we're...hanging out, no pressure on him to perform, even if the performance earns him multiple carrot treats. The friendliness was a revelation. And a *treat* for me. Marked by his head hanging over my back and his neck pressed into my body. Yes, I want more of that. Yes, I want to be friends. Yes, I have to change my intention. Yes, I have to change my attitude. It all comes back to what we put out we get back. If I want a friendly horse who seeks out my company than I must be a friendly person who seeks out his. I am friendly to him. I like being with him but it's similar in a way to meditation. There is a filter or a gauze curtain of my own making between the object (meditating or Balthazar) and me, one of my own construction. I'm not sure how to explain it. When I'm meditating or attempting to and I approach that state where I am nearly there (my *there* being only focussed and present and deeply silent) I often get in my own way. It's the monkey mind chatter, yes, but it's also something more, a reticence and holding back despite my desire to be in that place. My will is to be in that meditative space yet something in me also constructs this cheesecloth barrier that I maintain beautifully and effortlessly *in spite of myself*. So it is with Balthazar although I think that barrier might be easier to dissipate as I only have to really *see* him as Balthazar, the lovely chestnut thoroughbred person, to feel that friendly affection that I have for him in all interactions that don't involve clicker training.

Vanity, thy name is mine. Went to a friend's house yesterday for an art day. Two friends, two bird lovers and bird carers who love art and creating as much as I do. It was a great day. We all worked on projects and chatted. Had to use the loo and saw a set of bathroom scales. Got on and squinted. 53kg. 116 pounds. I haven't been below 120 since weighing 47kg while depressed after a bad breakup (actually the worst breakup, the one and only time I'd been beaten by a man but that's another story and one I don't want to revisit). That was in 1987. Once I recovered I quickly regained weight. This time I am not depressed. Quite the opposite. It is solely due to yoga and being practically vegan, specifically giving up dairy (except that found in Fair Trade chocolate and the two tablespoons of milk powder I put into the homemade bread). I eat like a horse. I eat huge portions of salad or rice or whatever's going. Yet, without effort I continue to lose weight. I'm 56 and gravity has taken its toll yet I weigh 116 pounds! I know, I know. Vain and silly and so against the precepts of Buddhism or any -ism yet I am so proud. I feel good. I feel strong! I have muscles where I've never had muscles even when I was lifting weights and working out at the gym. I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from proslytizing about the benefits of yoga. If I'd only known 30 years ago! But I know now and timing is everything. Perhaps I wouldn't have appreciated it 30 years ago. I didn't appreciate it 10 or 15 years ago when I attended a class in town with a couple of friends. I am so grateful to Gabi and Pete for inviting me to a class. And that teacher, who has since moved, for being a good teacher. I have a different teacher now but she's brilliant and although I do over an hour of yoga 5 or 6 days a week I still come home sore and wrung out after her class.

I've been thinking about blogging for a few days now. Things I wanted to write about - not grandiose things but things like how I like Natalia, our little bladder kitten who is a kitten no longer, a little chubby. Obesity in pets is verboten. I know that from all the surgeries I've witnessed on overweight animals. Yet, because she is short and stocky with stumpy legs and a cobby build, she looks so endearing and somehow *right* being a little overweight. I call her The Scamp. She has the personality of a scamp. She is at once endearing and maddening. She'll pick on the furniture while watching me in full knowledge that she'll get a sharp NO and a stamp of the foot. She does it for attention as much as to sharpen her claws. When I take the food in the afternoon to the verandah birds, she races from the chair across the mantel, jumps to the top of the TV cabinet to leer, pupils dilated, at Tony who jumps onto the top seed dish.

But that's enough for today. The big thing was Balthazar and my Moment of Vanity.

A Meditation on Meditating

Meditation is one of the hardest things I've ever tried to learn. The other day there was a point where I think I can truly say I was meditating but it was difficult to maintain. Just goes to show how ferociously unfocussed my mind is. If I *try* I lose it but there is a level of effort involved. It's somewhat like balancing on a knife edge. Too much effort and I'm thinking about thinking. Not enough effort and I'm just thinking. Yet, in that infinite moment of now, when I am balanced it is, conversely, without effort. And it is a very peaceful place; quiet and still although I remain aware of everything around me, including myself meditating.

It is difficult to find the time. The best approach is just after doing yoga when I am energized yet relaxed. Rather than taking the classic meditation pose, I lay in shavasana (corpse pose). Figure if I can't meditate at least I can absorb the benefit of having practiced. The problem is and it's just one of space, is that I share the house. I can't very well ask Richard to bugger off for 20 minutes, especially when it's hot and miserable outside. If I shut myself in a room the cats would be pawing to get in and most rooms are too airless anyway. The living room is the only one with cross ventilation. But it seems Richard knows the time I should be about finished and comes in. I sit up and it's over for the day. As it is, the practice is getting longer and longer. I used to be satisfied with 20 minutes, then 30, 40 and now it's edging toward an hour and a half. I don't begrudge the time. Doing the practice is kind of timeless. It feels as though it takes much less time than it does and I'm always a little surprised when I look at my watch.

The more I practice yoga, the more I see and feel the need to try meditation afterwards. In a way, that's where the real benefit lies. Especially as I'm engaging my mind (or disengaging) in a new and significant way. It's like trying to flex a muscle that hasn't been flexed before. I remember when I tried to learn how to wiggle my ears. The muscles that control ear wiggling had never been used before. I was just a kid then, envious because Mom and Tam could both wiggle their ears. I'd sit and think about wiggling them and that somehow awakened those muscles so that I eventually could move my ears up and down. And still can. So, the *muscle* for meditation exists, it's just never been used before. I trust the more I attempt to meditate, the stronger it will become and the easier it will be to do it. I've even *felt* (oh, how flimsy words are in description!) that meditation space when walking the dogs. I've read of people who can meditate at will anytime anywhere. I know now that it can be done and that one day I'll be able to as well.

Dogs to continue to improve. Both got up from their beds yesterday when we had a visitor. Previously they couldn't be bothered. Notice tiny weight gains. Ribs not quite so sharp as before. Lights in their eyes brighter. Radar even thought he might go for a walk with us in the afternoon. At least he looked interested.

It's just after six. Coffee and cigarette to hand but am torn because the birds, wild and domestic, are starting to call/sing/squawk and I should start the catering. Three days ago I released Felicity. Suki, her beloved (and his name also means beloved) was released months ago. He returned in July, left again and then came back. The bond was so strong that I coaxed him into the aviary for a night of love. The next day I thought, what if? Felicity has tried to fly in the aviary but I was unsure whether she could gain height. Thought if I let her out we'd eventually catch her if she couldn't fly. That first flight was long and low but at the end, with great effort, she did gain a little height and flew into lower branches of the bahinia tree. Since then she's been in the veggie garden silky oak and yesterday in the poinciana where she came down and ate and ate and ate. Suki joined her and also ate. Then they tried to attack poor Byron through the mesh. The fighting and screaming was fierce. Byron gave up and plopped to the ground (he will never fly and with his deformed beak, even if he could fly he couldn't be released). So it's all good. It won't take long before Felicity is as strong a flier as any wild greenie. The first few days of release are always the most dangerous as they might get unwanted attention from a passing hawk - and we've got lots of passing hawks. Just have to find a friend for Byron who looks very lonely in that big aviary.

Meditation. Read an article on it in a yoga magazine and was reassured. Felt that I wasn't really getting any further along with it, that I must be especially ditzy because of thinking so much and reaching a certain level *sometimes* and not progressing any further. But it's not just me. It's normal. The mind might be recalled from thinking thousands of times before it can be retrained.

A few days ago I was having a good meditation, sort of, but I reached the place where I come to a halt. I'm focussed and at a level that is not quite daily consciousness, perhaps Kindy Meditation, and then I'm stuck. I don't think I'm thinking but perhaps I'm thinking because I'm aware of the 'barrier'. I feel focussed but also a little unfocussed as though my eyes are slightly crossed and the image is not quite sharp. And I'm antsy. 'Pushing through' isn't something that I associate with meditation as it is a state of relaxation but there's that feeling of something to be pushed *through*. And the unsettled antsy feeling finally halts my attempt and I come out, slightly frustrated, which is a feeling very conducive to meditation! Another problem I'm encountering is the difficulty in staying with it for more than 10 minutes. Set a goal of 15 minutes and made it to 13. Seems impossible that people meditate for an hour or longer. I'm aiming for twenty.

During our morning coffee on the deck yesterday we heard a woman screaming, screaming as though she was being attacked. Ran over to the dam paddock to see and it was someone, not Kylie, yelling at one of the dogs! I would've bet good money that she was being murdered. Don't know what the dog did but it was obviously a very bad dog. Brought a memory back of living in Port Douglas when I heard a woman screaming in the night, one of those still airless nights when sound carries. I did nothing. Neither did anyone else. Found later that she'd been beaten by her husband and hospitalized. Still feel guilty. Should've found a phone box and rung the police at least.

Almost a month since writing here.  Computer disaster.  Lost everything, including my novel, as I didn't back up (lesson learned!).  With hours of phone calls and a visit from Dell tech support (the first time), I got back online with a computer system as new as a recently unpacked computer.  Have learned alot which is a good thing. 

Missed entering a couple of drawings into the local exhibition  as I couldn't get the photos from camera onto computer.  I thought at the time that maybe that was a good thing as the drawing should be an end in itself rather than a competition.  I can be optimistic about most anything!  Anyway, since then I've done a couple of paintings with oil pastel.  One is finished and so colourful.  Beautiful vivid colours.  Not complicated but I like looking at it which is the point of the exercise.  The second one is almost finished.  They are learning exercises.  Oil pastels are different than chalk pastels and require a different approach.

Have started sugar soaping the walls in the living room.  The quarry court case has been delayed until September.  Either way the living room will be repainted.  A safe blue-grey if we sell and a deep dark red if we stay.  R is a bit worried about the red but I don't feel like playing safe anymore.  Yes, it might make us feel hotter in summer but it will help us feel warmer in winter.  With a worm hole skylight in the living room (another thing we'll do if we stay) the space won't look like a puncture wound.  Big plans if we stay and rather exciting to think about.  New aviaries for the birds, skylights, new decks, a safe outdoor cat area in the fernery, insulation; these are just a few things that spring to mind.  But if the quarry goes ahead, it's full steam ahead to move.  Either way life will be busy. 

Meditating after yoga.  Although I don't get to do it every day I do notice a subtle change.  Practice, although not making perfect, does help.  Of course the more I do it the more I am amazed at how easily I am distracted.  The trick is realising quickly that I'm thinking.  I am better at catching myself.  Maybe that's the only true improvement of these past few months.  Amazing that yoga has made such a difference to my life.  I notice the days that I miss the mat.  My health is better, my flexibility vastly improved, my breathing, despite still being a smoker, improved.  Yes, I know, terrible thing to do yada yada yada.  Believe me, I have the entire non smoking dialogue on repeat in my head.  Nevertheless, I smoke and I like it.

Amy Winehouse died yesterday.  Prayed for her to be at peace.  Everything in her favour, talent, quirky beauty, great jazz voice, youth and lost it all in a vein.  Got a residual feeling like I did at eight years old when Marilyn Monroe was found dead, thinking, arrogantly no doubt, that if only she'd had a friend who could help.  But that is an arrogant attitude for someone  has to want to be helped and  Amy and MM didn't.  Must be a terrible burden to have all this fame and feel, deep in your innermost self, that you're a fraud.  Don't we all feel that way sometimes?  I know I do.  Alcoholics and addicts beat their disease all the time but they have to love themselves enough to feel they deserve to be well. 

The people in Norway didn't have a choice.   Such a good looking young man, with opportunity and education, the world as his oyster and he threw it away along with 92 others.  He may have couched his murdering spree in rhetoric but he is just mad.  And famous.  Was that his point?  Fame at any price?  He was eager to confess.  Norway's maximum sentence is 25 years.  Perhaps that's a small price to pay for notoriety.

Dimitri is now taking seed and corn segments from my hand through the penthouse cage (his safe perch reached via a ladder through an old compost bin).  He's also taking seed from my fingers while I'm seated on the floor.  Plan to use the target stick to get him to step up onto my hand.  Not that I can ever stand with him.  He takes fright too easily and would plummet to the ground but it would be nice to have him perched on my arm while I feed him treats.  Would like to train him to allow me to scratch his head but as that is a 'dead man' behaviour it would be difficult.  Just know that once he was comfortable with head scritches he'd love it, especially when he's got those new porcupine feathers in.

You Can Trulty Trust the Doors to Open While You Rest and Wait and Hope

Flitting between working on a drawing and this computer and watching The Comedians by Graham Greene on telly.  Have rather settled here though because I started reading Leo Babuata's Zen Habits, a pastime I feast at rather than snacking now and then.  Anyway, one of his blogs led to another blog and to an artist called Jen Lemen.  She does these illustrations with vivid primary colours of comforting sayings and simple representations of people and things.  The art work isn't my cup of tea but one of her images really resonated because of what it said.  The illustration is titled You Can Rest Now.  "You Can Rest Now, She Told Me.  You Can Truly Trust The Doors to Open While You Rest and Wait and Hope." 

I've noticed a couple of times while resting in meditation that tears well up unbidden.  When they do it is because I've reached a place of rest where me, the conscious ego side becomes aware in a dim sort of way of the timeless eternal me.  This timeless part of me comforts me.  I know in its presence that I can relax, that I am safe, that it's all right, that I don't have to try so hard, that I don't have to feel guilty about being me nor do I need to be afraid that my life is not a success because I'm not perfect.  I know I do not use my time well.  I know that I waste time on trivialities.  I also know that I carry an enormous tonnage of guilt because I have everything, absolutely everything here at my disposal for a successful well-lived life and I waste it.  If I had to struggle for food, shelter, safety, peace, I would not worry about how I'm living life, I would just want to live.  Yet, in this bosom of well-fed Western existence, I doodle nonsense designs with time. 

So this deep (for me) place reached while meditating, this true-feeling place, does this mean it is the truth, that being me, with all the accompanying faults and habits clinging, limpet like, is enough?  Maybe it is me that must do the forgiving.  How to be Your Own Best Friend and all that. 

I do feel that I am edging, snail like, to a state that is less guilt-ridden.  On the exterior I am thisclose to being vegan.  I've given up cheese except for a can of commercial parmesan which is still in the fridge along with eggs bought from a neighbour's daughter who has a few chickens.  I won't replace them when they're gone.  Thought it would be hard but it hasn't been.  An unlooked for side effect is that I've lost weight.  I've lost 3.5 kg since November, the last kilo in less than a month (since foregoing cheese).  Also, I feel better in myself, physically lighter and less 'clogged' but also emotionally because I no longer am a part of some poor cow's suffering (or goat's, for the rennet).  There's a feeling of relief. 

Jen, the yoga instructor, is away until July 19.  She has given me enough to work on until her return.  Not me personally but things I take away from her class.  Asanas I find particularly challenging are always included in my session.  I've gone from doing yoga in 30 minutes when I started 2 years ago to taking an hour and a quarter.  Oddly enough the time goes quickly.  Some days are better than others.  But every day I do yoga is a good day.  Except today.  I've not done it today as we've been expecting a couple from down the road to come look at some horse gear.  It's getting on to 3 and they still haven't come.

One happy and unexpected surprise is that R has been doing 10 to 20 minutes yoga with me for the past week.  I am very proud of him.  He's finding it very difficult as he's very stiff (he is after all 65) but am confident with consistent practice he will reap the  benefits.   

Osama Bin Laden

There is no doubt Bin Laden was a man without scruples who relentlessly caused misery and heartache to thousands of people but I am uneasy that he has been assassinated without the benefit of trial.  When I heard the news I felt the only outcome from this action would be reprisals.  Violence begets violence.  It is cosmic law.  At the end of a fair and open trial, if the law allowed it, he probably would've been executed, at the very least he would have spent life in prison but this execution gives those dissatisfied individuals more reason to make a martyr of him and kill in his name. 

I find it hard to believe that a supposedly civilized society has resorted to this.  Surely, even in the heat of battle, bin Laden could have been disabled enough to take his weapon  from him.  The Navy Seals would have been briefed.  They would know what he looked like.  Yes, they had to protect their own lives but I can't see how ... ah, just heard on the news that Bin Laden was apparently unarmed.  That makes this even worse.  

The world witnessed the Nuremberg trials  as well as the trial of Saddam Hussein among others.  One of Bin Laden's co-conspirators awaits trial in Guantanamo Bay.  It is not without precedent to bring the face of evil into the confines of a courtroom.  Why not  Bin Laden? Are we really so hungry for revenge killing?  If we are to save ourselves and our planet we have to lift our game.  That means not only treating each other with fairness, even those among us who have done great evil, but the animals that share this world with us.

There is tragedy at this place too.  A few nights ago a fruit bat electrocuted itself on the wires between the house and the road.  The following night, another bat, perhaps its mate, electrocuted itself right next to the first one.  Terrible things surround us.  On the way home I saw a dead cat at the Tent Hill turnoff.  It looked like a Siamese.  Then, near the rest area by Ma Ma Creek, I saw a kitten perhaps 12 weeks old, hobbling across the road holding its right hind leg in the air.  It was a spotted kitten.  I pulled over, to the wrong side of the road, and tried to coax it to me but it ran into the long grass of the verge.  And I cry with the sadness of it.  I know I can't save everything.  That there are creatures every second of every day who endure great suffering.  If I were Buddhist and evolved I would be able to, with compassion, remove my own suffering at their suffering.  Because there is nothing I can do except pray for the release and relief of all suffering.  

Went to yoga last night.  Good as always.  Still trembling with weakness in poses.  Still improving albeit slowly.  Was inordinately pleased to get a 'good Holly!' from Jen while doing a pose.  Should be over that need for validation.  Guess I won't be until I'm dead.  During the meditation after class, and Jen has this great tape of men ohming Buddhist or Tibetan like ohns in layered harmony while waves hiss and crash in the background,  I wandered in and out of focus as usual.  But then for a moment, I found this dark quiet peaceful point at the center.  And cried.  Not weeping, just tears forming beneath my eyelids.  Why?  Because I was filled with such yearning.  Yearning for that peace, when all this prickly brittle seeming reality surrounding me shatters and I come home.

I think I'm finally getting into a rhythm. A retirement rhythm. Unfortunately although I like being spontaneous I function best with a routine, albeit a loose one. Perhaps I'm not the only one that, if I have an hour to do a, b and c will have no trouble accomplishing same, but if I have an entire day to do a, b, and c, I may not even get through a. Getting up early helps. Fell into bed at 9:30 so got up at 5:30. Took the dogs for a walk (before the heat) and have already done the yoga hour too - and it's only 10:40. Haven't cleaned the house yet but that's something that can be done even in the afternoon if need be. Or commercial breaks if I'm watching the midday movie and drawing, which is something I like to do. Unfortunately I'm not a purist and don't close myself away in the studio with classical music and a vision. I"m propped on the couch with a drawing board, a coffee and the tv. If it's a good movie, I'll watch more than I'll draw but if it's a bad movie I'll draw more than I watch. I've got the end tables to hold drawing materials, the aforementioned coffee and two good lamps. R bought me this lamp a year or so ago which is a good light for drawing by - no heat either.

The studio as such (computer room cum studio) is too small and stuffy. I can't get far enough away from my work to see it properly. And it's claustrophobic in that to get the light I have to face the wall. Here at the computer I'm facing the bank of windows and don't feel shut in.

Anyway, this is just a thank you entry really. I am very happy with my life. Contented. Perhaps it won't last but while it is it is appreciated.

(Not to say nightmares don't lurk in the undergrowth - dreamed R left me and was so despairing I woke up).

I suspect, with hope and optimism!, that consistency is making a tiny impact on meditation. Some days are just horrible and then today, all huge 11 minutes of it, there was a moment, half a breath, when I was brushed by a quiet and peace that was deeper and felt like a glimpse of what meditation may be all about. Reading an article in Australia Yoga about making a groove in your mind that deepens with practice so that it is easier to go there with each session. That made sense.

It's starting to rain again, no thunder at least. Tadpoles are in every standing body of water. Most of them will have the opportunity to turn into frogs. Many seasons eggs are laid, tadpoles form and then they die because the waterholes dry up. We have a chorus of frogs in the fernery off the bedroom. They are so loud you think you'll never get to sleep yet in some strange way they are soothing and I drift off listening to the chorus. I don't know how they do it but they'll sing in unison and then, on some hidden signal, stop. No one keeps singing, no one voice croaks on for half a note. It's as though a radio was switched off. Starting up again isn't as all-encompassing. One frog will make that initial, somewhat tremulous, croak and then it's on, wave after wave of sound.

Synchronicity and Cary Grant

Sometimes things happen that have no logical explanation. R and I took the whippets for a walk on our dead end dirt road. Beautiful sunny day, warm after a cold winter night. So warm I removed my sweatshirt and hung it on a roadside reflector to pick up on our return trip. Which I did. The old royal blue sweatshirt has a hole in the back, no doubt the result of climbing through a barb wire fence. Stuck into this small hole was a many branched twig, some kind of Australian native. It has five small twigs jutting out from the central branch. It's only about 10" long. It is also covered with tiny deep blue, almost purple flowers. I've never seen anything blooming in the bush with flowers that colour, nor did I see anything around where I'd hung my sweatshirt resembling it.

So where did it come from and why was it placed so precisely in the hole of my shirt? Only one car passed us on the road and I'm sure the occupant wouldn't have done it. Just not his style. Besides, he would've had to have the plant with him and he's just not that interested in nature.

So it sits beside me on the desk, wilting slightly but with the colours of the tiny flowers still vivid. Is it a sign?

I'm a great believer in signs and synchronicity. When I am in the right frame of mind I see the Universe speaking all the time. Speaking to me in a language which is pertinent to me. That may sound mad yet if the stuff of the universe is mind stuff, why not? What is a thought but a form of energy. Everything solid is a form of energy. It has to be malleable. It has to be coherent. One wavelength amplifying or cancelling out another or just making white noise. It is all so mysterious but at the same time so bloody obvious.

For instance I was born on the 29th (11) day of the 11th (11) month in 19 (1) 55 (1). Elevens and twenty-twos have figured prominently in my life. Strictly speaking 1955 would be a 2 but for purposes of this I prefer to see it as I've set out. Today I was looking at Cary Grant (who wouldn't?). I'd gone there after looking up something else and one thing led to another and then there I was with Cary. Turns out he died in Davenport Iowa on November 29, 1986 at 11:22pm. I hadn't met to find that but I still think it's significant. Significant of what I don't know. My own particular idiosyncracy?

Unfortunately I am often out of touch with the Language and signs. I am too caught up in the white noise of my own mind chatter to see the bleeding obvious. One of the things I hope yoga will teach me is how to lose some of that, to be aware of the moment, to be IN the moment. To be still and know God or whatever you want to call it. Powers That Be works for me. There is Something but I've too many negative connotations associated with the word God.

I've been trying to meditate off and on for years. Much more off than on. Who would've thought simply following one's breath and focusing on that to the exclusion of anything else would be so hard? It is damned hard! I may get one or two breaths where I actually follow the breath, I am in the breath and then bang! I'm thinking that it's time to change birds (change in that it's time for Cornelius to go in his cage so Tachimedes can come out) or remembering some snippet of conversation from work. It seems my mind has a brilliant work ethic. It does not want to sit idle and watch the breath go in and out. It's got places to go (flights of fancy), people to see (ancient history or wishful thinking). Bludging on the job while awake is not in its job description. However. I am determined to rein in my over zealous workaholic brain and convince it that calm quiet attention is not in breach of its Lifetime Contract.

Maiden Mother Crone

There's a strange dichotomy to growing older. I've left the Maiden years far behind, and have recently bid adieu to the Mother and am now standing firmly if somewhat querulously on the shifting sands of The Crone. I see the deepening lines on my face, the map of my life. Part of me, the public part, says yeah, I'm proud of every one of them.
I remember photos I saw once of Georgia O'Keefe and Helena Rubenstein. Georgia O'Keefe had her haired pulled back into a severe skull-hugging bun. Frankly I don't remember how Ms. Rubenstein was wearing her hair although I suspect it was in a styled society matron helmet. Ms. O'Keefe's face was a network of lines, crossing and criss-crossing her face. Ms. Rubenstein was well-preserved, pampered and young (for her age). But it was Georgia's face that was beautiful. Full of life, experience, it was a reflection of her inner being. Helena's lifelong attempts to preserve her youthfulness succeeded in preserving, to a degree, that illusion, but the success meant she had constructed a mask and her inner being was hidden.
So publicly I affirm that my face is what I've got after more than half a century of life and I'm proud of it. Inwardly, or privately looking in the mirror, I lament the loss. It's shallow and somewhat sad. Can I blame the fixation on youthfulness in today's society for my dissatisfaction? No, despite the daily inculcation that only the young matter I do know better.
The loss of beauty and youth is the price I pay for living. OTOH, I do fight against the loss of physical strength and suppleness. The gym and yoga help, especially yoga.
When I first started yoga it was so hard and so painful it seemed as if I'd begun too late. But every day there is some small improvement in flexibility. My back hurts less, I'm stronger and more flexible than I was. Mentally I don't meditate enough to notice improvement. That's something I need to address. Even allocating 5 minutes to following my breath, there is a second or two when my ceaseless mind chatter stops long enough to touch that still calm center. And then off I go again on another tangent of chittering chattering mindspeak.
I began this post because I was thinking about books and reading books. Twice in 2 weeks I've borrowed a book from the library and then after reading a few pages decided it wasn't worth reading. Is that incipient loss of mental power or the ability to concentrate or is it that my time is more precious now and I don't have to read everything I get just because I got it? I used to read everything. Even if I didn't like a book I'd read it. Now I can't be bothered.
I should be out riding today. Haven't ridden B since last week but it's cold and windy and quite miserable. I've got a painting to work on and The Book, which I haven't added a word to in 2 weeks. R is away until late tonight and gone again tomorrow which gives me the opportunity to work uninterrupted. I should also spend time with little Tach but it's not very comfortable to open this room to the winds coming in off the verandah (and feeling like they're rolling off the glaciers of the Antarctic!) so I go out and make quick visits and long for summer.