Practice

She practises weekend mornings.
She clasps her wrist behind her back better to resist the temptation
to guide the ball with a passing hand.
She dances the ball from knee to toe to head to torso.
Repeated, with variations, ad infinitum.
She loses control of the ball.
She keeps her composure.
She retrieves it.
Starts again.
No temper.
No exasperation.
No whoops of delight.
Just focus and concentration.
I hear the bounce as the ball meets the tarmac.
She makes no other sound.

I stop what I am doing and watch.
Respect.

You may have seen this in which case you'll understand.

Bulletin

Subject: 1 pale ginger cat. Neutered male.

Age: C. 14 years.

Health: The heart is strong. The remaining teeth aren't wonderful but in view of the risks of giving a cat with kidney problems a general anaesthetic, the vet's advice is to leave things as they are.

Behaviour in the surgery: Impeccable.

Location: In his favourite spot where he has appointed himself guardian of the newly acquired, ahem, Money Plant. As usual he ignores the neighbours.

Weather outlook: Sunny.

Hard Cash

I worry about tomorrow's money. What's not to worry about?

Will my (very small) pension be enough? How will I manage on my own with the utility bills rising all the time? I lie in bed at night when I get these attacks, reproach myself for all the wrong financial and life choices I have ever made and imagine how I will live as a bag lady.

Self pity and insecurity don't make for a happy mix, and it's pretty obvious if I read the paper or watch the news that there are so many in a similar or worse situation. As the world population goes, believe me, I'm in the fortunate half. Even in the UK I'm not doing too badly. No debt. No dependents. None of this makes me feel any better.

So I’ll have to work as long as I can. OK. Fine. Find something that is worthwhile and makes my heart sing, or at least doesn't make it sink, and I'd definitely choose to be occupied and happy.

I have a good and exceedingly well-heeled friend who owns a couple of rental properties, who has a portfolio of stocks and shares, who is a Buddhist and who also worries about becoming a bag lady. In my more jaundiced moments I roll my eyes. This is unfair to her. I love and trust this woman and believe that when she tells me what she is feeling she is telling me her truth. Her fear is very tangible.

Her teacher tells her that she is powerless over outside events. That her best defence against financial, or any other, uncertainty is to live simply, kindly, in each moment, to make each second a mindful and one-pointed one, and to meditate. That’s it, aside from normal prudent budgeting.

Beyond logic. Yet at a deep level I know this is the answer. What is important is to accept that I see through a glass darkly and what I have to do is to finish this post then go downstairs and start the washing machine. Make a phone call. Take the cat to the vet at 9 o'clock. Mow the lawn. Laugh at jokes. Watch for opportunities today. Tomorrow. In six months time. Oh, and give some coins to the busker.

Leap into the chasm. No alternative when you really think about it. I’m still queasy and scared. I wish the ever-present fear would go away, but it doesn’t. In the here and now I'm not permitted (or required) to have all the answers. I hate that.

Face

One of a pair of stone carved heads on either side of an iron gate in Ludlow, where I met up with a friend a few weeks back. No idea who or what they are, nor of their age, though obviously this one has sustained damage during its existence. But the broad face with its high cheekbones and fleshy lips and those large, hooded eyes, is so compelling. I've been wondering whether a real person served as a model or if this very human representation in fact originated in the mind of the sculptor .....

The image keeps drawing me back. I'm not even sure if it's male or female. Raw material for the imagination to chisel and shape.

Visible

Small town living:

- I run into the massage therapist unexpectedly in the health food café and we exchange a bear hug.
- The owner of the Aladdin’s cave of a hardware shop greets me by name and when I request some heavy duty adhesive for a very small job, goes out the back and for a couple of pennies slips me half a tube of Supaglue that he had left over from some work he had done on his own account.
- The bus driver who tells me to take care, love, and mind how you go as I get off at my stop.

Initially I was thrown by the absence of anonymity. Not what I was used to at all after London or Paris. Being visible, recognised, felt threatening.

Now I welcome it.

****

Impossible to describe the shifting landscape, the promises that haven't thus far materialised but which feel so very imminent, the hopes that can't be dwelt on for long because they might vanish under scrutiny. Work. Love. Can I remember that both require strong boots, not glass slippers? Hold steady when the sirens start their song and the ropes with which I’ve tied myself to the mast as a protection from illusion prove to be as fragile as - secretly - I knew they were all along?

****

….. there is such complexity in us and so many layers to the human heart that we rarely ever encounter ourselves.

Anam Cara
John O’Donohue

Four

Refocussing

So much rain. Through the window of the bus the summer foliage moves in and out of focus, the tracks of the raindrops on glass creating a hall of mirrors effect. A routine pause at a crossroads is transformed.

I'm not around here much at the moment. The absence is necessary but I miss my online world - especially reading other blogs. I'll catch up when I can.

....

What would you like to do long term, somone asks. Pieces of the answer are easy. Grow the massage work. Grow food and flowers. Develop a thicker skin and a peaceful heart. For the rest, I sit with with the question and strive for zen-like calm and insight. The snag is that I need to earn money.

I update the CV. When the answers don't come, do the footwork. And footwork can be surprisingly therapeutic.