New Bicycle, Old Bicycle

Well, just about a month ago I purchased a comfort bike. Since I can't find any pictures of it on Google Images, I will just have to describe it. It is a comfort bike, having 700 cm wheels. Possessing seven speeds only, I needed to take it into Recycled Cycles to have them put on a new rear gear cluster that will handle hills more capably. I also transferred the pedals, saddle and saddle post from the Autobike. So far, I have very much enjoyed riding this bike. With the Autobike, I had gotten out of the habit of shifting a derailleur, so I am doing OK with that now.



I have used the new bike to do a little change of scenery. I have ridden uphill on the Cedar River Trail from Renton up toward Maple Valley. And though much of the trail parallels the Maple Valley Highway, which has excessive traffic noise, the scenery is nice.

The old bicycle reference is to the bicycle my late ex-brother-in-law owned. In the past ten years, that poor old bike has followed me from Seattle to Lansing, from Lansing back to Seattle, then from Seattle to San Bernardino, and now has returned back here. One sad aspect of that story is that I never rode that bicycle once in all the time I have owned it. Another sad aspect is the poor old thing has gotten banged up a bit in all the moves. I think that when it was leaned over in storage, I even stepped on the rear wheel, and bent it. So the old bike is one of my new projects. I am going to see what it takes to restore it and ride it.

Then perhaps I'll finally get rid of the other two old bikes that I own.

Mercy, I am such a clutterer/hoarder.

Healing scars

I am beginning to understand a new metaphor about emotional healing.

There are emotional wounds that I have received throughout my life. I have come to realize that the normal progression is for one to tacet forgiveness toward the inflictor of the wound and even to the wound itself. And in so doing one would allow the wound to heal over to a scar.

Rather than do that, I have picked at the emotional wounds and caused them to bleed and become infected by revisiting the source of the wound and the incidents surrounding the wounding. Then I would build resentment because of the wounds' existence. I believe that the reason for engaging in that behavior is a vain attempt to protect myself from further wounding. But instead the net effect is that I had shut myself from those who would love me and from the blessings that the universe is trying to grant me.

But I have learned that if I grant life and love to my wounds and their sources, I can give them up to the loving universe so that my wounds may heal.

Granted, the scars from the healed wounds will most likely remain for the duration of my life, but instead of being a cause of consternation and fear in me, they will be a reminder that I have healed from the pain and can rejoice that I am able to release myself from the resentment I had clutched to my breast so tightly. My heart can then be free.

Good progress.

Can You Feel the Brand New Day?

Lately I had viewed and read "Eat Pray Love" and I have learned so much from that. Thanks, Liz Gilbert.

I have learned that ruination is not a bitter, terminal ending, but it is the beginning of a transformation. I get to choose if the transformation will lead to better or worse.

In like stead, I have learned that if I clear my mind and open my heart, love and peace will flood into my life. I can let past resentments fall away.

Presently, I am seeing metaphors in what I used to hold literally, like the resurrection of Jesus is for me to throw off the mantle of all encumbrences and rise again. Like the scales falling from the Apostle Paul's eyes are the removing of the fear and resentment that prevents me from seeing through the eyes of love.



And I learned a new metaphor about the deity Ganesh. He removes obstacles from us. But also he will place obstacles in our way, if we are prone to going on destructive paths. I think that the most important obstacle Ganesh has removed from my path lately is getting me out of the way of my own happiness. I don't need to prevent my own joy anymore.

Feelings, wo wo wo feelings . . .

I need to jot this in carefully. I have come to a couple important realizations this morning, thanks to two dear friends.

The first realization is from my friend's facebook post where she said that she suffers from depth perception. In such a succinct and profound way she captured the essence of what I am undergoing.

I am a sensitive person and I see in depth greatly, and in doing so I am disquieted much of the time by what I see.

My other friend spoke of my tendency to discount what I feel. Maybe it is a left-over from the macho-John-Wayne-mind-set I was raised in. I need to acknowledge what I feel and accept the feelings, and then deal with them. That is a bit different to what I normally do.

Life Examined

The unexamined life is not worth living. Socrates, in Plato, Dialogues, Apology
Greek philosopher in Athens (469 BC - 399 BC)


I wonder at how many folks out there do not examine their own lives.

After watching the coverage of the attempted assassination of Gabby Giffords, I have come to the conclusion that there are lots of folks who have anger, and haven't a clue what to do about it.

I have always believed that it is the individual's responsibility to curb his acting out on the anger that is within.

My thoughts are with Gabby Giffords and her family, along with the innocent victims of the crazed shooting.

Shame!

About two years ago, I read Healing the Shame that Binds You by John Bradshaw. What precipitated my reading that was that my mind repeatedly revisited past events of which I am ashamed.

One of the things Bradshaw encourages is to ferret out the sources of toxic shame in one's life.

I was raised to feel ashamed of myself. My parents were ashamed of me, as were my siblings.

Perhaps the acquaintances around me were trained by me to treat me as they were ashamed of me.

My most recent partner treated me as though he is ashamed of me. He admits to being constantly afraid of me, as if it is my fault. Perhaps some of the blame is mine. I don't know.

Since it has been two years since I read this volume, I probably need to read it again, to refresh my mind.

I am tired of being ashamed most all the time.

One of those Proust moods . . .

Today I am in one of those Proust moods, thinking of recollections of times past. At least I think it is Proust. I could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

My free association of things past led me to recall some 25 years ago, meeting the wonderful Marva Collins, the Chicago teacher of renown, who never gave up on her kids when she taught them, and because she did believe in them, she got them to achieve many good things.



Fresh in my mind are all the occurances in spending a little time with her. Her groupies were clamoring onto her, and she was polite, yet well as a little dismissive of their attentions. I guess that she was not fond of adulation. Not being a groupie, she actually gravitated to me at the conference for gifted education. And at the time Marva and I were fellow smokers, so she wanted a cigarette in the worst way, but she had somehow run out of smokes. So there we were, sharing a common ashtray smoking cigarettes out of my pack, solving all the world's problems in the classroom together. It was wonderful that she spoke to me as an equal and a peer. She even invited me to apply to teach in her school in Chicago. I was flattered, but knowing her dislike of fawning appreciation, I played it pretty cool. One thing I do recall was that I had a modicum of discouragement in how I was doing in the classroom, and I remember that her optimism was indefatigable, saying that every problem has a solution, if we seek for it. She showed me how to not to accept defeat.

It was a very good time in my past.

I share this, because in my life I have ruminated endlessly over things I had done wrong, wallowing in shame that has become toxic. It is pretty refreshing that I can think back on things that are pleasant and restorative to recall.