Who Dad?!

Are You With Me?

Funny, how quickly we normalize the abnormal: the crazy weather, the bizarre dreams, weird things happening, and so many fashioning their own versions of facts and truth.

Yet, I was thrilled to have a couple of days of feeling almost like my old self, sitting back, reflecting on how we've been coping. Unless under siege, days still need to be filled and time must be passed. Have you noticed yourself or others making plans for a future few believe in anymore?

For example, why am I writing this and who am I writing for? Yeah, right, there doesn't seem to be much point, but here I am. Of course, it's August in the desert and this is one way to deal with the confusion of summer hibernation. There is something more aspirational though. It's about consciousness and how we are all connected. I like to imagine that many of us are attempting to co-create a change in how we perceive ourselves and our collective role in saving life on this planet.

Oops! As soon as I wrote those words, the temporary crown I got just a few days ago fell out. It was as if the Universe itself were laughing at, dethroning, my grandiose thinking. Anyway, I'm now back from the dentist who fashioned and put in another one.

I'll tone it down a bit, write about something else. Except, I'm being distracted by our cat who is complaining insistently about something. I marvel at how a creature so dependent upon her humans can remain so imperious. Wouldn't you grovel if you lived at the mercy of giants? Oh well, I suppose I can learn something from such "cattitude".

In golf, for example, as in traffic, I have often been too aware of the impatience of people behind me or bothered by the slow obliviousness of those in front of me. I have written about this before, but these urges of late to write some kind of golf manual seem to come from nowhere.

Get a Grip

Where to start? The grip, of course. Put your hands on the club. Your hands already know much, but let them play with the various possibilities: interlocking, overlapping, reverse overlapping, baseball, or some version of your own making. Try them all while hitting balls. Notice what happens as you shift your hands, when your grip is weaker or stronger.

Here's the first secret: the smarter your hands, the better your short game. Think ping pong, rather than robotics. I myself do what no instructor would advise: I change my grip all of the time, imagining how I want the ball to fly, bounce, or roll. And, yes, I sometimes chunk or blade a delicate shot. I consider such moments alarm clocks, reminding me to stay awake in each swing. Attention wanders. Gently call it back.

This brings me to the second insight: see the hit. Forget all of those swing thoughts, worrying about where your head is, or what your arms are doing or not doing, and just attempt to witness the moment of impact. With that intention, your eyes link your hands to your mind. The result is a slow awareness at the very center of the swing. No matter the club-head speed, you remain the calm in the eye of the tornado. Your entire body, every muscle, can now move in coordination to accomplish the precise task it is given: high, low, fade, or draw.

Did the cat just smile at me?! Something strange is going on. Where did what I just wrote come from? In three paragraphs, everything I knew about golf just came out. So much for a manual. It's barely a pamphlet. I need a walk.

There's a plot of land nearby I take care of, mostly watering and light landscaping. I've probably mentioned it already. It's the Valley of the Moon, a sanctuary for me. I head there.

For years, I've attended to its needs: trees, plants, a fish and frog pond, and with an eye towards the health and hospitality of all that inhabit or visit it.

As I was walking, my right foot started to swell for no apparent reason. It felt odd, but I continued to unwind a hose.

Ouch! An ant bit me on the exact spot of the swelling. Weird. I've never been bit or stung when at this place. It felt like some kind of betrayal. I shouted down, "I am your caretaker! Don't you recognize me?"

No response. I'm sure I was in its way and it was nothing personal, but I felt rejected, on guard.

I went about my business, but paid more attention to where I was stepping. There was a tree I wanted to give a deeper drink. I brought a hose to it, let it run while I took off my flip flops and went to a patch of grass to do some stretching. I made sure I wasn't interfering with any insects' progress.

However, when I returned to retrieve my flip flops, they were covered with ants. I had to hose them off to retrieve them. Unsettled, I got out of there as fast as I could.

What the heck was going on?! Talk about feeling antsy!