Marathon

( Exploring the legend of Marathon ....

Was it during the Spartan Wars?

Did the messenger run the distance (26 miles?) to deliver the news of the approaching army and then drop dead?

Why do we train for this race nowadays?

What outcomes do we expect?)

A marathon is run over a distance of 42km and just the thought of running so far causes my legs to turn to jelly and my chest to ache. I have never been a confident runner, but when I did run as a child I much preferred to sprint a short distance to get it over with rather than run slower over a longer distance.

I find it impossible to imagine ever wanting to train in preparation for something so momentous as a marathon. Why would a person want to push themselves to such extremes of pain? Why would a person willingly endure such pain and anguish?

Even if you began to train some 6 months in advance it would be disheartening to know that at the end of the marathon you would still feel absolutely exhausted, drained and tired.

I understand the idea of going to a gym and gradually seeing an improvement in overall fitness, but the thought of athletics training is way too daunting for me.

I know that athletes push themselves to go through the pain barrier beyond which they then reach a state of euphoria. However, I cannot envisage being able to push myself so far. 

What am I afraid of? 

Is it the exhaustion which I know I will feel after I have exerted myself? 

Or am I merely questioning why a person would feel the need to push his/her body so far?

Sunday Scribbling #316 - Marathon

24.4.12 Timer set for 15 minutes

Meditation Thursday 26.4.12

This week we had a small group of only 5 people and I lead with a reading from Susan Piver on confidence http://www.susanpiver.com/wordpress/page/2/?s=buddhism+and+real+life.

I found this blog post quite insightful and I appreciated the advice that Susan gives - "don't try to fight the lack of self confidence, instead relax and allow it. This relaxing enables you to become more confident. Think of your mind as the sky which can contain all sorts of thoughts, helpful and unhelpful."

Small Stone 21.1.12

My dreams have been so vivid. 

But recalling the snippets is difficult.

My mother continues to influence my actions from the grave.

The same feeling of helplessness returns ...

And all I want is her approval.

Rest

Rest – what does it mean? 

It’s not necessarily relaxation, which implies a purposeful action as in, “I’m off to meditate now to try and relax”, or the idea that you must achieve relaxation before you move on to something else.

On the other hand, you can have a rest at any time of day; the rest can be a ‘little rest’ or a ‘long rest’, and it usually happens in the midst of some activity or other.

I like to have a rest most afternoons, sometimes in my chair while I read or watch TV, and sometimes I lie on the bed and read. 

To me, a rest is a quiet interlude, preferably lying down, wherein I can do something else like reading or writing and know that I will be rested and refreshed when I get up. 

Sometimes I feel the need for a much needed rest and if I cannot achieve this I find myself becoming fuzzy-headed and short tempered. 

I have often found that I  fall asleep when I have a ‘rest’ and then sleep too long and wake up feeling quite thick-headed and dopey. The feeling persists for some time after I wake, and I curse myself for sleeping too long as I know it  will be hard to go to sleep in the evening.

I sometimes want a break from an intensive situation with lots of talk and noise which exacerbate my feelings of introversion and so feel I need a rest. If I can get away and have some quiet time (whether I am able to lie down or not), I know that in a half hour or so I can return to the situation better able to cope. 

I am convinced that being able to retreat or regroup (and rest!) is preferable to remaining in a stressful situation where my coping skills would be tested to the extreme.

(Sunday scribbling blog #306:

You can take this in one of two ways. You can tell us the rest of the story or you can talk about much needed rest.)

 13.3.12 (Timer set for 20 minutes)

Shook

The floor shook, the building shook and the earth shook. 

And continued to shake long after you would expect it to stop. 

What was causing this unexpected movement? 

An earth tremor? 

No, it was going on for too long. 

An earthquake? 

Perhaps, but when would the shaking stop?

A tsunami?

If so, we should move to higher ground before the waves come.

But how to move out of this room when the floor continues to shake, over and over again, ceaselessly and unremittingly?

If it were an earthquake, why is the building still standing?

(28.2.12   Stream of consciousness – choose one word and write about it for 5 minutes. GARBAGE     BUTTERFLY      SHOOK      SUN      MOSQUITO      BRIDE)

Thoughts on Home

Home is where people welcome you

AND

you feel comfortable , able to relax and be yourself.

I always consider myself a “homebody”. What do I really mean by this?

I enjoy my own company in the comfort of my own home …peace and quiet, no distractions … “thinking” time. Home is familiar… the same routines, same things around me, same people around me… control over my environment? I can only relax when I am assured that everyone who should be under my roof is under my roof.

I have lived in this house for almost 13 years and I definitely consider it my home. Of course there are things I would like to change about it, but basically I am content with it as it is. Sometimes I wonder whether I could walk away and leave this house – if I did what would I take with me to make my next house my home?

I used to say I would always want to save my books and photos first if I were caught in a fire or flood, but now I don’t think so. There is really nothing that I am so very attached to that I would rush to save in an emergency; photos can be copied, books can be bought again, I have no jewellery of any great value and all the memories I need I still have intact in my head.

These days I must admit that my most valued possessions are my mobile phone (because I have so many phone numbers stored in it) and my computer system (again, because I have so much of my life and business stored on it.) I have travelled overseas and coped reasonably well with strange beds, foods and customs, but the things I missed most were my phone and my computer.

I could walk away from this house and make a new home with very few possessions if I were going to a calm atmosphere where I could relax and be at peace with myself.

It seems that my thoughts about home have led me to contemplate leaving my home and this appears to be what is really concerning me at present.

1.2.04

Small Stone 5.2.12

Praying monk

Eyes closed

Hands clasped over his knee

Rapt in contemplation.

He is a worthy meditation prompt.

Values clarification

 A meaningful life is one lived by Buddhist principles – compassion for others vs. selfishness. It would be sad to come to the end of your life and be beset by regrets and ‘if only’thoughts – “I wish I had done this, I wish I had not done that.”

A meaningful life is also one where you (the liver of the life) feel fulfilled and that you have been worthwhile to yourself and others.

I try to think of others and see their point of view. But on the other hand I struggle with the idea of feeling overlooked and undervalued or underestimated. I struggle with this feeling many times as I feel it is selfishness to want to be noticed at all times. I have no aspirations to greatness or fame, however, I do want to be appreciated and have this acknowledged.

At this stage in my life I feel that I have reached a plateau where I have no real desperate needs or wants. If I want new clothes I can go and buy them, if I wanted a new house I could sell my house and buy another. But now that I have reached this stage of life, the thought of taking any radical risks or making any more radical changes does not appeal to me. In fact, it scares me. 

After so many years of uncertainty in my life especially regarding the future, I have finally got to the place of feeling some security and am able to plan for my retirement years with confidence.

(What is a meaningful life? Write for 5 minutes. Go for 10.)

27/09/09

Characteristics of creative people

Creative people are self absorbed and can be unreliable. They often use their 'creativity ' as an excuse for their lack of social skills and awareness. A creative person is one who can take an idea and run with it, often much further than ordinary old me would or could do. I spend a lot of time asking myself what is the right way to do something, “what is the right answer?” and I can get bogged down in this self-doubt. I imagine that a creative person would be able to throw him/herself into a project or a problem whole heartedly and not be bogged down in the intricacies of ‘tidying up’ or finishing correctly. A creative person has no time constraints or idea of the right or wrong way to do something; they are able to just get on and create something.

In my mind I often judge the so-called creative people, perhaps because I want to be more like them and less constrained by everyday life. I think they are often extroverted, loud and draw attention to themselves; they have no interest in other people and exist only to maintain their own creative lifestyle. I also feel that they are unreliable because they are so caught up in the ‘creative muse’.

However, I think now that I have all these prejudices against creative people because I envy them their ability to be so focussed on an idea and wish I could do the same. I feel sure that I too could be creative if only I had the time, the motivation etc.

I think in particular of our friend ZK who revelled in the idea of being a creative person. She was so self absorbed and so indulged by those around her, that she had no idea of the interests, talents or abilities of anyone else. 

Here I am thinking of myself; perhaps I could be creative if someone asked me the right questions 

or 

gave me the right amount of encouragement 

or

IF I GAVE MYSELF PERMISSION TO BE CREATIVE!

What are some characteristics of creative people? (Timer set for 20 minutes)

7.2.12

Handwriting Vs Word Processing

I chose this topic initially because I wanted to explore my feelings about which method I preferred. My first thoughts were that I preferred handwriting: the look of a clean page of a journal or a fresh sheet of paper; the deliberation of which pen to write with - does it have the ‘right’ feel about it? Does it write smoothly? Is the colour the one I want today?

But there is a downside to handwriting which I had tried to overlook in my sentimentality for the pen and ink. I wanted to ignore the fact that when I sit for too long and write for too long my advanced years most definitely catch up with me – my right arm begins to ache, my hand spasms and my shoulder and neck complain loudly, and I know that I will suffer for some considerable time afterwards.

Then I come to the real point which has been niggling away at the edges of my consciousness for some time: I now think I need to word process rather than handwrite because my handwriting is deteriorating and I find it hard to write anything more than a few lines comfortably and legibly. Drilling down further, I come to real point of what is concerning me – is Parkinson’s disease hereditary and if so, do I perhaps have the beginning of it? My father always had distinctive handwriting and I remember how spidery his writing became as his health declined. I jokingly tell people that I often check that my outstretched hand does not shake, but now I begin to wonder if there is some truth in my imagined fear.

If I were to be diagnosed with Parkinson’s I wonder if I would be able to cope with the indignities associated with the disease. Perhaps this line of thought has come up since watching Australian Story recently about the man with Alzheimer’s disease who supposedly committed suicide before it became too hard for him. Would I be brave enough to live with the disease or would I try to end it?

Writing Exercise 24.3.09

My grandmother's house

In my memory it is a hot day, lying on the floor in the hallway at "Karoola" with my grandmother. The hallway was very wide and the coolest part of the house and there was a breeze way from the front door. We are lying here to try and take advantage of any cool breeze that might come through the house (and possibly also so that grandma can have a rest from entertaining busy me!).

The musty smell of mothballs permeates the hallway and even now, some 55 years later, that smell transports me immediately back to that place and time.

The spare bedroom was at the top of the hall, two beds with chrome ends, a beautiful oak dressing table and pictures of ballerinas on the wall. The other room on the left of the hallway as you entered through the front door was a sitting room with soft, overfilled lounge chairs and the piano.

Further down the hallway the family room opened into another small hallway and off this was the bathroom, an enormous room beautifully tiled with several lights on the wall and expensive looking fixtures, ornate taps and soap dish. There was a separate bath and shower in this room and seemingly acres of tiles on the floor. One whole wall of the room was built in cupboards.

Then came the ‘boys’ room with 2 beds in it. I remember a cupboard in there filled with things the boys (my Dad and his brothers) had outgrown. Many years later I remember going there and finding a stamp album and some school books which I know were Dad’s because I found his childish signature inside them. I still have these treasures today and I will happily pass them on to my children.

The kitchen was big and roomy and spacious, again with lots of built in cupboards; the table was an old oak one with some chairs around it but there were wooden window seats on 2 sides, so any number of people could be seated at any one time. 

My father’s youngest brother still has this table at his home and I often wish I could sit at it just one more time to conjure up some more memories of my magical childhood in that wonderful kitchen. I can still smell the soup cooking on the back of the Aga stove and feel its heat because it always had to be kept lit for hot water, even in summer.

Outside was the wide back verandah running the length of the house and in my memory it is always cool and shady here with the smell of the pepper trees planted along the back fence. The laundry was just off the verandah and there was another shower in here. 

My grandmother had a beautiful shadehouse filled with many seemingly exotic blooms which needed protection from the extreme temperatures of the Riverina. I remember a particularly beautiful red cactus which seemed to reach all the way to the sky and the moist, damp, cool smell in this shadehouse stays with me to this day. Although Lockhart is such a very hot place in summer, most of my memories are of cool, shady spots in and around this house.

While writing this I have come to realise that this location, the shadehouse and back yard often feature in my dreams. Perhaps I wish to return to these innocent days of total and unconditional love, never felt since then.