Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
"We Three"
Friday, June 24, 2005
Let's hear it for endorphins!
I am writing my second college paper, on an article about endorphins, and it is only 2 pages, double-spaced, 12 font, but it has me spinning. I picked an article expecting to hear that endorphin is a natural opiate, and is produced when we exercise, giving us that marvelous high, like when I get off that damned treadmill, I feel like I could fly away. But I also read that meditation increases endorphin levels as well. Why? The article did not say, so I went after about 5 more articles, and it seems to be in the breath, though another factor may be prolonged periods of hyper-awareness, a sort of letting-go of everything else but the running or the chanting, or even the Sufi dancing and concentrating on the moment. That's a pretty wonderful thing to know. My favorite endorphin-producing activity is washing the car. I get into the moment, enjoying the sudsy sponge swipes all over every inch of its shiny black body, scrubbing those ill-fated bugs off the license plate, and watching the sunlight play in the spray when I hose it off. I am less enamored of sweeping out the muffin crumbs and dog hair, but I am in such a good mood by the time I get around to them, it doesn't matter. When I am done, I feel euphoric in a mild-mannered way. OK, I'm kind of nuts here, but it's a benevolent kind of crazy, n'est-ce pas? And I sure hope my teacher likes my paper. I have figured out that angle, to follow her instructions and give her what she is looking for. That's a quantum leap, right there.
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