My reading time has been pretty severely curtailed for the last few weeks, for a number of reasons; but the past few days I’ve been struggling for time to read an intriguing bit of wordcraft called Other Lives, Other Selves: A Jungian Psychotherapist Discovers Past Lives. As y’all know, I’ve been somewhat on the fence in terms of how I feel about reincarnation. This particular book is written by a doctor, one who has written from a clinician’s point of view in support of the concept of reincarnation.
I haven’t gotten into the book very far but have found the first bit very intriguing. Dr. Woolger presents the four general views on reincarnation, ranging from outright dismissal to fundie-level religious extremes and a couple of more moderate stops in between. I fall somewhere in the moderate range, to be sure, but hadn’t thought of the one concept, that of a truly universal consciousness from which we all draw the shared histories of our race.
Woolger, for what it’s worth, leans more solidly into the category of believer, and he promises to present a number of examples for his readers’ edification. It’s thoughtfully written and covers some pretty uncommon territory for any health care professional. So far, so good.
Of course this is one of three books I’m reading at the moment.
Did I mention I have a propensity to jump between anywhere from two to five books at a time? I’ll mix Jung and reincarnation with trashy paperback romances, interspersed with books on decorating and the odd hardback on finance or health. Now and then I also add in a history or a political potboiler just to balance things out, and I have to get my sci-fi and/or fantasy fix now and again. And of course there’s the practical stuff, like 101 uses for a dead cat. I mean, 101 cool and unexpected things you can do with everyday stuff.
Eclectic much, you think?
Tomorrow I hit the chiropractor’s office. I am also thinking of tracking down an acupuncturist. The past couple of weeks have been brutal on the arthritic front, enough so that bending over to pick things up is nearly impossible. Even walking is becoming a challenge, and for a change it’s not my knee behind the inflexibility. My back has decided it’s going to allow me exactly ONE position, and that’s a more-or-less straight line, preferably a horizontal one.
What’s really ironic is that some perky young twig of a girl insisted today that I totally needed to attend her yoga class so she can whip me into shape. Yes she did say totally.
What Perk-o-matic didn’t wouldn’t ever acknowledge was that I’ve DONE the yoga thing before and was in unimaginable pain for a week after my last class. I think it would have been categorized as an upper-level beginner class. (I repeated the explanation to her but apparently yoga does nothing to tone up the brain…) I’d be happy to try again but not with someone that gung-ho about it. I’ve got a video here at the house and if I get approved for my vacation days I plan to give it a shot again – strictly on my own terms, in my own time. And I don’t have to pay $50 a session to do it, sweetie-pie.
I have been trying out my bargain-basement camera and other than trying to figure out the exposure settings am really happy with it. It’s the first “real” camera I think I’ve ever had. We got it at a thrift store for the ungodly figure of $10.
Considering it’s a Nikon with all the bells and whistles (except a manual) you probably have guessed by now that when I typed “ungodly” it was pure tongue in cheek.
Yes, G downloaded the manual. As if I have read it, pffft! I’m learning, though, and in terms of clarity this is eons better than my previous cameras. Then again, my previous camera was a Polaroid 3MP digital that probably cost $75-80 new, if that. This is one of the point-and-shoot options that borders on professional quality.
I would love to do photography as a hobby. I love it and see all kinds of gorgeous shots I want to take – provided I can figure out the camera.
Yes, the picture above is my clan, with me smack in the middle of my gorgeous daughters and my two oldest grandbabies. My lone granddaughter is four years younger than my grandson standing next to her, by the way. She’s going to be a model, you wait and see. She’s athletic, as bright as they come, and as you can see, she’s gorgeous.
My grandson is in many ways a typical ten-year-old boy, though he has moments when he expresses the insights of a thirty-year-old man. He alternates between pure imp and astounding sage. I wish I could spend more time with him, though I’ve gotten to see more of him over the past couple of months than I had in the prior four or five years.
Dinner was pizza tonight and I definitely overdid it. My body is rebelling from the carb overload, urg. I’ll survive but I can no longer stuff down an unlimited amount of food without paying the price. That’s actually a good thing.