There seems to be so much madness in our world today. Wednesday morning a man was seen praying, standing on top of his car in traffic. Not long after there’s a car chase and crash on the University bridge. It took hours to clear the bridge. We had to take an alternate route to get home. We were lucky not to be on the bridge when it happened. It’s dangerous reading the news in the morning. News of violence so near can and has colour the rest of my day.
My mood can turn on a dime. When it happens, it is usually not in the right direction. It’s good for me to recognize this. I can pause, breathe and think about how I will deal with it. Byron Katie’s The Work came to mind. I’ve learned to ask my own questions. What if I don’t have this feeling? is what I asked myself today. And how can I rid/change it?
It’s difficult to protect oneself from the bad stuff because we all live in the same world. So I’m turning to my keyboard and my cuppa Orange Pekoe for comfort. My tea, of course, is not black. That would offer me no joy. This morning the scale at the gym told me I gained a pound. I try not to feel crestfallen. I think of it as a pound of muscle. I do feel trimmer. I’m adding more aerobics to my workout. Today I did 50 skips of jump rope and 10 minutes of the bike. My goal is to work up to 100 skips at one go eventually.
It helps that today was bathed in sunshine. Taking my father out for coffee helps, too. It gives me a sense of purpose. Seeing my pink door as I drove off helps, too. Sunshine and colour are good for the heart.
I am feeling somewhat despondent off and on these days. I am not fighting it but I am not letting it overtake me either. I am still able to not rain on another’s parade. I am not at all full of vim and vigor. I am full of languor. I would like to just sink into a puddle. I don’t. I plod along as best as I can. It takes me longer to do anything. I am not saying, this, too, shall pass or this is normal. Nothing feels normal any more. It is not a bad thing. It makes me look at life with new eyes. I still have the passion for a well-lived life.
My mood have led me to think of the Work of Byron Katie and the 4 questions:
Is it true?
Can you absolutely know that it’s true?
How do you react, what happens, when you believe that thought?
Who would you be without that thought?
They are very good questions to ask. I should ask them more often. They made think about how I would be without my thoughts and feelings of despondency. They stirred me enough to show up here to engage in some words. I had fallen somewhat out of love with them lately. I had lost a sense of purpose for them. I started to question, what does it matter anyways? Who reads them anyways? Then I remember that I write mostly for myself, to help and guide me out of these moods. So I ask myself: How would I be without these thoughts and feelings?
I would be more cheerful and positive. I would have a sense of purpose and direction. I would have more energy. I could move and not be stuck and mired in thoughts and feelings. I could get things done. I experimented and tested letting go. Did I tell you I finally called the plumber and got the kitchen drain unplugged? Well, I did. And everything went whoosh down the drain. More than a few dollars went that way, too. I thought: Do I want to hang onto those dollars and sewage or can I let them go. I have to admit fixing the plumbing is one of the most satisfying feelings in life.
I am feeling a bit better, more lively, but not ready to do a jig yet. I got a few ugly jobs done, like chucking out some Jerusalem artichokes fermenting in brine from last year. The thing with storing things out of sight is they become out of mind. They did pop up in my head once in a while but I quickly banished them. Today I brought them out into the light. They weren’t terrible looking but they weren’t pretty either. They were soggy with a layer of white stuff on top. They say that it’s normal when fermenting vegetables. They are now in the compost.
The kombacha was next on my list. I can’t remember when I had stop drinking and making it. I had a few jars sitting under my kitchen buffet. In one jar, the kombacha became a scoby. It was still viable. The next jar had completely dried up, including the scoby. I had to soak and scrape it out. My biggest jar still had some very strong kombacha with bunch of scobies. My first impulse was to rid it all but then I thought I shouldn’t throw out the baby with the bath water. So I saved one scoby and 1/3 cup of kombacha, brewed some fresh tea to make a new batch. I will see how it turns out. Maybe it will be delicious. Life is hard.
onethousandandtwo 