PERFECT MOMENTS

If you do follow your bliss, you put yourself on a kind of track that has been there all the while, waiting for you, and the life that you ought to be living is the one you are living. When you can see that, you begin to meet people who are in your field of bliss, and they open doors for you. I say, follow your bliss and don't be afraid, and doors will open where you didn't know they were going to be.

-Joseph Campbell

I can’t begin to tell you the huge amount of work and planning that went into this blog. I’m not looking for kudos or accolades, but it helps you to understand my character a little bit when I tell you that I love to make lists. It seems much of my life is spent writing things out in point form and then never completing any of the tasks I set out for myself. (In fact, though I spent $70 today, I didn’t buy one solitary item from my shopping list. I’ll have to pick up razors tomorrow.) I have at least 8 notebooks full of musings on this opera I’ve been writing since 1994. Have I written the opera? No, not yet. But I’ve written about it. Microsoft Excel is fantastic software that can make you feel like you’re accomplishing a great deal, when in reality, you’re not. I have spreadsheets for Blogged Arteries delineating all my posts from here until August, formatted alphabetically, thematically and by date of post. Why? Well, maybe if I have proof in front of my eyes that I’ve already put a great deal of thought and energy into this, then perhaps I can actually accomplish something. But today threw me for a loop - in a good, nay, great way.  I’m straying from the path and taking my eye off of the prize. I’ve thrown the list out the window (temporarily, natch…), and I’m a better person for it.

One of the most perfect days of my life was spent absolutely alone (I love solitude, and will probably be another post sometime in the near future). It was the summer of 1994, and I was living in Charlottetown PEI whilst working for the C’town Festival. It was my day off, and I had walked into town for a bite to eat. The sky was unashamed in its azure nakedness, and the sun was clean and warm, but not hot enough to induce beads of sweat. A salty breeze floated in from Peake’s Quay, the smell of generations of fishermen in its puffs. I could feel the salt in my bones with each breath.  I walked down to the seaside with my falafel, and sat on the rocks, waves splashing at my toes. I took out a notebook, and began to write. I can remember exactly what I wrote then, 17 years ago, every word. If I close my eyes, I can even see my scribbles and doodles. I stayed for 5 hours, and watched the sunset, a magical moment in a magical land.  Never before and rarely since have I ever felt so serene and complete. Experiences like that don’t come often enough in our lives. Maybe they do, or maybe they try to come, but we’re too busy and distracted to accept them.

I’m actually having a similar moment now. My day began shittily enough – I went to the medical centre to have my first Ventolin treatment in at least 22 years. I’ve been feeling like hell for the past few days, and though most of my symptoms are gone, the cold has lingered in my chest, and has brought with it a wet hacking cough and an uncomfortable wheeze. I felt much better afterwards, and was prescribed an asthma pump by the cute crew doctor who told me to come back and see him in a couple of days - so things aren’t all bad (Note to self: Get sick more often). I felt well enough to spend the day walking around Sydney, and was on my way back to the ship when I decided to have a little rest. That was 5 minutes ago.

I’m sitting on a wharf-side bench in Darling Harbour  – surrounded by people, but absolutely alone. It’s 8 pm and the sun has just set. I am finishing up the last few bites of a scrumptious green tea gelato. Others are either talking intimately with their companions, or, like me, alone and watching in quiet contemplation the reflections of the neon lights dancing in the gently rippling water. I can see tiny bursts of flame out of the corner of my left eye as a man juggles fire for a huge crowd of appreciative onlookers. A woman just sat down next to me, taking a large tome from her satchel. An adorable young gay couple are eating hot dogs, holding hands, obviously infatuated with each other. A couple of tourists ask to have their picture taken. Swarms of teenagers leaving the Imax theatre are discussing Avatar. Despite all the people and the elevated highway directly behind my head, it is so peaceful here. Even the seagulls have ceased their infernal squawking.  I don’t want to leave. Ever. But alas, that’s the trouble with perfect moments. They’re moments. Fleeting glimpses from Mother Earth to remind you what life could be like all the time. And if that sounds like a negative statement, it isn’t at all - I just can’t wait for the next one.

As I get older, I find that I’ve been more able accept to these things as they come, instead of squandering the precious serendipity away. I mean, perfect moments could be everywhere: relief and pride after playing a particularly good solo, the cockiness after getting the once over by a good looking guy, the joy seeing new pictures of my nieces and nephew on Facebook, the melancholy when Buster barks the same bark every time I come to see him after several months away, when my heart skipped a beat as I tasted pasta sauce in Florence that was exactly like my grandmother’s, or even the relief at happening on a pair of pants that actually fit me right, These things are everywhere around us - in all the mundanity and didacticism that surround us  every day. We just have to learn to separate the wheat from the chaff. I was lucky enough tonight to have opened my eyes and heart to capture one this evening. Le sigh… Peace out. 

Darling Harbour, Sydney Australia. March 19, 2010 - 8:30 pm