Complete Conviction

My yoga teacher is a wonderful human being. She’s someone to learn yoga with, as well as learn how grow old. She has this grace, sensuousness, playfulness that is delightful to observe.

My yoga teacher often talks about spiritual and practical aspects of death and dying. Yesterday, she spoke about our life energy and how it is something infinite. How this energy/spirit/force/soul is there before the moment of birth and remains after we have died. She spoke with such conviction and clarity; she opened a door in my mind.

This made me realise why I’ve been so interested in Barack Obama these last years. It has been so long since I’ve heard someone speak with conviction and clarity. Yes, his speeches are scripted. And, yes, he is just trying to do his job to convince voters to vote for him. Yet, he seems to do it from a deep conviction and that can open people’s mind to new possibilities.

Busy day today... my mother-in-law is moving into the small bachelor apartment across the hall from our apartment. A huge pot of chili con carne simmers in the kitchen. Coffee and tea are brewing.

Fortunately, the sun shines and her numerous son-in-laws (she has six daughters) and sons are all in good humour.

Last night, after she pickup the keys for the apartment, she placed salt, pasta, water, and rice on the windowsill. Apparently, this Italian ritual guarantees a happy home. It is important that these gifts are in the home as it stands empty, in wait for the move to come. Isn't that a good idea?

A Stay With My Father (Margareta in Sweden)

I ask an acquaintance of mine, Margareta, what her visits with her aging father are like. She answers, “It’s been difficult to visit him the last five years. I walk through the door for a weekend visit and Time Stands Still! I’d sit on the sofa and wonder what I am going to do the next few days… the clock on the wall ticks loudly… we are always finishing a meal or starting another.”

Margareta is in her late sixties. Her father is over 90 years old, though he still lives by himself. Even though Margareta lives more quietly and sedately than she did a few years ago, when she was still working, her life is hectic in comparison to her father’s life. He lives, what she calls, a warm toffee existence.

Mush Brain

My brain is mush. A friend from the States came by for a pit stop visit. We hadn’t seen each other in four or five years. I lasted visited her in NYC. She arrived in Luebeck yesterday afternoon and we talked straight through until the early hours of the morning. The birds’ song was already announcing the new day. Now, after a few short hours of sleep, I am awake but not alert.

I was nervous about seeing her again, for not other reason than bruised vanity. The last five years have not been gentle ones with my outward appearances. I’ve become grey, I’ve gained weight, and I’ve lost form. In other words, I’ve gotten older. I worried that she would take one look at me and say, “OMG, what’s happened to you?” and instead, she took one look and said, “What’s happened in your life and in matters of the heart?”

A decade in an adult life is meaningful, but it doesn’t make you into a different person. I realised this when introducing my children to my friend last night. She hadn’t seen them in eleven or twelve years. Not only are my children physically unrecognisable, they have developed into different people. I laughed at the difference between their development and mine. The changes from a four-year-old to a sixteen-year-old are enormous, between forty and fifty just a shift in gravity.