Tune Up

Last night I practiced the relaxation technique I learned this past weekend. In combination with deep breathing and particular postures, I came out of my forty minute reverie feeling like a million bucks.
    I hope to add this to my daily routine as a slow lead in to physical activity and spiritual practise. It is well situated between both.
    For many years I have hoped to learn techniques that would enable me to harness the energy I've glimpsed stirring in the palms of my hands. I am committed now to finish at least three weeks of daily meditative practise. I am unconcerned if the lengths of my daily text pieces decrease. I am unconcerned if my daily drawing habit skips a beat. I will still upload a text and a drawing daily knowing that my health takes precedent over these other concerns.
    I have proved to myself that writing is beneficial and that I am able to maintain some sort of discipline. Much clarity has ensued.
    The bunnies come and go with quality and I am ok with that.
    The meditation has been needing to start for far longer than I care to admit to myself.
    I am curious to see how it will affect the rest of my life.
    Stay tuned as I tune myself up for a future full of present days.

Slow Walking Thanks

To walk streets slowly is a gift. Every step intentional, every sidewalk crack another line in a vast sprawling poem that each new walk reveals another stanza of. The houses, the homes, the buildings themselves creak with character. The hockey stick garden posts, the porch furniture sagging, the paint jobs and the rusting banisters, bicycles teamed up like herds, chained to each other. The chalk drawings on walls and in alleys, on sidewalks are all blessings. The children are safe and they can scribble, they can add to and better the ill thought out sprayings of their elders. They can write games, inviting slow walkers to take note, reminding fast walkers to slow down. Where are you rushing off to ? Yoga ? Coffee ? Don't rush to where you can slow down. Slow down all the way there.
    The trees are waking up. The blossoms cascade over lawns. There are book boxes, sharing spaces, places that reaffirm our humanity. There are so many things to give thanks for every step on the long way roundabout  towards home. Gratitude comes with breathe, with slow and careful steps. Thank you.

On Scale

The theme that returns to me often when considering human life and the cosmos is scale. I have always felt an affinity to the very very small, often attempting to visualize my point of view wading through molecules. The vast empty space said to make up most of the atom, too, is inspiring to me. And one can't just isolate one atom with it's empty space. One needs to consider the whole array of atoms around us for starters. The very small isn't something 'over there'. It's simultaneous with here. It's everywhere.
    My fascination with the very small stems from being a kid and looking at things up close. We don't really do that much as adults. As kids we lay on the floor, our faces close to the tile, the wood grain, the rug. We look at things. We shrink ourselves down and push through the stalks making up the carpet pile, wondering what creatures we may meet. Those marvelous microscopes have shown us that dust mites do indeed live at the micro level along side a variety of creatures whose scale keeps them from freaking us out. The same goes for most things. Sparrows the size of dogs and there wouldn't be human civilization. Squirrels the size of houses, ditto.
    Once upon a time the earth was populated by giants. I don't know what accounted for the great size of the prehistoric beasts, but such things make children marvel. The very small, conversely, is made up of worlds within worlds. There are creatures negotiating our eye-lashes and our pores. There are creatures feeding off the flakes of dead skin we shed. The world has a very good resolution. If your eyes were good enough, you would just keep on seeing. The breakdown might occur at the atomic scale where abstraction may ensue.
    Moving on up, we scurry about the surface of this planet. Solar systems make up galaxies, Galaxy clusters make up super clusters. There is no telling what the final bird's eye view will yield. Too much science fiction has zoomed out to reveal the entire universe is a speck on the rim of some incalculably vast martini glass. And so on. Of course cosmologists have their own ideas and rightfully so. It's delicious, the thought of how the cosmos continues or doesn't, how it swings around and meets itself or how it doesn't. All I know is that considering the human situation without considering our minuscule aspect in relation to the greater world is as short sighted as considering our situation without looking at our relationship to the tiny.
    We flail in some middle. Our notion of middle is predicated on being able to perceive the smaller than us and the greater than us. We fail when we think we can raze the smaller, dismissing something as inconsequential because of it's small stature. Bacteria can bite us in the ass, wipe us out. Our superiority complex is selective. Again with the large, we think we rule the roost, that we are meant to suck dry the planetary resources we can scavenge. Some think that our industrial activities will render this planet lifeless, that we have the power to make a dent. We have a lot of power indeed and we are ravaging this world. Let us hope that our earth doesn't shrug or shiver, sending us back to the stone age way before we figure out how to reduce our carbon footprint.
    We are small, we are big, we are medium. We move up and down the scale depending on our instruments of perception and our imaginations. Our vision of the worlds 'next door' informs our stance. The more we encourage the view of life on other scales the sooner we'll dump our hubris. We'll see the continuum and our place sliding along it.
    Children are small. They see the world of the big as foreign. We've all been children. We've all had big folks push us around. Some of us can't wait to grow up and do our own pushing. Others grow up and swear they'll do no such thing. There is always someone smaller and someone bigger than us. Time to tip the scales.

Tiny Lessons In Magic

To make an easy sigil, write out the phrase you would like to focus upon. Strike out any letters that repeat, leaving one of each. You'll find that most letters fit easily into the shape of an H with it's top and bottom closed off, as if superimposed with an F and an L. This blocky figure eight can incorporate A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I,J,L,O,P,S,U if you sacrifice curves. Add a few diagonals and you can accommodate K,M,N,R,V,W,Y,Z. T and Q can make an appearance with another straight line well placed.
    This, of course, is for an efficient no nonsense design, the zen of sigils. You are most welcome to stick letter to letter forming a more ornate sign. It all depends what you are after. After completing the design that pleases you or your client the most, discard the original phrase by removing any written trace of it and try to promptly put it from your mind. Now take this abstract design and sit with it, place it on your desk, put it somewhere you can see it. Meditate on it and and and.
    And what ? Well, magic can occur. The so-called essence of the original, now forgotten phrase should be firmly implanted in your less than conscious mind where it can get to work transforming your sorry life. Or not. That's the gamble. This stuff isn't science.
   
    Sit in a dim room and face a blank light coloured wall. Dress comfortably in loose fitting clothes and take a few deep breaths. Raise your hands a foot or so away from your face and look at them. Turn them about, examining your fingers well splayed, gently bent, slowly moving about. Note how the shadows fall about your hands in the semi-darkness. Bring the fingers of each hand in close proximity without letting them touch. Softly move your fingertips to and fro away from each other. Don't try to see anything in particular, simply keep breathing and looking at your hands. Look at the space between your fingers also.
    Eventually, if you are lucky or good at this game, you will see light around your finger tips that cannot be accounted for in that dim room. You'll also see strands of light from finger to finger, pooling as you near them and stretching apart as you distance them. You may also see cascades of shadows cross your palms that do not reflect what actual light may be illuminating the room. If you are particularly graced that fine evening you may be startled to see flames leap from the centres of your palms. Do not panic. Remain calm. Keep breathing. The flames may dance there for a while. Avert your eyes and you may risk letting these visions escape you. Just like a dream upon awakening they will recede into another world and you may chase these flighty apparitions for years to come, maybe reliving them maybe never being able to see them again.
    And what were they ? They were things you saw.
    Were they really there ? Well, where else were they ? Of course they were there. You saw them.
    Does this mean they represent something real ? Walk around the block and think about what 'real' means. When you get home and you are certain what is real and what is not, then you've answered your question.
    If that walk around the block was the only time you've asked yourself that question and the answer satisfied you, you really need to take more walks. Walk every so often, maybe once every year or so and take stock whether your answers are the same. If your answers are always the same, you're most probably wrong.

Food

Emotional eating is a concept that has come to me recently. It fits the bill perfectly to describe some of my habits. I've always been a lusty eater, piling on the gusto. One bird-like ex admitted disgust watching me eat. Others claimed to salivate seeing me hunker down with the perfect sandwich. As the years went by I realized that I eat much too quickly. What might be fine and good for a young man of twenty five seems off putting and unhealthy for a man of forty.
    I always knew that I ate too much. I would hover over snack tables at parties and eat continuously. I was the guy at the art show going back for more cheese and grapes every three minutes. I could show up at your house unannounced just when a cake was being pulled out of the oven. A gift. I received gifts of food often. I am snack-rich, I would proclaim proudly. People just handed food to me. Small bags of treats. A piece of fruit. It still happens.
    Consciousness surrounding food happened some years ago. A friend told me her mother was at an Over Eaters Anonymous meeting. I was surprised because said mom was quite slim. I associated over-eating with larger people. I initially may have dismissed the mom-at-meeting story as an example of a neurosis. It was quite a while later when I realized I ate way past the full point. I ate fast to shovel more in while the getting was good. I'd have seconds, thirds. I would pick at whatever was left on the table. At weddings I polished off every course and even hit into the cousin's steaks.
    When my thyroid bottomed out in my late thirties I started re-evaluating. I thought my weight gain was from my semi-strict diet of beer and bagels. Alas, it was not so. My hormones weren't working. My energy levels, always so high, dropped down low and with it a large part of my self-identity. I was always hyper, speedy, full of pep, happy-go-lucky. Now I was slow and tired. It happened, the doctors told me, for no known reason and it was here to stay, this new reality. I'm on the synthetic hormone now, every morning for six years or so. I'm stabilized and a little more prudent. I can't get away with eating five burgers at the bbq anymore. I can't burn off that kind of heat. My guts have rebelled. My ass is saying watch it buddy, this won't stand.
    I eat when I'm stressed. I'm often stressed. I cram the maw before I realize it. I'm stressed over nonsense, of course. The tension sets me to automatic and I revert to a habit that once worked but today spells danger. I'm a happy gourmand at times and at other times a ravenous junkie, wishing there was a spot in the 'hood that served small bits of meat from out a window. Meat on a stick for two bucks. I'd be there daily. Followed by a sandwich. Then a muffin. Finally candy. Willy-nilly, anything following anything. Indiscriminate.
    I'm learning slowly. I catch myself. I know it's emotional now. It wasn't always. But now, there is no denying it is. My overdue taxes turn to snacks, stress over work and the walk I'm taking to clear my head becomes a grazing session. I need a stick to chew on to avoid the gas station jerky or artisanal baked good.
    I'm moving slower now. I chew more. I put the spoon down every tenth meal. I say grace. I savour a little more than before. It isn't easy. It's very difficult. It's my final frontier, at least I hope so.
    I'd love to see the pyramids. I think southern barbecue may come first. I don't think of landmarks, I think of diners.

Candle & I

Last night I sat down in front of a candle, lit it and stayed there staring for a while. I had awoken earlier with a maddening itch on my chin, worried about bedbugs. Can it be, was I bit ? I can't tear the bed apart now searching for a clue. Once awake at two in the morning, with an itch unexplained, it's hard to get back to sleep. I was self consciously scratching my face to no avail. If I were to stay in bed I would annoy my partner so I got up and went to the other room.
    I sat down in a chair that is proving comfortable day in and day out. I read a bit. The chapter in the book I've been slowly getting through was on meditation. It stated how beneficial the practice is. Science agrees. One portion mentioned how a particular researcher meditates on the job by focusing intently on the task at hand. I realized that as I read I was elsewhere, thinking of dropping everything and trying to sit still for a few minutes. I got back to the task at hand, which was reading, and continued until the end of the chapter.
    To think about how you have to go to the bank on the way to the post office is a condition that has plagued me to no end for many years. I'm not where I am. I fidget and scratch. Sitting still is difficult. I toss and turn, pull the sheets, move about, sigh and grunt. Chairs are bothersome. It takes effort to eat slowly, breathe consciously, be here now. Reading, I anticipate finishing the book and putting it down. My eyes drift to the bottom of the paragraph, the end of the page. Relaxing is not so. I cross the house to fetch a glass of water that I drink most of a second from the sink. I go back and fill it up. I reach my seat with a sip left in my cup. Repeat.
    I was reading about meditation and had to stop myself from ditching the book to meditate. Not a bad thing that, but let me at least try to read presently. I'll meditate later. I finished the chapter and, calmly, with intent and resolve, sat down on a soft spot, the babies lamb skin, and put a beeswax candle on the floor in front of me. I lit it and stared. I stayed there. I was there. Sure, my thoughts drifted. Who cares, let them drift. Don't catch them, don't turn them into stories, let them sail away. I was surrounded by plants and the sounds in the alley stopped as I started in earnest.
    The liquid on the skin of my eyes played light shows off the flame. It took me several slow unknown movements of time for me to creak my eyelids open so no light flickered or danced. The flame stood stock still. I stared. We sat locked into each other, that candle and I. The flame did not move. I kept my eyes in that position. I breathed deep. I let the images swim by. I didn't scratch my jaw. I relaxed. Two thirty in the morning, woken from sleep by a minor annoyance.
    I felt peaceful, not tired. My waking was of some good. I went back to bed with nothing itching and I slept. In the morning I had no new spots to scratch and no welts to worry over. I thought, I will sit in front of a candle again.