Morning yoga with Sandy (yoga con gato)

Greetings to the Sun, a big hug to the Moon,

Every morning before breakfast I do yoga (I did) for 20 minutes with Sandy. While the world wakes up to more bad news, I stretch, bend, contort and twist as if there was no tomorrow. Sandy does too.  Sometimes I wonder whether I am selfish, egocentric or disinterested, but I don't think so. I am certainly not alone in my existential nonchalance.

Take Frank Kakfa, the famous Check novelist, for example. In August 14, 1914 he wrote in his diary: 'Today Germany declared war on Russia. In the afternoon I went swimming.' That was the day WWI began. 

If Kafka went swimming in the afternoon, why can't I do yoga in the morning? The thing is I do my yoga practice and let the day to take care of itself. I mean, if I didn't, if I waited for important  developments to happen, sitting quietly in my living room, worried as hell, would that make any difference?  would my empathy and concern for mankind stop any crisis, conflict or war? The answer is: not at all. In our troubled times existential nonchalance is a must.

Yoga as you know is an ancient discipline that originated in India. There is evidence however that other cultures developed similar disciplines but the brand as things are called today, belongs to India.

The interesting thing about yoga, and this is still a mystery to me, is that yoga works at 3 different levels, harmonising the body, the mind and the spirit in one go, so the three work in perfect sync. 


When I finish my yoga routine I feel so good and Sandy does too, she's told me.  Watching Sandy stretching and contorting it has occurred to me that we may owe the existence of yoga to cats. 

Consider this: Unlike humans, cats have it in their nature to stretch. They are natural contortionists whereas humans are not.  Think about it. A holy guru in India, over a millennium ago, was sitting next to a cat.  He was pondering how he could reach a state of holiness and perfection in life. By observing how a cat's stretching routine ends in a total state of relaxation, it is well possible that the guru got some ideas and did some experimenting himself and, cutting the story short, it produced, with the help of others and the passing of time of course, what we know today as yoga. In fact, there are many kinds of yoga, I am simplifying a lot, this is a blog, remember.

Yoga for cats

Cat owners know that after stretching cats take one of these two options: they curl up and go to sleep, (cats can nap for up to 20 hours a day) or they go in what I call the 'duck position' (sitting) or 'the monk position' (folded front paws) completely still for long periods of time as if meditating; cat owners know that cats don't meditate (too much effort), they are merely thinking about and waiting for their next feed. The guru for sure didn't know that, he looked at a cat with innocent eyes, like those of a child (before PlayStation was invented).

Anyway, we don't know how it all started but I certainly believe that cats have not been acknowledged by their contribution to human civilization. Because there is more. Here is another idea:

Would it be possible that the revolutionary education reforms that took place from the mid 1960's and 70's by the 'Me Me Me Generation' (sorry that was a stutter) were the result of adopting and incorporating a cat's attitude to life into human behaviour ?  

'I want this' 'I don't want this' 'I need that' 'I don't need that' 'You can't tell me what to do' 'My needs are not met' 'You are soooo stupid' 'I feel misunderstood' 'I know'  'I have choices' and 'this is my right'.

May be I am going to far in my musings but cats are undoubtedly the masterminds of existential nonchalance, practised by millions of people today as a survival strategy, and that includes me. The existential nonchalance motto is: 'I don't give a f#%$^!

I am so royal

Well, that was how Sandy and I did yoga for many years.

Matilda ♥

Vivaldi murió en el olvido (Vivaldi died a pauper in Viena)

VIVALDIVIVALDIVIVALDIVIVALDIVIVALDIVIVALDI

We are cruising again.

The Purr-lusconi affair died of natural death. Since his 'Window Serenade' at midnight he's been elusive; we catch a glimpse of him crossing the street and then he is gone. He doesn't visit any more as he used to.

Another good piece of news is that Sandy and Freddy are over their October crisis; whatever happened last month between them will remain a mystery per secula seculorum.  

So, could I say that after the storm the sun is shining again? Yes I could; now, could I say that our life is back to normal? No I couldn't; there is not such a thing as a 'normal' in life. Life goes on as usual, a day at a time, but the idea of normality is definitely a human construction, like the clock.

This month is Movember, the month of the moustaches. So another year is almost gone.

For those who are not in the know, during Movember (see our post from November 2010) Australian men stop shaving. 

Here is what they do: they grow incredibly long moustaches or/and beards, don't go to work, don't shower, live like cave men in a tent in their backyards or any spot suitable for a tent; some stay alone, others prefer to be in a group, with friends; in hotter climates a hammock is ideal as one can fall asleep looking at the starts.  It's a peaceful event; they barbecue their vegetables and meat or fish, if near the water, and of course, they drink plenty of beer. 

On 30 November all the participants in the same neighbourhood congregate in a square or park, and they invite the women or partners in their life to come and cheer and clap while a communal shaving and showering ceremony takes place. Then, on the first of December it is all over and back to work on Monday.

Well, in reality it is not exactly like that. May be in an ideal world, may be one day.  Governments and employers would not allow such a loss in revenue and productivity and then of course there is the risk in having idle men for a month... what would they do? what if .. ? eh? oh! or ... you know what I mean? uh uh. Mmmm. It is definitely a no, no. Let's be serious: Mo-vember is a voluntary fund-raising initiative to support mens' health and it is becoming increasingly popular especially among young males.

Movember reminds me that this blog is one year old now as I remember how Sandy and I enthusiastically wrote a post about 'the month of the moustaches' and we included Dalí and his famous Mo. And soon Christmas. Gosh.

That's all from me. Sandy's post follows.

Matilda

Hola amigos y amigas:

Me llamo Sandy y soy la gata de Matilda. Ella y yo vivimos en Australia, la isla continente del hemisferio sur. Tengo un novio que se llama Freddy G. que vive con Gonçalo, un portugués que es vecino nuestro. 

Matilda y Gonçalo se hicieron amigos gracias a nosotros.  La sardina, ese humilde pez, maravilla de los mares, hizo que entablaran conversación un sábado por la mañana al poco de mudarse Gonçalo y Freddy a nuestra vecindad. 

Desde entonces pasan bastante tiempo juntos aunque no existe entre ellos ninguna relación sentimental.  Hablan de casi todo menos de asuntos del corazón.

Al llegar el buen tiempo salen con amigos y a veces Freddy y yo les acompañamos. Hay pocos dueños de mascotas hoy en día que sean tan campechanos y despreocupados como ellos dos. 

Cuando nos sacan Freddy y yo nos portamos de maravilla, todo hay que decirlo; nos quedamos quietecitos en el lugar asignado y hacemos como si no estuvieramos; nadie advierte nuestra presencia y sin embargo nos sirven comida, normalmente en dos pequeños platos para que no peleemos e incluso a veces tomamos postre.

En estas cenas-tertulia Freddy y yo hemos aprendido un montón de cosas; pienso que hemos llegado a un punto tal de conocimientos que nos hemos convertido en 'dos gatos ilustrados'. 

¿Y qué es un gato ilustrado? ¿como se distingue de un gato patán? Pues muy sencillo: según la definición del diccionario de la lengua felina, se considera ilustrado a todo felino capaz de entender en profundidad temas complejos de nuestra lengua, cultura e historia y de debatir sobre ellos si hiciera falta, cosa que no ocurre con frecuencia ya que se deja esta competencia a los humanos.

Durante la cena alguien hizo una pregunta que dio lugar a un debate muy interesante que se prolongó hasta bien entrada la medianoche: "¿por qué hay tantos artistas, como Antonio Vivaldi sin ir más lejos, que murieron pobres u olvidados o que no fueron reconocidos por sus coetaneos por causas diversas?  Se habló de Vivaldi y de sus logros ... para los interesados aquí os dejo un pequeño resumen.



ANTONIO VIVALDI (1678-1741)

Compositor barroco de la llamada escuela veneciana (Marcello, Albinoni etc) dejó una extensa obra musical compuesta por máas de 500 conciertos, 70 sonatas y 46 operas, 195 composiciones musicales y 45 cantatas. Su obra más conocida es 'Las Cuatro Estaciones'. 

Fue ordenado sacerdote en 1703. Se le llamaba il prete rosso (el cura rojo) por el color de su pelo.  Un año después fue dispensado de sus obligaciones religiosas por cuestiones de salud aunque se sospecha que la verdadera causa fuera su dedicación a la música. En 1703 empezó a trabajar en el Pio Ospedale della Pietà dando clases de violín a jóvenes huérfanas. Muchas de sus composiciones fueron escritas para También fue violinista de la Catedral de San Marco hasta 1713. 

En vida Vivaldi fue más conocido como violinista que como compositor parece ser que tocaba el violín endiabladamente bien aunque algunos le acusaban de repetitivo y rutinario.

En 1713 se hizo empresario y compositor de ópera; conoció a la joven Anna Giraud que junto con su hermana no se separarían de él.  Se dice de él que era vanidoso y que estaba obsesionado por el dinero.  

A finales de la década de 1730 viendo el poco interés que había en Venecia por su música decidió probar suerte en Viena.  Un mes más tarde Vivaldi fallecía en la pobreza a la edad de 63 años. Vivaldi cayó en el olvido y fue tanta la ingratitud que Italia tuvo con él que su nombre no aparecía en los libros de música de la época.

Fue un músico innovador, progresista, muy adelantado a su época.  Su música es exuberante llena de ritmo, color y vitalidad. Hizo falta esperar hasta el siglo XX para que se reconociera el valor de su obra y su talento.

Otros artistas que fallecieron en el olvido y/o la pobreza: el pintor Vincent Van Gogh, el compositor Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, el pintor y escultor italiano Michelangelo Buonarrotti, el pintor neerlandés Johan Vermeer y tantos otros ...

La serenata nocturna de Catsido Domingo (Catsido Domingo's night serenade)

SPRINGTIME HAS ARRIVED AT LAST AND ...

Here comes trouble ...

his name is Silvio

Purr-Lusconi

and he is courting Sandy

I am not sure how to explain this story without losing face or credibility.  Life is so full of dramas and melodramas that one should be used to it but I am embarrased in thinking that I allowed myself to be involved in a 'Cats Soap Opera'.

This episode started the night Gonçalo, back from his holidays, took Freddy home. He and Sandy had been rather aloof with each other during Freddy's stay with us so it was time to go home. A period of separation might soothe troubled waters, or make the heart grow fonder, as they say.

That night, around midnight, I was awoken by a strange noise coming from the front of the house. I went to have a look and I was surprised that Sandy was on the windowsill very quiet, listening.  I had to rub my eyes twice: was Silvio Purr-lusconi in purrson, serenading Sandy?

Yes, he was. He ran away as soon as he saw me. Sandy looked at me she was so pissed off at my disruption but I ignored her, I went back to bed and fell asleep at once.

I was awoken again a little later alas, by the same noise! He had a nerve that cat! I would show him this time!

I rushed to the kitchen looking for something to throw at him; a sharp knife was tempting but I disregarded the idea, too tricky; I then grabbed the flour pot, took the lid off and ran to the front door.  I was faster than him, I threw the flour on Purr-Lusconi who took off at once leaving behind a dusty white trail (like a disgruntled Hansel running away from Gretel).

I wished a Harley Davidson or a Hummer would flatten him to the ground when crossing the road (he lives just opposite us) but, fat chance, no traffic in the small hours of the night.

I so dislike the cat: he has terrible a reputation among the cat owners in the neighbourhood. He is a bully with the boy cats and a pathetic Don Juan with girl cats. I will not bore you with his story, just take my word. Besides being too old for this kind of behaviour, he is not in good health: he is seriously overweight, breathes heavily when he walks or rather when he swings, like a crocodile. There is also something creepy in his looks, he's tried to make eye contact more than once and this is definitely too daring for a cat. I believe he is a bad sort and I will not allow him to go near Sandy, it is that simple.

Unfortunately, my 'icing of the cat' didn't go unnoticed.

The next morning I found broken eggs at my doorstep, a dozen, if not more. There was also sugar spilled over last night's flour. This mess was attracting all the ants and insects from the vicinity. I saw an envelope under the mat, it had this message written in red ink: THE UGLY, THE FAT AND THE OLD ALSO EXIST, BITCH. NOW BAKE A CAKE WITH THIS IF YOU CAN.

I was flabbergasted. I put the envelope quickly in my pocket and went inside. When I was closing the door I saw Purr-Lusconi looking at me from top of the driveway giving me an evil look. I didn't go out the whole day.

Matilda

Hola amigos y amigas:

Lio, lio, lio ,lio lio grande ...

Es de sobras conocido que los asuntos del coraz♥n son complicados y a menudo pueden provocar situaciones imprevisibles e implicar a personas totalmente ajenas al caso. Hay una expresion en español que describe a la perfección la situación en la que ahora me encuentro: jugar con fuego.

Se dice: "quien juega con fuego al final se quema" o como advertencia: "no juegues con fuego que te quemarás"

Pues yo he jugado con fuego y ... Matilda se ha quemado. En el microcosmos que es nuestro vecindario tengo la sensación de haber provocado una pequeña guerra civil.

¿Me gusta Purr-Lusconi? ¡Claro que no! ¿A quién le gusta Silvio Purr-lusconi? A nadie. Y sin embargo fui a verle la misma tarde en que Freddy se marchó a casa; Silvio no perdió el tiempo, al anochecer vino a cantarme una serenata con la intención de conquistarme, creo yo.

Yo todavía amo a Freddy G. Desde hace algunas semanas, está serio, inerte, impasible, descolorido, desganado, ni me mira y apenas me habla. Así que para hacerlo reaccionar puse en marcha una estrategia milenaria: 'darle celos'.

¿En qué estaría yo pensando?

La cosa me ha salido fatal.  Fatal, fatal, fatal. ¿Cómo prever la inesperada reacción de Matilda de espolvorear a Purr-Lusconi con harina?¿Y que los vecinos le escribirían una nota anónima sumamente insultante? No lo preveí, ésa es la realidad.  No se me ocurrió que una innocente serenata pudiera terminar tan mal. 

Matilda se asustó, no tanto por la porquería que se encontró delante de casa sino por el insulto.  La llamaron: 'perra' y esto en todos los idiomas es un agravio. Si en lugar de 'perra' la hubieran llamado 'gata' todo habría sido distinto. El lenguaje puede hacer tanto daño como un puñetazo en la cara.

No es lo mismo que a una mujer la llamen 'perra' a que la llamen 'gata'.  No se puede comparar. No voy a explicar ahora las diferencias porque si no no terminaremos nunca este post.

Sigo con la historia: cuando Matilda leyó la nota cerró la puerta, se sentó en el sillón y se pasó la tarde llorando.

¿Por qué no para de llorar? Yo no sabía qué hacer. Me sentía culpable, la verdad. Los gatos, al ser animales poco sensibles, (no como los perros que reaccionan ante las emociones de sus dueños), no sabemos qué hacer ante situaciones así.

Sin embargo, he de reconocer que a las 4 de la tarde estaba preocupada y pensé que debía hacer algo: le mandé un SMS a Gonçalo desde el móvil de Matilda. Una sola palabra fue suficiente para que Gonçalo, seguido por el lánguido Freddy, se plantara en casa menos de un minuto: "Ven".

Se la llevó a cenar. Mientras tanto Freddy y yo nos quedamos en casa, aburridos, mirando el Master Chef (Quel ennui!).

Hasta la próxima,

Sandy

I dance therefore I exist - bailo luego existo

Creation of Man by Michelangelo (1508 - 1512)

News? Not many, since my last post. Freddy G. is still with us. Gonçalo is finally coming back this weekend and Freddy is, no doubt, counting the minutes to go home; We all will be glad when this happens, he is bored stiff. Sandy and I have been wondering if she and I are THAT boring or, he has too high expectations about life.

Since we saw the film Pina three weeks ago, Sandy and I have altered our morning routine.

We used to have breakfast in front of the TV and watch the morning news over a cup of coffee and a French croissant but not any more. There is too much Gloom in the news. Mirages In Unexpected Corners. Smoke Screens.  Distortions galore. Half truths. Hidden Agendas. And now an (almost daily) Popularity poll ..... zzzzzzzzzzz (sleep) of unpopular people. Plus the Impending Crisis and lots of Trivia presented as News. Sandy calls them 'mews'.

Things have got to a point where we can no longer tell what is real and what is not, what is news and what isn't. We need to have a break.

So, now, we dance. And why not?  Pina is our role model.

We apply a simple principle:

express yourself now, find the meaning later.

 

It's like the banks (buy it now, pay it back later) The difference is that I am prepared to share the know how with you for free, whereas the banks would charge you a fee.  

The way things are going you never know when you may feel the need to dance, so it may be a good idea to keep reading; I wonder sometimes if we may all end up dancing in our living rooms. I hope not.

So here it is,

THE POWER OF DANCE 

Rule number One: it is essential that you believe in Fate.  Apply this simple core belief: We don't chose, we are chosen. (A tad old fashioned premise, but hey! we live in the free world, so we can choose what to believe). 

It works like this: When Fate brings something into your life you must accept it, (no resistance) and, this is the important part, you have to transform it. Remember: Passivity in the acceptance, Activity in the transformation.  Give it a go. Keep reading.

Now, follow these simple steps:

1. Close your eyes. 
2. Randomly pick a CD from your collection (mine is huge); an ipod is also a possibility.
3. Put the CD on the CD-player (with your eyes closed, mind your step).
4. Wait (You don't know which music it is going to be; you may feel mild exhilaration).
5. Start dancing as soon as the music fills the room.
6. Dance for twenty minutes (freely, with total insouciance).
7. Stop dancing when the music ceases.
8. After a drink and some rest, try to find the meaning (if you can). 

Sandy and I often find that there is no meaning at all.

This morning, for example, we danced to Johann Sebastian Bach's beautiful St Matthews Passion. Sandy thought it was disrespectful to dance to sacred music but I don't think so. You can dance with respect, and I did.

Yesterday we had a ball (so to speak) with Marlene Dietrich's superb version of Lili Marlene (a song that made the femme fatale  grow in me and the chatte fatale in Sandy). We both ended up with a cigarette (unlit, of course) on our lips.

Two days ago we danced to another old-time tune: Old MacDonald had a farm; here we had the opportunity of giving free rein to our inner child; the one that (according to some mind gurus) lives inside all of us.

What we love of this method is that we don't know what or how we are going to dance and, most important, WHAT dancing will do to us. Some days we end up feeling extraordinarily happy, others not so happy, some days we may even feel sad. It is a Happy Sad feeling though, not the Sad Sad feeling we get with the news. 

 THE ENIGMA

There is an enigma however that keeps turning in my head, that is bothering me. On Monday I picked a CD that I don't own and I would never own, even if it was given to me as a present. Where did it come from?  Who put it in my collection? I don't know. Unfortunately, Sandy and I had to dance for Twenty (twenty looooong) minutes to the cheery  sentimental sugary tunes of André Rieu. That was hard going, let me tell you, at least for me. I hate this kind of music. Fate played a bad joke on me that day for sure.

And while we dance, Freddy G. is counting the minutes to Gonçalo's return while playing with his Portuguese rosary; he goes, bead by bead, (a bead a second) round and round the rosary. It's an obsessive routine that worries me so I will be relieved when he goes home, when Gonçalo returns from wherever he is and whatever he might be doing. Here is another enigma.

Well, that is all for now.  It's Sandy's turn with some thoughts about wealth, that hot topic. Until next time

Matilda

HOLA amigos y amigas (de todas las edades):





Desde la antigüedad los gatos hemos estado cerca del poder, que es lo mismo que decir cerca de la riqueza y del glamour. Basta sólo con observar al animal que la bella emperatriz egipcia Cleopatra eligió para pasar a la posteridad: "no podía ser de otra manera". Incluso creo que se parece a mi.

Los gatos en el antiguo Egipto éramos considerados animales sagrados. Si un gato sufría malos tratos, el maltratador podía incluso ser condenado a muerte. Desafortunadamente las cosas ya no son así.



LA QUIMERA DEL ORO ES ETERNA Y UNIVERSAL


Desde pequeños estamos familiarizados con los conceptos de 'riqueza' y 'pobreza' sin embargo ignoramos muchas cosas sobre su origen.


No sabemos quién fue el primer humano que se hizo rico, ni sabemos cómo surgió la primera fortuna de la humanidad.

Desde luego no fue así.








Es sin duda una historia perdida en la noche de los tiempos, aunque en la Biblia ya se reconocía ya la existencia de ricos y pobres.

Frases, citas y refranes:

Aunque la jaula sea de oro, no deja de ser prisión

A un perro que tiene dinero se le llama 'señor perro'    Proverbio árabe

Las frutas por la mañana son oro, al mediodía plata y por la noche matan.

Dos andares tiene el dinero, viene despacio y se va ligero

Los libros ¡cuánto enseñan! pero el oro ¿cuánto alegra!

"Los avaros son como las abejas, trabajan como si fueran a vivir eternamente".
Demócrito de Abdera.

Cuando el dinero habla, la verdad calla.(Proverbio chino)

Regla de oro: dejar una imagen incompleta de sí mismo.  

Emil Michel Cioran, escritor francés

"Mi sueño es el de Picasso: tener mucho dinero para vivir tranquilo como los pobres" 

Fernando Savater, filósofo español

El amor es deseable. El dinero es absolutamente indispensable.

Jane Austen, escritora inglesa

El dinero no da la felicidad, pero procura una sensación tan parecida, que se necesita a un especialista muy experto para discenir la diferencia.

Woody Allen

La riqueza es una actitud innata de la mente, como la pobreza.  Jean Cocteau, escritor francés

Para el Sabio no existe la riqueza. Para el Virtuoso no existe el poder. Y para el Poderoso no existen ni el Sabio ni el Virtuoso.

Roberto Fontanarrosa, dibujante y escritor argentino

Si no se tienen elevados sentimientos, la riqueza pondrá de relieve la vulgar grosería y la odiosa bajeza.

Angel Ganivet, escritor español

El hombre instruido lleva en sí mismo sus riquezas.

Platón, filósofo griego

Nuestra sociedad ha llegado a un momento en que ya no adora al becerro de oro, sino al oro del becerro.  Antonio Gala, escritor español

OBRAS MARAVILLOSAS HECHAS EN ORO

Iglesia de Quito (Ecuador)

Ataud del rei Tut

Orfebrería Inca

Museo del Oro de Bogotá

Museo del Oro de Bogotá

Escudo en oro (Indonesia)