Day 575: Punching Yourself in the Face

The air is full of spring smells and I'm full of the joy of that. Stalky yellow flowers on a bush in Ruth's garden, some of them staying firmly folded, like sulking children while others fling their arms wide and release a sweet, tangy flow. Come and get me, sleepy bees! I have gold for you in here!

I'm still revelling in our communal corpsing on Wednesday. When I was little and I knew already that I wanted to be an actor, I watched out-takes and knew this was something I wanted in my life. Okay, so it wasn't a movie set, this time, but it was delightful. Whatever the reason for it, the kind of laughter that takes you over and gives you no choice is a thing to be celebrated. If I had one job in this life and it was to make that happen for people, that would be a fine vocation indeed. Oh god, and if it's possible to help them be moved, changed, inspired while they're in that state - fuck yeah - now THAT's a life worth living.

Not an 'Actual Cyclist'

Dinner with Pudding (but no pudding). That was nice. My fine, fine friend Celine, who is being all inspirational by changing her lifestyle completely. Celine has lost (and I hope she won't mind me saying this) two and a half stone in the last four months. Hence no need for pudding. Now, I don't give a shit how much my beautiful Pudding weighs - she's always been someone that I admire and delight in, and she's always been someone who gets stopped in the street by men who are bowled over by her - none of that has changed. What has changed is how she feels and how she shines, and how pleased she is with the choices she's making, and how relaxed she is with it. 

I'm very happy for her and inspired to do something similar - again, less for the actual weight and more for the feelings - the feeling of success and health and vitality (oh, yes, Tony Robbins, say that word for me in the way only you can muster, with your cheese grater voice and over-effusive energy). I could feel so much better if I wasn't filling my body (and mind) with loads of gloopy wheat dough, highs-and-lows refined sugars, up-and-downy caffeine and general chemical shite pie. How about Lent. Anyone with me? I don't believe in the kind of God who gives a shit what you do in the run-up to Easter, but I like the idea of joining a mass of people in living a bit differently for a little while. 

Grrrrrrrr

So, I hereby announce that on Tuesday, I'm probably going to eat pancakes; on Wednesday - as yet undecided, as it's my birthday. I'm lucky enough to be going for sushi with Pudding, Adeel and Debbie (so lucky - I usually stay at home and hide in a box), so I don't think I'll need a cake. On Thursday, it's an absolute definite, though. Water and herbal teas instead of caffeine (my sleep patterns will thank me); lots of raw smoothies - which I'm already having - just without the croissant topper; fruit instead of sweets and veg, leaves and other tasty stuff instead of bread-based guff. Let's see how different I feel. 

Yesterday, a grateful Lilleyfix in the morning - such a rich luxury, to talk to that creature And then, the best insult moment EVER. I was cycling on Blackstock Road. There was traffic. I decided to pass it and pulled out (slowly) around a stationary car. The woman on a bike behind me had a bit of a shout. She said that I hadn't looked behind me at all. She was right. She wasn't coming very fast, luckily, and she didn't really have to brake, but it was really annoying for her. I said 'You're absolutely right, I wasn't looking. I'm so sorry.' with absolute sincerity because.... well, because I meant it. I was apologising. What I did was annoying and by luck not dangerous, not by my doing. It could have been. 

Just needs a speech bubble

In response, she spat out the wonderful words: "It's because you're a CYCLIST!" Oh dear. I don't think my involuntary guffaw helped to diffuse the situation any. She carried on with her venomy rant as she CYCLED PAST on her BICYCLE. I wanted to cry out 'What ARE you, lady on wheels? Is that bicycle part of your anatomy, for you cannot be a cyclist - that would mean you'd just spat at yourself." 

The thing is, when you have a bellow at someone from your bike, in almost-stationary traffic, it gets awkward. I know this from experience. Within 30 seconds, I was right behind her again. I wasn't following her on purpose or trying to get up in her face, but in a situation like that, what can you do? And I was still laughing. She was still ranting, too. As we stopped at some lights, she ranted and vented continuously, facing resolutely forwards. I caught only words: 'cyclist' again a few times, and 'idiot' a few more than that. I have to confess that at one point during the stop-start chase I did do a troll growl and monster hands (monster hand - I was cycling at that moment and I'm not good at hands free), but quietly, and really just to entertain myself. She was wasn't looking anyway. She kind of made my day. 

Speech bubble!

I once saw a solo improviser at the Esalen Institute do a piece about road rage, where the driver of a big car got out and started punching another driver and kicking their car, and that it all rolled into a kind of auto-pummelling, where that universal truth was happening: when you're punching and kicking like that, it doesn't matter who's physically on the receiving end, because ultimately, you and that person are the same. You're made of the same matter, you're part of the same flow - you might as well punch yourself in the face because any act of violence affects all of us in one way or another. I love this truth... it's a truth to me, and it's one that nibbles me on the shoulder from time to time, especially when unkind words are flowing towards myself (or just after, in fact - not quite evolved enough not to do it).

A wonderful chat with Shirley about convents and deep shit and trusting the universe and the futility of trying to be in control of it, all sinewy strive-stretching. One tiny person trying to orchestrate the workings of the whole universe, waving its tiny arms about and straining with all it's minuscule might, when all it really needs to do is relax and fall backwards, knowing that it will be caught. Love's one great, big, mighty thing. How could I possibly be in control of that? 

I miss the swamis. I miss communal omming and satsang-sitting and four hours of yoga per day. I'm glad to have some of that booked in this year, as a karma yogi, and I realise that a bit of bending, some meditation, a sprinkling of shared focus and karma yoga - none of that would go amiss. And some dancing. Bring on the dancing. It always helps. Let's sort that out, then.