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Beauty amid the garbage strike: A Toronto writer looks at things differently

Submitted by Mariellen Ward

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About/Bio: I am a freelance writer and editor based in Toronto (and, sometimes, Delhi). My passion is traveling in India and writing about my adventures. Here in Toronto, I recently took up jogging, something I thought I would never do.

My take: Having spent a considerable amount of time studying and practising yoga, in Canada and India, I have learned that there are many ways of looking and seeing. While politically I am not at all in favour of the Toronto strike — "Cmon, bankable sick days?!?!? We're in a recession. You're lucky to have a job!"— I like to see the moment behind the reality of everyday life. Life is made up of precious moments. You can find beauty and peace and happiness if you choose to. Especially if Toronto is not piling garbage in your local park.

This morning, on day 17 of the Toronto garbage strike, I went to my local park as usual, and began walk/jogging in circles around the track that runs the perimeter of the park. Now that summer vacation has started, there is a lot more activity in the park, a lot more kids, and I had a lot more to look at than usual.

As I ran around the small park, I noticed a row of about 50 kids, in brown or pale pink t-shirts, each kicking a soccer ball down the length of the soccer field. It was a controlled melee with little ones sending the ball in all directions, including into the gulley; and one tall girl with long legs striding down the field, her pony tail flying behind her.

A couple of dog owners huddled together at the far end, talking dogs, while a well-known local musician talked on a cell phone as he walked the track in a natty olive-green windbreaker. Two boys were throwing a large, bright yellow ball over a high, flat-roofed, metal shed, and I wondered what they would do if the ball landed on top and stayed there.

On the other side of the loop, a group of six 30-somethings were working out together, in a circle, while a baby boy played with a plastic truck in the middle. One of the men was leading them in a kind of cross between jumping jacks and push-ups. On the far side of them, facing a clump of trees and bushes, two people were seated in complete stillness, meditating.

On the path that parallels the street, a middle-aged woman was sitting on a park bench, absorbed in reading the newspaper, concentration lines forming on her forehead. And then back at the beginning, a group of Asian men were playing tennis on the public tennis courts.

On my way around again, the kids were still running in every direction, though the line seemed a tad more disciplined, the dog walkers were still huddled, and the two boys were now sitting on top of the shed and throwing the ball the short distance between them. The people working out were performing a yoga posture as I jogged past and the meditators had started to move in a way I know is part of the Kundalini yoga warm-up sequence.

The musician was still talking on the phone, his head cocked to one side, his feet splayed out at angles as he walked slowly out of the park and a new character entered, a dog walker who looked like he just rolled out of bed and was not sure it was a good idea. I imagined a late night, possibly involving beer or whiskey.

Listening to music on my iPod, and running in circles around the people in the park, I noticed a gentle rhythm, a hum of people and nature going about their business in harmony.

The sky above was a ceiling of steel-grey clouds, held aloft by the needle of the CN Tower in the distance. Somewhere, the garbage strike was still on, the recession in full swing, my bank balance reaching a dangerously low ebb. Yesterday was the Dalai Lama's 75th birthday, last week Michael Jackson died, and this year marked the 25th anniversary of my best friend's death by suicide.

But in one clear, light-filled moment, while jogging my local park and watching people enjoying the summer, the universe seemed to be unfolding perfectly, as it always has, and always will.

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