Circles Within Circles

Time doesn’t move in a straight line. Some folks argue that time doesn’t even exist. Others claim that the past, present and future exist all at once. It took me a while to grasp this last concept, but it kind of makes sense if you imagine time moving in a circle. If it does and I’m on the circle’s perimeter, then across its diameter, I might be staring into 10^th century history. At the same time, someone in the 10^th century is staring across at me—into the future.

A vehicle loosely described as an automobile was recently built from a blueprint of Leonardo da Vinci’s, and the contraption worked. You have to appreciate the theory of reincarnation to get this one, but really, how in the world did a man born in the 1500s know enough about engineering to develop the plan for a vehicle that worked when a gang of 21^st century geeks put it together? Was da Vinci ahead of his time? Or had he already been there?

Wild notion, eh? But so very cool when you consider others like him – Tesla and Mozart and Einstein, for instance, men so far advanced in their thinking that they must have lived in a time when their genius may actually have been part of the mainstream.

The one thing I know for sure is that I know nothing for sure. I’m just playing around with this stuff, less to make sense of my own existence than to amuse myself with the magic of universal possibility. If past lives are possible, why not future lives as well? Bend that timeline into an arc and suddenly ancient Egypt is in front of you. If a stint in Thebes is your next stop, who knows what miracles of the present may show up in ancient hieroglyphs four thousand years from now?

I know, I know. Clearly, I have too much time and not enough to do except invent these notions then put ’em out there for public consumption. But really, it is fun to ponder the nature of genius and wonder at its origins. I’m not afraid of being a dust mote in space, subject to the currents and eddies of time and dark matter. I seldom feel small or insignificant when contemplating the magnitude and miracle of creation. I only feel small and insignificant when confronted with the limited vision of ego, that infernal bit of biology hardwired to preserve itself even at the cost of its own existence.

Ter often tells me that I’m scary smart. Might be I’m just scary.

What If?

I have a cold. A monster cold, in fact, and it’s making me really crabby ... when I’m not lying on the couch feeling sorry for myself, that is. I have no energy, no interest, and no will to live. I can’t meditate through the brain fog. Thinking only worsens my congestion headache. All I want are green grapes and a full night’s sleep.

When I’m sick, I hate everything about this mortality gig. My Zen patience and good humour are as if they never existed (proof that it’s easier to keep the faith in good times than in challenging ones). And time? Time slows to an interminable crawl punctuated by the death rattle as I struggle to inhale through a perpetually stuffy nose.

Screw the self-healing and herbal remedies. Give me Benylin!

During one of my darker funks this week, I gave my mind its head. Generally, I try to contain it, but this time, I let it go, partly to see where it would go on its own, and partly because I didn’t care to stop it. I felt like crap. Fighting the good mental fight would take too much effort, so for a few indifferent moments, I dropped my deflectors and in poured the darkness.

What if it’s all a grand cosmic joke? What if we are, as Boy Sister likes to say, a failed lab experiment? What if there is no divine connection? What if the universe isn’t friendly and no one is listening? What if there is no plan, no path, and no learning? What if there are no past or parallel lives? What if there’s no future, no light at the end of the tunnel?

In short, what if there’s no point?

Well, shoot. Having hit bottom, I lay there for a minute and contemplated the void. What if, indeed? Is “nothing” something to fear? Does “nothing” validate the bad behaviour and brutal violence we inflict on each other every day? Conversely, does “nothing” devalue the beauty of a horse in full flight or the joy in a child’s laughter?

Okay, I thought, there may be no more to life than what I have now ... so why not be happy? Even if it makes no difference to the outcome, it’ll certainly make a difference to the moments I have. There is nothing to lose by choosing joy.

And assuming I survive this frigging cold, I plan to choose it forthwith!

Retrograde

It’s a scientific fact that if you take your foot off the gas, you’ll lose momentum. The same applies if you cease to continue applying yourself to forward motion. To your home. To your job. To your relationships. To your physical, mental and/or spiritual health. It’s not all uphill, but ongoing effort is required.

Was it George Washington who said complacency is democracy’s greatest enemy? Somebody said it, and democracy is one thing. A large thing, granted, but the statement fits all to which we mortals aspire. I don’t mean to chide anyone for skipping a nightly prayer or a daily vitamin here; this isn’t a reprimand. It’s a theory.

My favourite villain at present is the bad guy in Sleepy Hollow. He’s a super-successful industry magnate who has recently gained immortality through nefarious means (he sold his soul to the Devil, then reneged on the deal by stealing the Philosopher’s Stone). During a dream sequence at the start of one episode, he pontificated on humanity’s need, nay desire, for a shepherd. He talked of our reluctance to apply ourselves to the labour of self-government, our abhorrence to think for ourselves, and our inherent propensity to take the easy route. That route, regrettably, leads to complacency. From there, society goes downhill pretty steadily. Eventually, we lose what others fought to preserve or achieve in hope of creating a better world for us—their children. Finally, when enough momentum has been lost, things like the US election and Brexit happen, and we all wake up in the 1950s.

Are we truly going backward? Have we allowed our society to regress beyond redemption? Do we really have to start over, to regain ground first broken for us then lost through our own negligence? Sure seems like it ... but maybe it’s a matter of perception.

Every once in a while (too often for my taste), the planet Mercury goes into retrograde. This happens when Mercury’s orbit, which is smaller and faster than Earth’s, takes it past us and into a spin that makes it appear as if the tiny planet is moving backward across our night sky. It messes with technology and communications (don’t ask me how) until Mercury catches up with us ... or we catch up to Mercury. Again, it’s a matter of perception.

And that’s my point. We may appear as if we’re moving backward, but in truth we continue to move forward. Even as hatred and avarice seem to be gaining strength, the majority who oppose these recessive traits are amassing to fight them. At the very least, we’re maintaining orbit, and in time, when enough collective energy gathers to push us ahead once more, we’ll come out of social retrograde.

In the meantime, maintain your cool. Be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. Blame no one. Take responsibility. Work hard. Remember your divinity. Express gratitude. Breathe. Tell someone you love them. Be the change you want to see. Trust your heart. Let’s continue moving forward, wide awake and aware.

With love,

Bright Lights, Big City

Location, location, location. Is that why Vancouver is listed among the three most expensive Canadian cities in which to live? Maybe. You can’t beat the ocean on one side and mountains on the other. On a sunny day, the glittering tangle of glass and steel soaring into the cloud against the North Shore is a truly majestic sight. Awe-inspiring, even. I always feel blessed to know such a beautiful city so well, though my visits have dwindled from one or two per year to one or two per decade.

Ter and I were over for a hockey game a few weeks ago. Neither of us realized it has been almost five years since we last ventured across the strait. Normally, we stay in the west end, the oldest part of the city where the beach runs alongside the street and trendy cafes are perched on every corner. This time, however, because of my compromised compostable container, we chose a hotel within hobbling distance of the arena, which landed us pretty well in the depths of the urban jungle. We arrived late in the afternoon, close to sundown on game day.

There are pockets of the city where no matter what time of year it is, the sun will never pierce the shadow. In February, you’re guaranteed that the only sun you’ll see is on the postcards for sale at the 7-Eleven. For us, a west coast winter was in full swing. The copious and unseasonable snow had melted away, but the persistent drizzle was chilly, the wind was raw ... and everywhere I looked, I was dwarfed by skyscrapers I didn’t remember seeing before. The last time we stayed in the downtown core, Library Square was the most imposing structure in the neighbourhood. This time, it was part of the view from our hotel window, but it dominated nothing. It had been surrounded and absorbed, just like our hotel, by condo and office towers. Our room was on the fifth floor, practically spitting distance from the street, and our view was almost exclusively into the softly lit windows of the building that housed the aforementioned 7-Eleven. The suite wasn’t dark at night, given the glow of all those residential lights, but it was sure dark in the daytime.

Our visits to Vancouver used to feel homey and familiar. That sense of being welcome was sadly missing from our trip last month. The city’s sense of individuality, of unique and original personality, seemed to have been swallowed by the same indifferent towers that loom above the library. The jewel of Canada’s west coast could have been any big city that night: an anonymous and impassive host to the frenzied little parasites (us) that feed off its bounty.

Until the next morning. I stood at the window once more, gazing at the darkened glass panes across the way and over at the intersection where the morning commute was in progress. The street was in shadow, of course ... but along to the north, between the man-made monoliths posted like sentries along a parade route, was a glimpse of the mountains. A single, snow-dusted, sun-kissed peak, a National Geographic image cradled between stone and steel, identified my location far better than a Google satellite. I knew then that I was indeed in beautiful Vancouver, the jewel of Canada’s west coast.

I should have taken a picture, but I’m still not quite used to having a camera in my phone.

Oh—and the hockey game? PHI 3 – VAN 2. Power pose!!