reaching further

the yellow stream

reaches further –

makes a mess – I chuckle

I am reminded of my she-wee that needed practising and, of course, why I started the present exercise: I bought 2 litres of cider in a carton, not anticipating that instead of cans, the carton would have a plastic bag in it and at one end of that something that looked like a tap. After some deliberation I noticed last night that the carton had a perforated circle through which the tap-like opening would fit. So I concluded it was designed to fit thus. After having worked out which side of the contraption was go up and which down, I tried to open the tap. Mmh. As far as I could see there were 2 or 3 ways to achieve that – but none produced more than the thinnest of trickle. So, last night, I settled for that, ending up half-filling my mug about 4 times. Today I decided I could do better: I’d open the plastic bag at the other end, just cut off a tiny corner, and pour the cider into a jug. So far the plan. What I had not anticipated was at what angle the cider would splash out. That led to the above result. Am I practiced in dyspraxia? I should think so.

This little exercise, however, at the last day of a dull and dark November, was only the end of an interesting afternoon where I took a luggage cart into town instead of my bike – thinking that a sore knee on one side and a sore hip on the other didn’t sound like a promising prospect for cycling. Just under 6,000 steps later, back at my van, I feel warmed by smiles and help.

That started in the shop where I bought the heat patch for my hip. Having emptied my shopping cart for the cashier slowly and with undeniable discomfort, I commented, pointing towards the patch: You can tell why I need this – only to receive the surprising reply: I noticed that even when you came in; tender-hearted. – Speechless, I left. After that it came easy, without thinking about it, to pass on the kindness and to allow to be helped. And I did receive more help – from a coffee shop waiter who was not expecting a tip and from a health food shop worker who advised on pain medication far beyond the skill normally to be expected. In fact, I ended up not buying anything in the end because I came away clear that I was progressing in my self treatment, if slowly.

I am reminded of those lamenting that life gets small when you’re old – or when you feel lonely. Personally, I feel like replying to that complaint: Are you perhaps lonely for yourself? I am not going to insult anybody who is not being cared for well enough by actually saying it. But I would like to, quietly. For now, I look out for the days when I might be in with the lamenting bunch, without admitting it to myself. The acid test for me may be whether I can switch from seeing myself as the centre piece of the film I am creating to – just one of how many billion. It can be done. Living at the pivot point maybe the inner freedom that sometimes comes with meditation – sometimes with old age.

~ by Barbara S on November 30, 2022.

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