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If it's not about this, then it's about that. Or, as someone once said, what if the hokey-pokey IS what it's all about? That gives us pause, doesn't it? And if we have paws does that make us cats? Or dogs? Or any of the other four-footed animals with whom we share the earth (though "share" isn't exactly the word, is it? Not a lot of sharing goes on once Man gets into the picture).
Another creature to consider: how doth the busy little bee improve each shining hour! Yet another aphoristic nineteenth century writer telling us how to live. And boy! Have we taken that one to heart. I was reminded of it this morning as I sat on my big red ball (for repeated bouncing and tiny movement and good posture) and as I waited for my creaky old computer to respond to my clicks I did spinal twists—to the left, to the right—to loosen up my own creaky bones. Never waste a minute. Shoulder shrugs, slow head turns to one side then the other drawing on the instructions from teachers past and present: yoga, Continuum, the osteopath, the massage therapist. For someone who hates being told what to do or how to do it, I certainly have put myself in the path of a lot of teachers.
So here I am, improving each shining hour to the best of my ability. The reason? Because I can? Because I should? (Whoa! There's the forbidden word.)
Let's move on. Many thanks. Thanks for righting me at each stumble and before I land on the concrete. Thanks for letting me live this long because in terms of learning we all know I got off to a very slow start. I needed those extra years just to get me up to the level of the playing field. Thanks for DinoVino in my life. His miraculous appearance at exactly the right time brought me to Canada, to a world of healers, sounding, teachers. And to the Moving Pen phenomenon, without which I would have continued to refuse to write, my innate laziness (or my incorrigible nay-saying stubbornness) overcoming any ability I might have had. Even now, it's true that I would rather read than write. But Moving Pen kept my toes to the fire, pushed and prodded me (in the very nicest way) and brought out my inner Ogden Nash, Dorothy Parker, Edna St. Vincent Millay. Wish I could say my inner Pemo Chodron, but I'd have to be someone else entirely for that one.
I was in the midst of thank-yous, wasn't I? My three children and five grandchildren. Watching them go through life's vicissitudes (that's the ups as well as the downs) has taught me a lot about when to let go and how to support. They fill me sometimes with pride for who they have become, regardless of whether I can take any credit for that. I revel in their accomplishments but also in their failures and their own learning.
Eileen, my sainted Irish mother, had a vision (or seemed to have a vision, as I look back on it) that our family was uniquely blessed. Exceptionalism, we might call it today. She seemed to feel that nothing bad would ever happen to any of us. It was a limited view, and luckily she was wrong. We are all of us simply human, subject to life's blows and rewards. That's as it should be.
Musings blog: http://www.scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com
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