Change the channel to OFF

I was swimming laps last night at the high school again. My ankles are bothering me a lot and walking has become quite painful. But I realize that if I don't lose weight the foot problems I've been having will not subside but worsen. This causes me quite a bit of anxiety. So as I'm swimming I'm wondering how long and how hard I should swim to have some positive effect on my weight. And then something very satisfying occured to me. Even if I was just splashing in the pool it was helping me.

Even if I was just painting, it would help me. Even if I just went up to the church, or to a lecture, or to a movie it would help me. The reason is this: I wouldn't be sitting in front of the TV nibbling on food! As long as I was engaged in some type of activity and not eating, this was a good thing! So it didn't matter how many laps I did in an hour, or that I didn't get a walk in because I was painting, the main thing was that I wasn't eating!

So just by changing the TV channel to "off" is a positive. It's not that I watch all that much TV, I don't. I do not have cable and most of the shows I find disturbing (they are all about death!) or just stupid (even the nightly news is full of political and pharmaceutical propoganda!). But it so happens that some nights I come home from work and I'm just psychicly exhausted. I just want to turn on the TV and zone out. The trouble is, I don't just zone myself out, I zone out my husband and I zone out my kids and I zone out the world outside, and I eat. The TV acts like a sedative, or some kind of neuro transmission blocker. My senses are dulled, all except the part that craves food. I attribute this to boredom. So there is some cheese, and some olives, and maybe a piece of toast with peanut butter. This goes on until bedtime.

Lately I haven't been indulging in this routine because I have been diagnosed with GERDS and it is harming my vocal chords. Anyone who knows me will attest to the fact that I love to sing. This danger to my vocal abilities really sobered me up about the crossroads my body has come up to. It's up to me to change my habits so I don't harm my body anymore than it has already been harmed. It's funny I couldn't run that tape just for obeisity, but we are strange creatures. What makes us really strange is our minds.

One of the behavior modifications of GERDS is to not eat anything 3 hours prior to bedtime. Sounds easy doesn't it. Try it. If you are like me, sometimes dinnertime and bedtime are only minutes apart. This has caused me to analyze my nightly habits. What happens with me and food when I come home from work at night? The TV routine was the first thing I noticed. How it is dysfunctional on so many levels. I'd find myself in front of the TV, emotionally unable to handle interaction with my family or responsibilities around the house. I took my mind's eye and looked down at myself from the ceiling fan. What I saw wasn't pretty. At this point I took the remote control and changed the channel to OFF.

The trouble is, after you do that, what's next? It's like snapping out of a coma. You're a little disoriented. A little unsure of reality. And most of all, you haven't got a clue what to do with yourself. Engage in the world around you? What? How can I do that? I'm exhausted from a long day at work.

But it doesn't take long for me to find something to do to amuse myself. And there's all that stuff I'm supposed to be doing anyway. It's not getting done while I'm sitting on the sofa. Mostly, I've been trying to read a little more. Lately I've been trying to get back to living with my family (this is harder than it sounds). Projects are getting done, and I'm actually sleeping better.

So even though I'm not logging in a 20 minute walk everyday, I'm finding something to do at night that keeps me occupied and away from the trough. Away from "boredom eating", or whatever the term might be. And it has also envigorated my life in ways that help me swim through the nights at home with a little more bouyancy, a little more calmness, and a little more love.

union

I'm trying to find a way to get more in touch with my body. I know that sounds silly, because I'm right here, I'm mostly body. But I rarely feel it, only when it aches. I rarely revel in the wonder that is my body. Even in its overweight and decrepit state, this body is miraculous. This body moves through the day, executing the tasks my mind endeavors it should take. But do I take even a half hour out a day to honor this wondrous creation? This miracle of biology, this manifestation of a union my mother and father engaged in 48 years ago!

People like me don't give our bodies enough credit, hell, we don't give them any credit! Like a bad parent, the only time we really pay any attention to them is when they rebel. But I want to be a good parent to my body. I want to revere this envelope where my soul resides. I want to travel through my time here in a nice vehicle, not a clunker. And it was a nice vehicle. I just didn't get frequent tune-ups, neglected giving it the best fuel, and never took it on any carbon runs.

The problem is that I think of my body as a separate entity from my consciousness. But it is not. My body and my mind are one. Why isn't that part of my normal state of being? Why does everything my mind indulge in exclude my body? And what is the condition of working out known as the "zone?" Is that a union of mind and body?

The word "yoga" means union. And with the stretches and breathing you are supposed to attain a union between your mind and your body. The times I have practiced yoga consistently, I have felt this union, but only briefly. My body tends to take over my mind and vice versa. I can never find that balance. But that doesn't mean I won't keep searching. Maybe the key was in the breathing. The breath. The praña. Life force. Because don't let the arrogant mind forget that the body gives life to the mind and the mind animates the body. They need each other. Yin and Yang.

As long as I have this body, and as long as I have this mind, I will keep trying to get them together, no matter how hard they fight me to stay separate. Maybe it will be fleeting, maybe lasting.

My body and I. Hopefully we can find a way to get closer, to share this great experience known as “life” to the fullest, and come to a satisfying and lasting communion. My mind needs to give my body a little more time. I have to convince my mind that there is something in it for her if she works out. She’ll be smarter, perform more efficiently, and stay more in tune. I hope I can trick her into exercising more and bring these two together, for both their sakes.

Printemps

Every year it seems winter gets longer. Even this year when we didn't even get cold weather until mid January, I was sick of it by February. Now it is the first day of spring (March 21) and I couldn't be more relieved.

But I must say, my much anticipated elation over the chirping of a house wren, or the blooming of a crocus was not to be. This year, that soaring feeling in my heart and the drunken feeling in my soul did not happen as it has in years previous.

"How could this be?" I asked myself. Where is that wild exuberance? Come to think of it, I didin't really have it when the first snow came like I usually do. Everything seems a bit muted this year. Am I getting tired? Am I getting too old to enjoy the things I once was so spiritually bound to?

So I put myself out there. I stepped out onto the porch. I breathed the fresh air into my lungs. I looked around. I looked up. I paused as my mind raced into the azure pool that is our beautiful sky. I tried to fly up there as I had done on so many other occasions before. But it wasn't effortless like it had been in previous years. I had to really focus, I had to really try to fly.

Have I become an albatros? What shackles me to this terrestrial dungeon? Can I ever feel myself and fly again? Or am I doomed to stay tethered here on earth until I die?

Well, I can only conclude that it is a symptom of being too overcome by problems and concerns here on earth. My ability to fly is being inhibited by my empathy, my debts, my family worries, and my health concerns. I now have to dig through a box of packing fodder to get to a small little vestige of a smile. And even if I find it, I can't hold it, it is ephemeral.

I don't like the prospect of having to count my days by the calories I eat. Something about that disturbs my inner being. It makes me want to rebel! It makes me want to eat. It's like I'm in a war with myself. One wants me to live and one wants me to die. But the whole of me just wants to be able to fly.

Has the world finally killed my inner child? Have I lost my inner child to worldly concerns and aspirations? Where is Puff? I hope he comes back and takes my heart on a flight over the shining lakes and bright flowers blooming. I hope he lets me off in a place that's not so hard, not so tiring, not so trying. And I hope he breathes the breath of spring into my lungs once again and leaves me to sit in the park behind my house, making purple, white, and green necklaces out of clover flowers as the breezes toss my hair, cool, and soothe me.

coping with the laps

The very thought of appearing in a public place in a swimming suit horrifies me. Add to the fact that the only swim suits made in my size are dorky looking things one could not possibly wear for swimming laps. But with the help of a friend, I actually made the journey and leapt in.

Once I'm in the pool, it's a whole 'nother story. It's a whole other world. It is baptism, redemption, rebirth. I'm reborn as one who can move freely, elegantly, and forcefully into the womb-like hug of the swimming pool.

Like a baptism, I am renamed when I am immersed in the blue waters of the high school swimming pool. The name I take is hopeful. The name I take is determined. The name I take is undefeated.

With each breath I submerge and stretch and look beneath the outer world of gravity and clumsiness, and into an inner world of breath, weightlessness, and reflection. The rhythm of the movements through the water are a meditation on paths taken and routes yet undiscovered.



On the floor of the pool there is a line of dark blue tiles. I presume this is to help the racers stay on course. At each end of the lane there is a cross, also of the darker blue tiles, I guess this helps the racer too. It is something they can focus on to help guide them down their path, and it is also a target to do a flip turn on. When the turn is completed you aim for the cross at the other end of the pool, and so on, the cross keeps you on course.

Staying on course. That's one of the hardest things for me to do. I meander here and there, thither and yon — mostly distracted by one thing or another. So many shiny objects in this world! And now, as I slide through the water and listen to the churning and bubbling and focus on that cross down there at the end I think about how desperately I need to keep on course.

As I pull myself through each stroke, each breath, and every dip below the surface, I feel the dirt and the imperfection of my day-to-day existence peel off and dissolve behind me in the scrubbing bubbles of my wake. Awake, unafraid, and keeping my eyes on the cross.

I want what she's got

..."Would you look at how pretty her hair is!... I wish I could fit into that dress.... I wish I could sing like that... I wish I was that talented... I wish I had a stable life style like her... I wish I was more consistent... I wish I could be more disciplined... How come she gets to drive that nice car?... Why can't I make that much money?... How come she can sell her paintings?... I wish I had gone the way she went with her career..." and so on.

I have come to conclude I'm a very sick puppy. One who needs so much love no one can possibly supply it. I want success, but I refuse to acknowledge it when it comes to me, even briefly. I want love, but I push it away if it is given too openly. I want to lose weight, but I keep eating. I want to exercise, but I keep finding reasons to sit down. I want friends, but when they call I can never seem to make the date. I want spirituality, but I am so skeptical I always have doubts.

Faith is a complex idea. Sounds simple. A one syllable word. It's like a breath really. Faith. Where is it in my life?... I wonder. In some circles it is looked at as intellectually inferior to have faith. Not practical. What you cannot see, why bother with it? There is enough we can see that we can't deal with already. In other circles it is looked at and embraced with so much enthusiasm the hypocracy is rampant! And if my faith isn't strong enough have I failed? Have I let everyone down? Have I been too human?

So then I look outside myself for acceptance. A classic case really. What is that passion that wells up in my heart? Is it of this earth? Is it from beyond? Beyond the bounds of imagination, cynicism, elitism, intellectualism, and sarcasm. And when will I learn to embrace and love myself? When I know who I am?

When will I know who I am? The shape as I perceive it keeps shifting. And I remain confused and bewildered while I stare into the glass darkly. Is it the part of myself that reflects god the part I have trouble seeing? Or is it the part that reflects man? I can see myself in the trees and the grass and the rocks and the storms, but I can't see myself in other people. I feel lost and so separate.

I need to find the faith to go deeper into myself. Past the crusty exterior and into the sensative mushy underbelly. Looking into the reasons I am so jealous, so dissatisfied, and disjointed. I'm ruptured, fractured, and fraught with fears of other people. It hurts so much when they go away, or die, and your soul feels like Swiss cheese.

Embracing yourself is very hard to do. Even harder when your dreams are dashed, your hopes lay in the gutter, and your physical being is soft and squishy. But, I have to have faith that I will come out the other side... what's the alternative?

Labels on vessels

I was washing some spaghetti sauce jars the other night. And as I washed them I worked very hard to get the labels completely off of them. I wanted to use them to store dry beans and grain in my cupboard. As the labels came off the jars, I noticed that it seemed that the shape and aspect of the jars changed completely.

I could see the jar in a whole new light. First of all, the light went right through the jar and I could see its true shape. Then it looked like the volume of the jar became larger and it seemed that it could potentially hold more. Then the light hit undulations around the sides of the jar and they shimmered so beautifully in the dim fluorescent light over my kitchen sink, I had to stop and admire the beauty of that clean, empty, label-free jar.

It got me thinking about the impact of labels. The ones we put on ourselves, the ones put on us by others, and the ones we put onto them! I thought how we limit ourselves when we place a label onto ourselves or someone else, because all we see after a while is the label, and not the person under the label, or anything that they do that tells us differently than that label.

Wouldn’t it be nice to wash off all the labels and see our selves and others just as we are, with our undulations illuminated in all their brilliance in the full light of day -- I wonder what suppressed potential we would find under all the expectations (negative and positive) that those labels bare. I wonder what accomplishments could be revealed, and how much our volume could be increased.

scared to relax

I was scared this week a lot. I was scared by the things that the government is doing to "protect" us. I was scared by reports about HPV. I was scared by my son's choice of movie rentals from the library. I was scared of driving home in the snow. I was scared of getting diabetes. I was scared I wasn't going to ever have time to make art again. I was scared I would never learn to sing a song the way I so want to sing it. I was scared I would never lose even a pound of weight. I was scared I wouldn't have enough money to pay all the bills. I was scared I was a hypocrite. I was scared my boss wouldn't like my work. I was so scared.

It didn't help that my brain was being flooded with hormones -- a condition commonly understood to be pms. Nerves fraying, tears flowing, and not knowing what the heck was going on. How could I possibly manage to stop all this fear?

But somehow I managed to make it through. I managed to make it to Friday.

I'm still a little short for the bills, and nothing I ever do will stop the government from their nefarious endevours, but somehow I made it out the other end and Saturday sits waiting for me.

Sweet Saturday!
I can sleep in! -- but I'll wake up at 5am anyway.
I don't have to go to work! -- but I have to clean the house and start the taxes.
I can relax! -- but I have to go to visit my mom in the nursing home, make sure my kids are kept amused, and catch up on my volunteer projects.

You know they say that stretching and breathing exercises can help you relax, but I find a good cry helps every time.