HSP, meditation & woman flu
Books worth mentioning, meditation & illness, farewells & writing with tenderness
In this update I explore books worth mentioning, my 12 consecutive days of meditation and farewelling a Dedushka & Nagypapa.
Books worth mentioning
With a bout of food poisoning symptoms and a general sense of ill health that developed into a not so common cold, it’s been a strange month.
When my mother in law dropped in with home grown tulips and some chicken noodle soup for my lunch, I confessed I was not sure if the hot sweats were peri-menopausal or my body fighting the cold.
“Maybe it’s distemper.” she suggested, with a cheeky grin.
I felt a vague sense of anxiety after checking my goodreads reading challenge progress for the year. I’ve read 23 books, but I’m three books behind my 40 book goal. I read Sensitive: The Power of a Thoughtful Mind in an Overwhelming World, by Jenn Grannemann and Andre Sólo and Travel Light, by Light Watkins this month.
When I shared a photo of my copy of Sensitive on my lawn, over on Instagram, asking for book recommendations about ambiverts, extroverted introverts and highly sensitive people (HSP), I loved reading this comment.
“Extroverted introvert” a term that seemed a complete contradiction when it appeared on my very first psych test in the corporate world!
Over 30 years later I love that this is a perfect précis of exactly who I am.
It seems that psych tests sometimes know us better than we know ourselves, particularly when we are young and starting out.
Next on my to-read list is Granneman’s 2017 book, The Secret Lives of Introverts: Inside our Hidden World. Have you read it?
Explaining my anticipated absence from Book Club and the discussion about Girl in a Pink Dress, by Kylie Needham via text, I suggested no one would appreciate me coughing all over them and passing on this revolting cold. And the book got an 8/10 from me.
I’ve started listening to my next book club read, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot. It’s based on the extraordinary consequences of the relatively short life of Henrietta Lacks, known by scientists as HeLa. She was a Southern tobacco farmer who worked the same land as her enslaved ancestors, yet her cells—taken without her knowledge—became one of the most important tools in medicine.
Listening to this book on Borrowbox brings many of the characters in this story to life.
12 Days of Meditation
12 days of consecutive meditation had signposted the days after first feeling unwell, and a brief sense of tranquility before the daggers in my throat arrived. I adopted Light Watkins’ simple approach to a seated 20 minute daily mediation.
On the first day of meditation my true love sent to me, a quiet moment to enjoy being.
I discovered Light Watkins after listening to his interview about Spiritual Minimalism on The Good Life Project, with Jonathan Fields.
Reports from others who’ve had this extended cold tell me they’ve vomited, felt nauseous and headachy along with the expected fever, sneezing and coughing as they tossed and turned in their sleep.
Farewell Dedushka & Nagypapa
I attended two funerals within ten days, both celebrating the lives of men who made it to 84. A deep sense of loss and sadness for both families. May their souls now rest in peace.
Losing a loved one to dementia is not a club my Sister and I wanted to join when we said farewell to our Mother in 2019. My God daughter’s Dedushka also faded from this cruel disease and was laid to rest in Fawkner cemetery after an emotional farewell in the Russian Orthodox tradition. Dedications and a candle for each of us to light and hold, a small choir and the ritualised pacing of the priest, circling the inside of the ornate Brunswick East church, leaving a mystical trail of smoke from his holy incense.
I found these words comforting.
“Their bodies are no longer with us, but their souls can hear us through prayer.”
From Father Peter, in the English part of the Russian Orthodox service.
Raw and personal reflections were the theme of the celebration of my Brother-in-law’s father’s life, the following week, in Endeavour Hills. Known by my Niece’s as Nagypapa, his cancer became inoperable. Cared for by his devoted wife and the help of in-home overnight palliative carers, a once vital and charismatic character closed his eyes for the last time.
Streamed to relatives in Europe, the dedications from his wife, sons and grandchildren revealed treasured stories of family and God’s love. The spirited response of many attending his funeral, with the raising of hands and the highly audible Amens, brought back memories from my early twenties of attending a few of these pentecostal church services. This was during my Sister’s season as a Youth Group leader. As my thoughts threatened to spoil the tenderness of this moment, I managed to draw deep meditative breaths through my N95 face mask.
Inspired to Write
Experiencing a feeling of loneliness from a lack of deep conversation due to self isolating to protect my family from getting sick, I’ve comforted myself by writing. I returned to many blog articles from my archives, reviewing pieces as far back as 2014. This was my version of a cuppa tea with an old friend, re-reading my inner thoughts in blog posts from mid-way through my Mum’s journey with dementia.
In How I Found Light in the Darkness of Dementia I observed a more tender version of myself in the words I chose in some of these reflections. This led to a brief feeling of resentment towards the unintended consequence of developing my technical writing abilities for the purpose of my business and search engine optimisation (SEO). It seems my growing knowledge of how to write a blog post, meta descriptions and headlines altered something special about how I used my words to process my experiences.
This is one of the reasons why I write here.
Gently paying attention to the unravelling of words as they flow from my heart.
With love & gratitude,
KPH
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I acknowledge the Traditional Owners and Custodians of the lands on which I live and pay my respects to Indigenous Elders past, present and emerging. Sovereignty has never been ceded. It always was and always will be, Aboriginal land.