Value and worth, do I have any?

I'm not sure where I am going with this. I may start at one place and end up at another... let's see what happens.

Friendships change, I know that. Especially so, with friendships that span age and life stage differences. A while back, one (or even two) such perceived change(s) impacted on me so much that, after a time of wondering, I had to take action by making my thoughts and fears known - mentally and emotionally, I just could not dwell on it any more. I needed to bring things out in the open; to know where I stood and in so doing cease the endless turmoil of my mind. I also stood to gain the freedom to move on. All this wringing of hands and wringing of mind has prompted me to try and identify the life script that drives my thinking over these matters. What follows is an attempt to do just that. It may be incomplete and it may be imperfect but it is a start never the less.

As an adopted person, one of my most important needs is to have a value and worth. I don't mean self-value or self-worth, I mean a value and worth to others, to those outside of myself such as family and friends. After all, it is the actions or the non-actions of these very people that informs me of what my value or worth might be to them at any given time. This acknowledgement of my value and worth might say happen around Christmas time or it might be on my birthday or theirs for that matter but it could also happen at any other time of the year too. The same is true in other areas of my life such as work and my wider interactions with society but it is the closer stuff that really counts. Given that I've been around for some time now, I have to acknowledge that during ones lifetime, relationships can and do change and that nothing is permanently fixed. Saying that, I also have to acknowledge that some people, for whatever reason, appear to have enduring and meaningful relationships from cradle to grave but that is not my experience. My guess is that a therapist would say that I have a wounded soul and because of this, I sometimes seek reassurance and approval from others, as this is my way of measuring worth. I would say that the therapist is not far off the mark and I would like to add that I also have a thing about fairness and equality too. I naturally try to treat people fairly and in human terms, I see others as equal to me*. So, perhaps somewhat naively, I have a desire to be treated in the same way. Ooh, that reads like a complaint! It is not a complaint however, it is just me stating a need.

Abraham Maslow in 1943 produced a paper on his Theory of Human Motivation and the concept of a Hierarchy of Needs. A paper that I find quite fascinating. A paper that offers me understanding of my particular human condition and hence, provides me with clues to my own salvation. According to Maslow's theory, there are five levels of need and currently I appear to be stuck somewhere between the third and fourth levels; social needs and esteem needs. I do have to say here, that I have reached the fifth level before now and indeed dwelt there for a while but over time, I seem to have sunk back down again - nothing new there then! If you are reading this, then rather than repeat Maslow's words on the third and fourth levels here, why don't you click on the link above and see for yourself what I am wittering on about - you never know, this stuff might make you think too!

Happy Days.

*One thing I like about running, is that it brings together people from many walks of life where all have the opportunity to share a common experience that is free of social status or class.

Or is it?

Running and the Art of reading tea leaves...

I remember my mother and her friend Florrie, from over the road, reading the tea leaves. This ritual always seemed to happen on a Saturday or Sunday morning and involved the use of our best china teapot and our best china cups and saucers. These precious family items usually only saw the light of day when we had relations or guests coming for tea on a Sunday afternoon (itself a ritual) and so I inferred from that, that this tea leaf reading business must be a very important thing indeed. On top of that, the readings were always used as a sort of guide or pointer to what our family fortunes might be for the coming week and so over time, I unknowingly absorbed the rituals and secrets associated with the art of Tasseomancy. Jane Struthers in her book, The art of tea-leaf reading, calls this ritual 'The tasseomancy ritual' and states that, 'When you prepare for a ritual, such as setting out a special teapot, cup and saucer for your daily tea-leaf reading, you are automatically putting yourself into a frame of mind to carry out that ritual. The actions you take, such as setting a tray with the tea things and reaching for the special notebook in which you record your readings, will help to prepare your unconscious mind for what is to follow'. Long after these early childhood experiences of mine had been filed away and forgotten about, I had occasion to unknowingly draw upon them prior to running a 100K race in Mongolia. At the time I had no inkling that I was making an instant connection with my past in order 'to prepare my unconscious mind for what was to follow'. As far as I and a few other runners were concerned, we were just getting rid of our pre-race nerves by having some fun. Given that we were in a very remote part of Mongolia preparing to run in the 2006 Sunrise to Sunset 100K footrace, certain items were not readily available to us; alcohol for one - apart from the local industrial strength Vodka that is - and Indian or Ceylon tea for another. Tea therefore was brewed from local berries and of course the rather tough skins left in the bottom of our cups, were ideal for reading our fortunes; especially our fortunes concerning the very next day and the start of a race that would take us over high mountain passes and across the open steppes of Mongolia. The group of runners I was part of were a truly international bunch, as they had come from all corners of the world and most had never heard of, let alone seen someone perform the Art of reading tea leaves. So there I was peering into one cup after another and dispensing the fortunes of all who wanted to know. I can't remember all of the readings but there were two in particular that stuck in my mind. In one cup belonging to a Korean Fund Manager from New York there was a definite image of a rabbit made up of three fruit skins. The reading taken from this image, was that like a lucky rabbits foot, this rabbit represented good fortune for what was to come. The second reading came from a cup belonging to an American Chinese language expert. His cup also contained three fruit skins giving an image of a salmon leaping a waterfall - a sure sign of strength and stamina and again a good omen for what was to come. Both these guys and others who had been present were completely bowled over by these readings, as I was and from then on I was known as the Shaman. Needless to say that all went on to complete their race without mishap.

Why did I suddenly get the urge to read tea leaves and why was I named as a Shaman? Well, the part of Mongolia we were in, Hovsgol National Park, is a place where Shamanism is still practised and given that I love to run and be one with nature, I think that I unconsciously tuned into this belief system and 'hey presto', my previously hidden tea leaf reading talents came bubbling up to the surface for all to see. That's what I like to believe anyway. Oh yes, during the early part of the race, just after dawn in fact, I received a good omen too in the form of an antelope shaped cloud, which of course represents agility and fleet footedness. Have to say though that I hardly felt fleet footed towards the end of this race and I had suffered much to even get that far!

Happy trails.

A tale of a Sunday run...

Looking down Sprat's Hatch Lane on a November day.

Somewhere around 10.30AM today, I found myself at the Winchfield car park frequented on Saturday mornings by the Hart Road Runners Bridge Club. Not Bridge as in that exclusive card game played by thinkers and schemers but as in bridge over troubled water or in this case the Barley Mow bridge that carries Sprat's Hatch Lane over the Basingstoke canal. Today the car park was frequented by another group of out door types all of whom were members of the Canoe and Camping Club of Great Britain. As explained to me by one of their number, they are quite a nomadic lot and today they were all heading off up stream to King Johns Castle for a bit of an aquatic rave. My run was going to be a bit of a rave today too, as although I wasn't quite sure where I was going, I did know that I my run would start by doing the smaller of the Bridge Club runs in reverse. In other words, I was going to do my own thing and go down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of up. This reverse running can bring you benefits, such as seeing things from a different perspective - always a useful skill - and my previous blog, 'Breaking away from the 'norm',* gives an example of this phenomena. Anyway to get back to the run. My route,which I would describe as being in a state of flux at all times, turned out to be very enjoyable as it took me through countryside that I had crossed once or twice with other club members but had never crossed on my own, so today I would be finding my own way. In so doing, I found myself running across open fields and past huge flocks of honking Canada geese - honking because someone was crossing their feeding grounds with a large bird of prey sitting on their arm! I ran down unknown paths that led nowhere in particular and I ran along boggy woodland trails that also led me to places that I didn't really want to go to. Twice I ran past the same pair of ambling lovers, who walking in the opposite direction to me, were amazed at my obvious athletic ability and turn of speed and remained open mouthed as I said Hi for the second time that day. All an illusion of course, as just after I passed them the first time, my path had turned to run parallel to their own but they hadn't seen that, so not wanting to ruin their positive image of me, I won't be telling.

* Both blogs are taken from the same Sunday run. A sort of 2 for the price of 1 deal if you like.

Breaking away from the 'norm'...

It's amazing what new things you see when you run a familiar route in reverse. On Sunday, as part of a longer training session, I ran the shorter of the Hart Road Runners Saturday Bridge Club run but I did it the wrong way round. Whenever, I have turned up for this run we always follow the tow path from the Barley Mow bridge to Sandy Hill bridge, returning to our start point via the small copse on the opposite side of the canal and Sprat's Hatch Lane. Because I am unfit, the long drag up Sprat's Hatch Lane leaves me breathless and in this heaving lungs state, my senses are dulled. Well, today I ran alone and I went off running easy down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of puffing up it and almost immediately I began to see things that I had not really noticed before; in this case a series of standing stones. The first of these stones can be found in amongst some scrubby trees just past a ruined wooden shed and what looks like heaps of old garden detritus. The second of these stones can be found further down the lane squeezed between a small tree and a boundary fence and the third stone stands alone in a small field just past the thatched cottage that backs on to the canal. These standing stones carry no markings but they do appear to be equidistant from each other and that suggests to me that they have or have had a purpose. Being inquisitive, I would like to know what that purpose was. Anyone know? Oh yes, why don't you break away from the 'norm' sometimes and do a familiar run in reverse. I guarantee that you will see things differently. Always a useful skill to have in life, don't you think.

Splish splash running...

The rain poured. The wind blew and I ran. I ran over the bridge and along the tow path. I ran through the woods and I ran around the pond. Today, the otherwise peaceful pond was stirred up into a maelstrom of white water. Real waves curled into surf big enough to carry a duck into the reeds and bushes growing at the pond edges. Here geese and swans sheltered from the storm but for me there was no shelter. Even the trees dripped torrents of water on my head as I passed underneath their swaying branches. Leaves coloured golden yellow covered the path and hid the deeper puddles that I and my companion suddenly plunged into. Not many people out today I thought as rivulets of cold water trickled down my already soaked body. At the stream crossing we took stock of our situation. 54 minutes passed and over another 60 minutes to go before our saturated selves hit the 120 minutes we were aiming for. In an instant, thoughts of heading to a nice dry place entered our thinking but even reaching for this new goal would still translate into another 30 minutes or so of this splish splash running. We decided to follow the stream to its source at the canal sluice gate where we would make our decision to turn for home or stick it out to the bitter end. Following the stream was easier said than done as the small single tracks running alongside the stream had themselves turned into conduits of muddy ankle deep water. At the canal sluice gate the need to seek dryness and warmth got the better of us and we turned east to follow the now drowned tow path back to the car parked still some 20-25 minutes away. So if you had been out there today, you would have seen two drowned runners running along a drowned tow path and you would have questioned their sanity. Still, 90 minutes and 8 miles later we reached the shelter of our car, towelled ourselves down and drove home happy enough with our decision to end the madness of running in a storm.

Happy running out there.

Death, resurrection and existential depression...

I am 64 years of age and just recently, I became my sisters brother. I guess I've always been her brother but for most of her life she believed me dead and buried. When I was in my thirties, I met two women who also thought me dead; it would follow then that anyone who knew of me at the time of my birth would have also been told of my death. I think that someone must have told me too, as I can, in hindsight, say that for many years I also believed I was dead. By dead I mean dead inside. Sure I smiled and cried and to all intents and purposes, I appeared to be alive to all those around me but my soul was actually hiding at the bottom of a deep dark lake. They just didn't know it and I didn't either. I know now that I was in survival mode and rather like an iceberg, nine tenths of me was underwater and out of sight. Nice 'n' safe there. This death state stayed with me for years; through childhood, through teenage years and even through my early twenties and probably beyond. Don't get me wrong, I worked, fell in and out of love, married, changed careers, had kids, moved home and generally took an active role in living in this world of ours but I was still dead inside. I'm not dead anymore by the way. Today, I am a resurrected being. Firstly, following a messy divorce the deep dark lake was drained and in the mud I got in touch with that hidden part of me. From there on in life took on a more positive hue and today my sister no longer believes me dead. In fact most of the people who thought me dead originally must now be dead themselves and that means that I am free to get on with the business of being alive. In other words I have risen from the grave that was dug by the power of belief.

What's all this got to do with existential depression? Well, it's well documented today that adopted children can suffer from this form of depression; a depression brought about by a traumatic event such as abandonment, which leaves the child questioning their purpose and meaning in life - something I have always struggled with. Gifted adults and gifted children as young as five can also suffer spontaneously from existential depression, as they often question the meaning of life too but don't worry, I ain't one of them.

Definition: Existential depression occurs when one confronts issues of existence such as life, death, disease, and freedom. An individual suffering from existential depression questions the meaning of life and often feels it is meaningless. While some people may experience this kind of depression after some traumatic event, such as the death of a loved one, gifted people may suffer from it spontaneously; that is, there is no apparent triggering event. Gifted children can experience existential depression, even children as young as five. They may begin to worry about death and also question the meaning of life.

That's it then. See ya soon.

Cosmic butterfly...

I like this design. It is my Soul dancing and it's a better picture than the one of my bloodied knees. Hope those of you who are sick and tired of seeing those same knees can now rest and perhaps think about what your own Soul would look like on the dance floor.

Butterfly Wings

despair not

about

the fabric

of

our common future

instead remember

that

chaotic potential

of

butterfly wings

where every action

each exquisite stitch in time

weaves its pattern

upon our cosmic loom

© 1992 Stuart Boag

Adventures in the Algarve...

An early morning run in the Algarve...

Seven ‘O’ clock in the morning and twenty or so runners wait patiently in the pre dawn half light for the coaches to finish their preamble to today’s long run. Each runner is told what is expected of him or her and each is told that they must adhere to what they are being instructed to do. Well, at least that’s the plan but you know how fickle a bunch of runners can be. As usual, the route will take us out along the old dirt road that hugs the coastline between Falasia and Vilamoura in the Algarve, Portugal before morphing into a hot tarmac road that takes us on towards the lush green interior of Vilamoura with its many golf courses and gated villas.

Providing they are willing to look, the old dirt road, bounded by gnarled and twisted olive trees, offers every runner the chance to pass through another world; a world of strip farming and a world where sun wizened shepherds still freely roam the countryside with their ancient breeds of sheep and goats. The old dirt road then, is really a time portal, a dusty Stargate if you will, where the more discerning traveller can go back to a time when humans were in harmony with the natural rhythms of nature. There is nothing elaborate about this time portal. There are no switches and dials, no wisps of steam and glowing lights, no klaxons sounding off and no great mass of water whooshing horizontally out towards you as the portal opens. All you have to do is cross the line. The line is quite real. It is literally the point where the tarmac ends and the dirt begins - it’s as simple as that. The line is actually not that far from the hotel where most of the runners stay, say 10 minutes* at most and is located just beyond the turn off for a posh looking hotel complex perched on the nearby cliff tops. The corresponding time portal – you have to have two otherwise you could not go anywhere – is located at the bottom step of the footbridge that takes us over the river and on towards the now tarmac covered outskirts of Vilamoura. Again, nothing elaborate to be found here, just some dirt lapping against the vertical face of a rather innocuous step covered in red tiles. In the physical sense, the whole journey from beginning to end, from one line to the other, can be measured in minutes but in those minutes you could have travelled back a thousand years or more. So if you find yourself on this road one day, just look for the line and open your mind. And if you miss it the first time, you could try again on the way back.

On my way back, I chose a different route than the one I was supposed to take, which of course, was the old dirt road but being fickle I turned off the old road and headed for the path that took me up and over the switch back cliff tops back towards Falasia. Below me, on my left was the beautiful sandy beach that so many people choose to run or walk along. On my right I could catch glimpses of the old dirt road with one or two runners on it and beyond that farmland and the grassy meadows of the local nature reserve; itself a magical place to go running in. Today my chosen path was empty of other people. It was all mine to enjoy and be alone upon. With the sun now hot on my back, I ran along the path in a state of ecstasy and whooped as I swooped down the hills but remained tight lipped as I huffed and puffed up the next hill. On the tops of these little but quite steep hills, I occasionally stopped to admire the view and to see if I could recognise anyone running along the beach below. Of course, I was also getting my breath back. As I ran, I was mindful to watch out for the turn off that would take me back to the hotel I was staying at and although a year had passed since I last ran these cliffs, I was fairly certain that I could recognise the small sandy path that meandered through the scented pines that lay between me and where I wanted to be. Of course you can guess what happened. Yes, I took the wrong path! I didn't exactly get lost, as I knew where I was and I knew where I wanted to be. In fact I could see where I wanted to be but I just couldn't connect the two together. This little dilemma of mine was in fact caused by a high wire fence that divided one section of land from the next - strip farming techniques in action - and although many small paths promised to take me to the hotel, they kept ending at this damn fence, which I'm sure was not there last year. Anyway to cut a long story short, I eventually came across a body sized hole that had been cut through this fence by some other lost soul and once through it, I was home and dry and heading for a late breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage and beans. Oh yes, and a nice cup of tea.

Happy trails and don't forget to look out for that line marking the time portal.

* Estimated time based on my running speed, which is slow.

I'm back running...

Not a very nice sight, is it. Still, mustn't moan, as this photo of my bloodied knee is evidence that I am up and running again. I know that sounds a bit strange but it does follow that if I'm out there running, I will fall or trip somewhere along my path; not every time though, lets make that clear. Falling or tripping is quite a past time of mine; sticks, stones, discarded plastic parcel bands, roots and tree stumps have all brought me down to earth with a thump at some time or other. If I'm not falling down, I'm banging my head on things like low branches or hanging flower baskets; a whole trio of hanging baskets in one instance! I must have found that particular experience inspiring, as I ended up writing a poem about the ridiculous ending. The poem was called 'Power to the Flowers' and told the tale of my run to flower basket Nirvana. The poem then but please remember that I ain't no poet; at least not technically speaking.

Power To The Flowers

and other things found along the path

A short tale of summer running

in the English countryside with shorts on

What bliss to run along English country lanes

and tracks in the evening sun and have your legs

whipped by the friendly bramble

What bliss to run through waist high stinging nettles

with your mates all shouting, ooh, ah, and ow!

What bliss to miss your footing in a grassy

rutted field and hover, albeit momentarily,

above a freshly laid cowpat

What bliss to miss the dog poo that flicks

off the shoe of the runner in front

What bliss to swallow suicidal flies by the dozen

that's the ones who haven't met your sweating baldness

head on and avoiding your wrap around sun glasses,

fly straight in your eye

What bliss to reach the home straight and run full tilt

into a triangular trio hanging baskets, that someone

thoughtfully placed at head height over a public highway

What bliss to see my wife shed tears of laughter

at my ridiculous entanglement in amongst the

swaying basket of flowers

What bliss to see my running mates

double over with laughter at my expense

What bliss to see passing motorists peer

through their windscreens and catching what's happened,

join in with the insanity of the situation

What bliss to have my sore scalp bathed by a friendly female

and to have petroleum jelly slapped on my head by a mate;

to stop the bleeding, he says

Who says you can't get blood from a stone

What bliss to sit in the bar of the Royal British Legion

afterwards and with a throbbing head, sup warm ale

and hungrily devour fish & chips

What bliss to recount this tale to all that travel the path of the runner

So that's me poem then; a true tale of events on a summers evening run in deepest Surrey. What is interesting though, is the link between this blog and my earlier blogs on Your Body Speaks Your Mind, particularly as it appears that my body is still sending me messages that I'm obviously failing to act upon. Or am I just clumsy?

Starting again...

Is your life full of 'starting agains'? Mine is. I am currently starting to run again; not for the first time I might add. This starting again game appears in other areas of my life too; relationships and marriage for instance. My employment history has quite a few starting agains documented in it and my childhood and teenage years are not without their starting agains either. In fact, the start of my life started with that starting again scenario, adoption. Only just thought about that, hmm, I wonder if it is the root cause of my many other starting agains*. My guess is that any child that has experienced endings and beginnings (starting agains) in their early childhood will have a memory of that Primal Wound, which may then morph into a hidden life pattern that is repeated again and again until something outside of themselves, like running, opens the door to enlightenment and understanding. Paul Vorwerk, in his book Mystical Miles says that, 'running enables an uncovering of self, a discovery and exploration. Different types of running reveal different facets of the self - running in rain, heat, all night, hard or easy, fast or slow; many long solitary miles; others in the company of friends. Running helped me to find out what I could do, what I had in me'.

From the moment I took up running, some 20 years ago now, I too have been on a journey of self discovery and in so doing I have been made to acknowledge my physical and mental demons - a measure of laziness, poor self discipline, low pain threshold, poor diet control, poor body mechanics, low self esteem; all have been my life companions but through the act of running they have been put into their proper place; a place where their influence is at least minimized, if not all together extinguished. Because of running, I have also learnt the art of endurance and as I pushed the envelope so to speak, I found that I could increase my staying power and miles until one day I found myself running ultra races such as the 54 mile Thames Meander and the Mongolia Sunrise to Sunset 100K footrace without complaint. So, through running, I too discovered ‘what I could do, what I had in me’. Christine McDougall, on her Positive-Deviant.com website says, 'I suppose that we all must learn endurance at some stage in our life as humans. We will have to endure pain, suffering, waiting, seeking, wanting, not having... until we learn the ultimate lesson which is to let go'. Running then is so much more than, just running; it is a journey of discovery and healing, a way of getting in touch with our inner selves and putting things to right. Paul Vorwerk in looking at the connection between running and healing says in his book that, ‘the need for a deeper healing goes beyond symptoms of hurt and disease. It must deal with the essence of who we are. The healing must build resilience, adaptability, the ability to survive, to grow, to prosper. At one level, healing is about the wounds and injuries, which require a nurturing environment in which to repair. At another level, healing is about the soul, about the will to live, the reason we have to go on, to get better and to develop'. So, there we have it then. Who needs pills and potions when running can bring you freedom from pain and suffering, and at the same time reveal the essence of your very being.

* Starting agains: Joe Sol, in his book Adoption Healing, says that ‘adoptees may face many problems, particularly in developing relationships and in choosing a career. They have a hard time choosing an educational focus and committing to career plans, because they often are not in touch with their wants and desires’. From my own experience, this lack of focus, this difficulty with commitment impacts deeply on all areas of your life; to the point of turning you into one of life’s lost souls. In this place, you don’t know what path you are on let alone what path it is you are supposed to be seeking. It’s only when something, usually life changing, happens to you that you can finally get in touch with your wants and desires and perhaps then and only then will the continual cycle of stopping and starting again finally cease. Note: Wants and desires, in this context, should not be confused with the wants and desires associated with owning the objects found in the shop windows of this world.

Inside an MP's mind...

I see that Alan Duncan (Shadow Leader of the Commons) has allowed his true feelings to come out about how he feels about being an MP and how he thinks MP's have been treated over the expenses scandal; and boy does he think he's been badly treated! According to both the Guardian and the Daily Mail (Thursday, August 13, 2009), Mr Duncan feels that no 'capable' person would want to enter Parliament when MP's are treated like s****'. Certainly Mr Duncan is a 'capable' man, a man who according to the newspapers, is capable of stretching his expenses claims to £4,000.00 just for gardening costs alone. Can someone tell me please how these costs are in anyway connected to parliamentary business? Of course, Mr Duncan, who happens to be on the House of Commons Commission charged with cleaning up the MP's expenses system, was quick to apologise for his words which, 'were meant in jest'. Funny how we use phrases like 'in jest' to discount and lessen the impact of the words spoken in truth just a moment or two before. I've got news for Mr Duncan. Cover up doesn't work anymore; in fact anyone who uses phrases like 'in jest', in my opinion hoists there own petard and in so doing reveals their true self. In this case, a self that is stuffed full of its own importance and standing, a self that should not be in a position of power, influence and trust. Mr Duncan then, in making his remarks, represents all that is wrong with our parliamentary system today- arrogance, greed, a liking for self-importance and just plain dishonesty. Yes Mr Duncan, I do agree with you that no 'capable' people will want to enter parliament, especially when parliament is full of people like you.

If you want to hear Mr Duncan's words for yourself, then you could do no better than watch and listen to Heydon Prowse's film at:

http://www.dontpaniconline.com/magazine/power/the-political-animal

On meditation...

As meditation is a current topic, I thought I'd add that I am presently reading a book called Guide to Natural Healing, published (1997)* by Geddes & Grosset. The book cover says that this guide 'is an invaluable volume comprising some of the most fascinating spiritual and physical treatments of illness and injury of both East and West'. The guide is split into three parts; 1. Therapies For Body And Soul, 2. Treating The Inner Self and 3. Medicinal Plants And Natural Remedies. Under section two, there is quite a comprehensive list of meditation styles and techniques, including breathing meditations, some of which I'd never heard of before. Some of these are: Mindfulness of breathing meditation (a known Buddhist practice), Active meditation (associated with Sufi's), Sensory awareness meditation, Tai Chi Ch'uan, Attention to life meditation, Transcendental meditation (a past practice of mine) and of particular interest to me, Meditation on the run. According to the guide, meditation on the run is where 'many long-distance runners hit a point, usually about 3/4's of an hour into a run, when they experience what is commonly called a 'high'. This is remarkably similar to what happens during mantra or chanting meditation, with the rhythmic repetition of the word or phrase being replaced by the rhythm of the run. The runner's conscious mind shuts down, allowing other area's of consciousness to open up. So, if you enjoy a jog, use it not just to make the body fit, but to put your mind in better shape too. Don't try to compete with other runners in the park or against the clock to beat your own PB. If you do, you are shutting your mind to the possibility of meditation. Run easily, establishing a regular rhythm, and focus your attention on your breathing, your pulse and heartbeat, and after a while you will reach a point where you will be as perfectly in tune with the world as a Buddhist monk sitting hour after hour in contemplative meditation'. There you go then, all you have to do now is to get out there and 'Do it'.

Note: Can't say that I am in full agreement of what is being said here but perhaps that's because I have a slightly different slant or understanding of the meaning of meditation.

* Reprinted 1999, 2001, 2003

Meditation along the shoreline...

Currently, I'm staying, on my sail boat in Chichester Harbour and today I was supposed to have done a 45 minute off road run out along the Salterns Way towards Dell Quay, returning along the shoreline path to the marina where my boat is moored. What happened? My back went that's what happened and that only a few minutes into the run too! Bearing in mind that I am supposed to be in my post operative recovery phase, this sort of thing is not supposed to happen at all. Luckily for me, I was running with Gill, my wife, and it was she who, after initially helping me to deal with the pain, encouraged me to walk the rest of the planned route, rather than give up and return to the boat in grumpy defeat. I was so glad that I did this, as along the sun drenched shoreline path, I got into a sort of gentle walking rhythm that naturally morphed into a form of walking meditation, which then enabled me to disconnect with the discomfort of severely pulled back muscles and enjoy the world unfolding in front of me and all around me; a world of butterflies, bees, dappled shade and wonderful views of the meandering shoreline - ho hum. Life is good.

What is your inner self?

A Moonlike Person.
I completed the facebook 'What is your inner self? quiz today and apparently I am what the heading above says I am; a moonlike person. I don't know how real these things are but I answered the questions honestly and I have to say that the following description of my personality type is not far off the mark as I see it. So the description then...
'You are a moon type of person. You hide your emotions sometimes. You tend to be the quiet type or in contrast, you are happy but sometimes you act it out in order for you to be no burden your friends with your problems. You have faced some problems in your life. Your heart has been dealt blows before. You tend to think about things a lot more than other people and you may get annoyed with people who act out without thinking about what would happen later. You are also the type of person that others often come to you with their problems because you have been through plenty and you are very understanding. Though you sometimes feel lonely, your demeanor is usually chill, and relaxed. You usually are logical and rely a lot on facts and information before making any decisions. You often keep things to yourself. This is just one side of you and you have different faces in different situations and environments, just like the moon has phases.
Perhaps you should try this quiz too?

Two sides of the public coin...

I see that the MOD is in trouble for trying to claw back, what they consider to be, an overpayment of compensation for our injured troops (The Times, Thursday July 30 2009). On top of that, they want to limit the amount of money paid out to any returning forces personnel injured in the line of duty, who may go on to suffer further complications after their initial surgery. Although denying that saving money is the driving force behind their appeal against increased tribunal awards for two injured servicemen, the fact that they are seeking to ensure that the interpretation of the compensation scheme is properly applied, suggests that the levels of compensation being paid are seen to be to high by the civil servants administering the scheme. This is known in the trade, as 'protecting the government purse', a phrase that I have heard used many times in local government circles to describe the process of gate keeping budgets used for benefit claimants and alike. There is nothing wrong with gate keeping public money in this way, in fact it demonstrates how seriously this responsibility is taken by government officers in the course of meeting their obligations and duties, The trouble is though, that this level of gate keeping does not seem to apply to those who write the rules and who are supposedly governing our country, i.e. MP's and government ministers. You know the ones I'm talking about, the ones who use public/government money to buy duck houses, have their moats cleaned etc. and who are also not required to submit receipts for the smaller amounts of public money that they decide to spend, which of course allows corruption via the back door to flourish nicely thank you. This then is an example of how two sides of the same coin, the public coin, are so vastly different; one regulated side for you and me and the other seemingly unregulated side for the elected members of Westminster. Nothing surprising there then.

WOMAD 2009

What a brilliant festival! The day ticket, although great for trying out something new, did not really allow enough time to see, smell, get in touch with and get under the skin of everything that was going on at WOMAD 2009. To become submerged in this festival and to find out what's going on in the undergrowth, so to speak, a whole weekend is required; a whole long weekend that is. Don't get me wrong, the day was a great one but it was a long day of trying to see everything, which of course is impossible, as a lot of everything was happening all at the same time. In this field of dreams then, there were five different music stages, one World Rhythms stage plus a myriad of World market stalls that offered a wide range of ethnic clothing and foods etc. and of course there was the obligatory 'real ale' bar. There was also a proper steam fair, a Spa for the better off and kids and adult workshops to go to as well. In amongst the trees surrounding the main arena, the World Of WellBeing could be found, a place where a wide range of alternative therapies could be tried out at leisure; if you had the time that is. The camping facilities were good too and ranged from your basic tent pitch right through to the Tangerine Fields where, for loads of money, you could rent your own Yurt, Pod or Tepee to dwell in for the weekend. I'm going back next year, hopefully in a camper van and I'm going to stay for whole weekend, a long weekend that is and I'm going to get lost in the undergrowth for a while.

To busy for my own good...

Now that my pin is out of my foot, I'm being busy; too busy for my own good I feel. I'm busy at work. I'm busy driving my own car once more. I'm busy getting fit again. I'm busy visiting my elderly mother in hospital. I've been busy downsizing friendships and then repairing them again. I've been busy going sailing with mates; yes it seems that I do have some! I've been busy replacing faulty wifi kit (twice), that just stopped working for some reason and I've been busy getting tickets for the 2009 WOMAD Festival. All this being busy is just leaving me breathless and slightly frustrated at not being able to grab some some decent blog time. Still, I'm sure that I will get some space soon and then I can get back to blogging, which over the last few months has become an important outlet for my thought streams and I want it to remain that way. This being busy is not really that good for me, in fact it's downright unhealthy; I am in danger of being swallowed up once more by the comings and goings and doings of life and my access to that precious commodity, time, has been shrinking fast. In fact, I had a warning about this only yesterday morning when out walking the dog, as in the space of that moment I could breath once more and I suddenly felt quite tearful; that came as a bit of a shock I can tell you. So, why tearful? Well, it's all about reaction really and my body, in order to cope with a series of events that were mainly out of my control, flooded itself with that high speed fuel, adrenalin. Mentally and physically, I had gone from 0 to 60 in a nanosecond and after months of inaction, I was not ready for this intense burst of energy. The poster top left says it all really and I'm going to take notice of what it is saying; that's if I've got time of course.

Just walking the dog...

After a very wet and windy night, the dog and I went for an early morning walk under blue skies and an already warm rising sun; in the west, the pale moon was still visible and still quite high in the sky. Our walk today was on the familiar ground of Long Valley but from a different direction, one that neither of us had taken before. The start of our walk then, offered new horizons and new vistas to wonder at; all within a few hundred yards of the grounds we had both run and walked over many times before. On reaching the high ground we stopped and just gazed at the vast empty space stretching out before us; just the dog and I and no one else. In this crowded corner of southern England, this was indeed a wonder. Now I think about it, I guess we could apply this change of view to many aspects of our daily lives; we all tread the same roads each and every day, never averting our eyes or minds away from the task of the moment and because of this we can become blind to the simple beauty that exists just beside us or just over there. For some strange reason, this 'new experience' in a familiar place reminded me of some lines from a poem written by Rumi, well two lines of it, if I'm honest;

'This being human is a

guesthouse.

Every morning a new arrival'.

The poem in full then...

The Guest House

-Rumi

This being human is a guesthouse.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,

meet them at the door laughing,

and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.