Pulling wool over the eyes

Drug companies, bottled water companies, food company giants, domestic chemical purveyors . . .

We're in bullshit territory, and have been for so long that most people don't even notice it, but, in part, thanks to the free information out there on the net (not all of it reliable obviously) and in part thanks to a certain general angst that all is not good on our shared sphere perhaps people are beginning to question that what manufacturers and marketing agencies etc state may not in fact be true - at all.

Our bathroom sink has been semi-blocked for several months; we've tried the plungy thing, the coiled metal drain unblocker, taking the mysterious tubage under the sink apart and cleaning it many times hot water, vinegar and bicarb, shouting at it, and I even bought a bottle of blasto-drain or similar title but as it has to not contain anything very caustic because of our lovely reed bed, I was very doubtful that it would work - which it didn't.

None of it worked so I finally called the plumbers who turned up yesterday with a massive black plastic tube and suction handle - thing, and proceeded to grunt away for a good half an hour until finally the stuff deep within our 1980s bathroom system finally gave up and moved on towards said reed bed - lucky it!

After congratulating him on his skill and determination I asked about 'blasto-drain' and he said - beh, NON - faut pas! or, "do not ever use this shit or similar shit as it does nothing at all except cost loads of dosh and is very bad for the nature!" I could have hugged him except he would have been very frightened - it was so amazing to hear a young (very) person in the building trade stating such truths.

I worked - for my sins - in advertising for years (on the side of producing the visual elements for campaigns), so have clear memories of sitting in mind-crushingly boring meetings concerning the best way to dupe the public and the best way to sell as much as possible of whatever the products happened to be - anything from kitchen carpet (weird!) to dog food, paint, biscuites, shoes, office furniture, curtains and sanitary towels. I think it was at this meeting that I finally knew I had to escape . . .  'so, what colour should the fluid be? and which colour ribbon to dress the item with . . . flowers? ideas, Kate? 

In my head, I had whapped the boney, nicotine-drenched art director about the head with a fully saturated (blue fluid) sanitary pad and had ran from the room laughing manically into Oxford Street and all its over-stocked shops of unnecessary goods. In reality, I marked that as a point that I would up the writing and illustration and leave the easier money world of styling.

Back to the wool. It's continually being pulled, over-hyped, or even made to be a one and only option in the case of pharmaceuticals for example. Drugs certainly have their place and wonders such as antibiotics are life savers when used correctly, but maybe we should all be doing our own serious research into other ways of coping with aches and pains of body and mind. I've just listened to an excellent talk featuring psychiatrist Mark Horowitz who himself suffered for years while trying to get off antidepressants and other drugs which were added as his side effects required other treatments. It took him eight years and he now spends his time writing and lecturing to help similar sufferers find their lives again.

About ten years ago I went to see a nerve specialist in our old town as I was having very unpleasant and scary attacks in the face  - see very old posts a long time ago... After slapping me a bit he suggested that the 'beast was asleep' but as it would likely awaken again I had to take drugs every day . . . for the rest of my life. I explained that it was indeed intermittent and I certainly didn't want to take strong drugs (and they are very strong) forever, when there might be other possibilities. If I had mentioned meditation or restricting screen time - both of which I use to help the condition now - he probably would have eyed me quizzically then called for security to remove a clearly deranged person from his office. 

When I got back from the pharmacy with afore-mentioned box of drugs which he had insisted again I take, I read the first item on the side effect list: may cause suicidal thoughts. Great. I can admit that one or two had already sidled into my terrified mind, and I certainly didn't want easy access to any more . . .

Food companies. Writer flexes hands and approachers keyboard. Nope - enough for now. That's a massive rant for another time. Suffice to say the food industry pulls more wool over more eyes than anything else does. Check out Ultra Processed People, by Chris Van Tulleken. think I did a whole blog post about his book a while ago. A real eye-opener...

Being in yourself

In the moment, just being, awareness, awakened, in the now, in the present, fully conscious . . . there are many terms for this state we all, or possibly not all of us, experience at regular or regular intervals. I think I've blogged about this before but it's lost somewhere in a blog backlog - nice tongue twister! (red lorry, yellow lorry) anyway, meditation having become more prominent in my life over the last couple of years requires further feature in my ramblings.

I usually find a twenty minute spot during the day - it works best for me in the morning after writing, but can be at anytime - in place of flipping through a stack of thumbed magazines in a waiting room/ phone scrolling, or after a frustrating call to sort some tedious piece of bureaucracy when the mind needs a sense of reality. Anytime, even five minutes to listen inwards, feel one's body doing its miraculous continuous activities and stop any futile overthinking.

I do use recordings, and favour the voice of Sarah Raymond from the Mindful Movement; a clear and gentle voice. I tend to stick to her videos which have emphasis on breathing and mindfulness and with little or no music rather than the more instructive and personal development type ones. 

Two phrases of hers that always stick with me are: living between your thoughts, and you may find you notice more. The former is a valuable line of words to carry about in the head especially in stressful times. The latter is certainly true. I always was a cloud/bird/tree gazer but now, through practicing meditation regularly, even more so, happy to walk locally and find continual amazement in the small and overlooked details of nature doing its thing without our interference. Unfortunately there's a lot of interference in our particular stretch of countryside with fields of one-use plastic mini-tunnels, which brings me onto the subject of acceptance - something often talked about in meditation and of which I am trying to practice as it's true it does make for a much easier and more pleasurable day-to-day 'life experience'.

So, how much does one accept? The past and its stories of events and times that may feel hard to accept, an obvious one to work on; the way other people function, accepting that they may do things differently to oneself, yep, certainly reduces the small and unnecessary pressures and irritations which are so readily present if we let such things bother us. What about the bigger things? Like the one-use plastic and general ravaging of our countryside for winter salad that I know most French folk push to the side of their plates. If I do nothing and everyone else does nothing it will get worse, more hedges cut, habitats destroyed etc. So, I've gone ahead and made enquiries, contacted environment bodies and it's worked so far in that a keen sounding young man is coming to look at our immediate surroundings and add our complaints to the many others he is apparently receiving.

In a highly turbulent and worrying time, which is probably pretty much the entire history of mankind, I feel meditation could and possibly should have a place in everyone's lives. On another plus side, it costs nothing, unless you go on a fancy retreat, and often feels like the mental equivalent of a relaxing massage, and personal reboot for those muddy-minded times.  

Being in the moment

I used to occasionally, usually while washing up for some reason, become aware of me: me at this point; me rinsing a cup, staring out at the woodpile - this is me, doing this in this present moment. Now, having explored mediation ( a very basic exploration so far) for a few months, I get what that was about. We're always so busy thinking ahead to what has to be done next; planning, even if it's just, what's for lunch, or oops, must put a wash on, or worrying about the past - things we might have done or said or completed inefficiently or not even started that we forget to appreciate the fact that we are alive, experiencing being alive, and all the associated sensations however small or overlooked.

I started trying to meditate during the first throws of our house moving project when the lists, packing and endless arranging of everything became overwhelming. At first I could never switch off sufficiently from the to do lists, the phone calls, solicitor stuff, etc, but after about five attempts with the help of a guided meditation channel on Youtube the quiet mind thing gradually seeped in to my overloaded person. If anyone reading this has never tried meditation I would recommend it, especially in our current bewildering time of this century - all centuries have had their own varieties of bewilderment but I imagine most humans would find 2020 to have been somewhat challenging...

A successful meditation is almost as good as a calming massage, and free! especially if you can get to the particular ultra relaxing state of body heaviness - being grounded I suppose. I can't cope with the guided mediations that feature 'calming music' just the spoken word seems to work for me, or possibly a bit of gentle sea on pebble beach sound, or something similar. I can just about get myself into a mediative state now if I recall one of the guided meditations I have used many times, and am becoming more aware of the general 'me being in the moment' and worrying less about what must be done later, tomorrow, next week, etc as I go about my day.

Here's a small youtube of Martin Scorsese talking about his own meditation practice and thanking David Lynch for his work in creating - The David Lynch foundation for transcendental meditation. Clint Eastwood meditates too . . . has done for the last 40 years . . .

Martin Scorsese on Transcendental Meditation and the David Lynch Foundation

Stretching yourself

I've been saying 'I'll go to a yoga class' for about twenty-three years, give or take a few months, but for the last two Fridays I have - gone to a yoga class.

When you look up yoga images on the net - such as the above, (thank you, Huffington Post) 99% of the images are of lithe young beautiful people with slim limbs, poised in ligament-wrenching poses in front of impossible sunsets, aqua seas and white-sanded beaches.

Our yoga group was mainly OLDER people: grey haired, a little thicker around the middle than perhaps they (certainly me) would like, but nevertheless, relatively fit-ish. The class was held in a 'bien-être' center (being good to yourself, place) which was a sterile as a dentist's waiting room with a view of a lot of dead grass and a soundtrack of grunting from the adjacent weights room.

BUT! the class was a revelation, both times. 

I do exercise each morning; a sort of home made routine of physio, Alexandre Technique and yoga that I have vague memories of from decades ago, but this is so all-consuming, even with the grunting from next door invading one's inner beautiful space. 

Even though I've only done two classes, already I feel more supple; legs more energised, less (slightly) stressed about trying to get everything done - and I'm working on this. Maybe I'll add in the other thing I've been meaning to do for the same twenty-odd years - meditation.

I did attend one class back in London on the Hornsey Road where we spend about half an hour examining the complex taste sensations of a raisin and then did breathing techniques of counting to ten slowly and not letting ideas, worries and lists of the following day intrude. I was supremely bad at this but was attracted to the IDEA of it - the idea of being able to really empty the mind of all useless angst and to concentrate only on The MOMENT, etc.

I did wonder if after these two sessions I might think . . . nah, not enough time, another thing to find money for, whatever, but I feel drawn to continue and find out what my not-so-young bod can put up with and, hopefully, embrace.

Cake meditation

As I have said many times, the internet is a marvel.
I just put in Buddha made of cake and lo . . . thousands of images. Here he is, beautifully sculpted in marzipan by the 'Artisan cake Co'.

Actually I don't think it would be possible to push a knife into that particular cake; I think it would have to become a fixture in the house, gradually becoming a little more discoloured and stickier with each passing year.
I was thinking more of one of Mark's cakes. Serious cake: eggs, flour, raisins, brown sugar, sliced prunes, cream icing topping: whatever happens to be in the cupboard, and made with a skill that I still find extraordinary after . . . well, how ever many years it is. He doesn't do recipes: People ask for them, but they don't exist; he's an instinctive baker - handful of that, couple of eggs, a shake of this, oops bit much, never mind. They always come out brilliantly except the beetroot cake which was totally inedible. Even Madame post-Materialist couldn't think what to do with it other than go and buy a pig so it wouldn't be wasted.
So . . . what has this to do with meditation, I hear you asking as your finger heads for the little red 'close this page' virtual button. No really this has a purpose, honest.
Years ago in London I went to a meditation meeting, mainly because there was someone there I fancied at the time.
We sat in a large warm room with dim lighting, scented candles - an odd contrast to outside on Holloway high street with sirens screaming and buses snorting. I relaxed and listened to the person leading the meditation. Already it was calming, the thoughts of car clamping and props I hadn't found for the following day's shoot sloping away.
Everyone was passed a large fat raisin. We were asked to chew it very slowly, very slowly. To think about where the raisin had come from, how long it had been growing in the sun, who had picked it, where they lived. What was the taste really like: the sweetness, the texture of its wrinkled surface.
Then the actual meditation: counting to a hundred I think - stop each time something enters your mind and start again. Let everything fall away, just the counting. I could see how it worked but my busy brain wouldn't shut off from lists of things to do, things I should have done, things that would have to no doubt be done. It was the only meditation class I ever went to, but I do try occasionally, without much success, to apply it to my life today.
Yesterday I relived the raisin experience and will try and do this most days.
It was a grey cold day, clouds scudding, wind moaning around the walls of the house. I had stoked up the fire and had a sacred piece of 'Galette de Rois' in replacement of Mark cake, as he is absent from the hothouse for a few days. The runty dog came and sat on me and I stroked his silky fur absentmindedly as I consumed tea and cake, very slowly. Where had this slice of cake come from . . . probably some boring factory that supplies French supermarkets, mmm not so good . . . but still.
Sweet, soft flaky texture, hot tea, dog's smooth back, the hills - brown with a scattering of icing sugar snow on them, silence apart from a couple of rooks in the tops of the cypress trees, time marked by the logs on the fire disintegrating a little more with each second that passed. Ten minutes perhaps, out of an otherwise fairly busy day. Time just to sit and really experience just 'being'.