Some years ago I read a book about a young Calgary woman's travels in Greece. Karen Connelly's writing was so alive that I felt I was right there with her. I intended to search out more of her books, but never did, till recently.

From the library I borrowed The Lizard Cage, Connelly's fictional novel about a long-term political prisoner in solitary confinement in a brutal Burmese prison. Its central character, the singer Teza, is still with me when I sit to do my yoga. He was a devoted Buddhist who relied on meditation to help him cope with his pain, malnourishment, and anguish. I compare my life with his when feeling anxiety myself: what have I got to worry about? I live in luxury and relative safety, while so many people in the world are hungry and cold and in danger from their own governments. It helps me get my perspective straight.

Now I am reading Connelly's journal of a time spent in Thailand: Touch the Dragon. Early in her days there, she is taken to visit an English-speaking monk, who tells her:

"The Buddha was not a god, you see, not in the Christian sense. He was not the creator and destoyer. He was a man who believed people could have power over themselves and escape from suffering if they let the outer world fall away, if they did not cling to things, to events, even to each other."

Connelly, only 17 at the time, wrote:

"It's impossible to let the world fall away. I believe in gravity, in being held to things, history, other human beings. The monk and I argue about this for a while. He is so detached from the world, its people and tragedies, whereas I feel that all of it is somehow my responsibility. Even if I do little, I must think of everything: Afghanistan, starving children, floods, disappearing rainforests. The monk maintains I should put that energy into my own life and the lives of those close to me: I shouldn't be a compassionate whiner."

***

Been out digging in the dirt, final-prepping a flower bed to move perennials from alongside the house to. Put Everett to work excavating grass from near the doorstep so I'll have a place to plant sweetpeas, and they can grow up on the railing. Can't do without sweetpeas. Scott will probably have a bird when he comes home. Poor lad, what he has to put up with.

But holy it's hot today: 32 degrees Celsius, and that's in the shade. By the time I finished putting in the edging for the new flower bed, my face was so flushed I wasn't sure if it was the heat or the digging. Figured I'd better take a break and can get back at it after supper. Lots of well-established perennials to move: delphiniums, daylilies, hollyhocks, columbines, lilies. Might not have room; might have to squeeze. Our spacious vegetable garden area is under water, or it would have been a perfect spot for all these.

I moved a dozen fiddlehead ferns to a shady lane alongside the garden shed, and planted the last of the violas, portulaca and snapdragons into pots, and am beat. Beat! I tell you. And can hardly wait to get rested and out there again.

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