Wisdom

“With age comes wisdom.”

It would be nice to think so, but a lot depends on an individual’s lifestyle and experiences. Some people never grow up, in the eyes of others. We are all how we are meant to be, with a few tweaks here and there as we seek knowledge or self-improvement.

Oscar Wilde, “With age comes wisdom, but sometimes age comes alone.”

“A word to the wise.”

Something my dad would say to me, starting a conversation offering advice, brief opinion or more often, a heads-up on a point of interest, usually negative.

Quote from Wikipedia regarding wise owls,

“The perception of owls as symbols of wisdom dates back to Ancient Greece, where the owl was sacred to Athena, the goddess of wisdom and strategic warfare. Owls were often depicted perched on her shoulders representing knowledge, vigilance and intellectual prowess. Greek soldiers even regarded the presence of an owl as a favourable omen before battle, and the bird appeared on coins called ‘glaukes’ reinforcing its symbolic link to wisdom and insight. The Romans later adopted this symbolism through Minerva, Athena’s counterpart, maintaining the owl as a representation of intelligence.”

Between the ages of eight and nine, I attended the village school in Padfield, near Glossop. The head teacher was a formidable looking woman, always wore her cap and gown at school and made me think of a wise, old owl. She was Mrs Swift and at the time, I thought Mrs Owl would be a more appropriate name. She was lovely and kind, not a bit like her appearance suggested. This was a very happy time in my childhood and I have fond memories of the short time my family spent there.

My photograph is of one of my late aunt’s religious pieces. I have it in the landing window, to keep me in check.

I found this poem by James Joyce, written during his time in Zurich,

Bahnhofstrasse

The eyes that mock me sign the way
Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are
The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! Star of pain!
High hearted youth comes not again.

Nor old heart’s wisdom yet to know
The signs that mock me as I go.

James Joyce (1882 – 1941)

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Biorhythms - Life Cycles

Long before speed cameras were installed on the A583, my personal best driving time from my little house in Layton to my place of work in Preston was seventeen minutes. This was early morning, summertime and green traffic lights. I promise I kept to the speed limits until I was on open road, in that quiet window between the factory workers heading to British Aerospace or GEC setting off for Strand Road, and regular morning traffic building up. I liked to arrive at work for seven-forty-five. I liked to be one of the first in.

One morning I was thwarted by incidents beyond my control. A minor collision between a car and a van had occurred on the bend at Lea, blocking the road and putting traffic in both directions at a standstill for ages. This was in the old days, before reaching for a mobile phone was second nature. As time marched on and despite the soothing tone of Terry Wogan keeping me company on the radio, I began to feel stressed. Out of three key holders, I was the only one expected in work that day. The other two both lived in Blackpool and would have had the same problem as me, had they tried to get there. All I could do was wait. Eventually, things were moving and I managed to fly up Riversway, lucky green lights, all the way to work and a car park full of patiently waiting staff. I gave apologies and explained the situation, which they were aware of as someone had heard a traffic report on local radio.

“Bad biorhythms day, love?” A colleague offered sympathy when we were inside the building, unlocking doors and switching off the alarm. She made me laugh, if nothing else. Biorhythms had become popular at that time, mid-eighties. I remember someone having a book about it and learning how to work out biorhythm cycles. I just thought it was a fad, I still do. I believe that my thoughts and feelings are all to do with how I might deal with something, be it stressful or otherwise, and not where I might be up to on a biorhythm cycle. Of course, I might have it all wrong.

From Wikipedia – “The biorhythm theory is the pseudoscientific idea that our daily lives are significantly affected by rhythmic cycles with periods of exactly 23, 28 and 33 days, typically a 23 day physical cycle, a 28 day emotional cycle and a 33 day intellectual cycle. The idea was developed by Wilhelm Fliess in the late 19^th century and was popularised in the United States in late 1970s. The proposal has been independently tested and consistently no validity for it has been found.”

There it is. The cynical side of me is amused that a man decided to refer to the 28 day cycle as ‘emotional’.  

Biorhythm readings, predictions, whatever is the best description, are available online. On the strength of nothing more than my date of birth, this reading came back in a nanosecond: ‘Physical’ – Efficiency is high. Use it. ‘Emotional’ – There will be light at the end of the tunnel. Sitting in your shell is not much fun. ‘Intellectual’ – Getting better with intellectual skills, if work needs concentration, it’s good to do it within the next ten days.

Actually, I’m having lots of fun sitting in my shell, being efficient and doing my own thing, be it intellectual or not. Everyone who shares my date of birth will have the same reading, just like a horoscope.

A bad biorhythms day as suggested by my colleague all those years ago means nothing. Sat in a traffic jam, concerned about staff, unable to let them know and feeling tense because of it is all there was to it.

My haiku:

Tell me if it’s true,

All this biorhythm stuff,

I don’t believe it.

 

Don’t bother checking,

Nothing more than horoscope.

Take life as it comes.

 

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading, take care, Pam x

 

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