Ever had a strong emotional experience which feels like "oh, the full meaning of this is going to transform everything, all of my life, for good!" - but then after the peak of the experience has faded away you eventually find yourself back in the old, same old, realizing that despite the intensity of the moment nothing really transformed? And sometimes, when you look back at your life you realize how some humble little event proved to be a turning point, permanently altering the course of your life, but just that the process of transformation has been so slow that you didn't quite notice it happening? Or, anything in between?

Looking back my own life, it feels like one of those turning points was the time when the music of Mariska really struck me. It was a few months of an emotional tide, allowing me to go through such feelings I had already forgotten, allowing me to feel that some unreachable dark corners of my soul suddenly felt a gentle touch of shared understanding and acceptance. Sure, slowly the emotional storm settled, but I don't think I ever returned to quite the same old, but landed in a new kind of being. Or, to be more precise - it feels like my life took a turn and my inner process has been heading to a new direction, and the process continues. A few months ago I bought a ticket for Mariska's gig at Tampere.

Well, but how to describe that peculiar process of inner transformation? As usual, it isn't so easy to put in words, but let me try. The starting point is the state of feeling numb and slightly dissociated; the strange feeling of not really being present in my own body, being an outside spectator to my life. And feeling that a direct connection between my inner self and others is metaphysically impossible, that there always is something like a transparent but diamond-solid pane separating me from the world. The state I've written about in so many of the blog posts, yes. And, from that, slowly healing towards being fully present in my own life, slowly finding it easier to communicate and to share with others. It is a long road, and I feel that there are still some big things I need to digest in the process - but looking back all the years I can certainly see how things have changed for better. Although it must be noted that things aren't always neat and linear. For example, for the past years when I've been putting a lot of focus and effort in taking the reins of my income, maintaining a creative project, instead of just passively coping with the somewhat unpleasant situation actively working towards making the realities of my life more wholesome - on the practical level that has meant a lot of sitting at the desk coding Ancient Savo. And now when the game project feels like more stable, out there, going onwards slowly but steadily, I can pay a bit more attention to other things, like my physical well-being. It really feels that too much sitting has not been good, but I haven't yet found a way to integrate some regular physical exercise to my daily and weekly routines.

And then it was Wednesday, before the gig which was the next Friday. The elder fisher lady living nearby called to ask if I'd like to have some fish she had caught. Sure, yes! I went to collect, and there was a big fatty asp (Leuciscus aspius). The lady suggested I could try plank cooking it by blaze. Somehow, on that day I was feeling low on energies, and when I needed to visit the village center I got the idea of buying some beer at the supermarket, thinking that it would be very relaxing just to sit by fire slowly sipping some beer, watching the fish ripen, and later on having a sauna. Well, I salted the halved fish and let it stay in the fridge for a night. I cooked the fish on Thursday. And, indeed, it felt like a week long holiday just to unhurriedly sit next to a fire, sipping a few cans of beer, watching the fish cook. The fish was very tasty and for a moment I felt that everything else can just fade into the background so that I can enjoy being in the moment.

Friday morning, and I wasn't so sure if drinking beer was such a good idea after all =) No, I didn't drink it enough to give a proper hangover, but somehow my mind just felt foggy, lacking focus, not having that much initiative to get things done. Things like these are still a bit confusing to me - I mean, one would expect that after a day of resting and relaxing one would expect to feel refreshed and more energetic, no? Is it because I would've needed more time to rest and relax? Or that I did it the wrong way? Or that I'd just need that little bit of physical exercise to kick-start my metabolism, making the bodymind feel fully awake and energetic? On some level all the confusion and low energy made me think that if I hadn't bought the ticket I would just skip the gig and stay at home. But, I already had the ticket and decided to go. I asked a friend if I can stay at their sofa for the night. Yes, they replied, also inviting me to join a kungfu training they were anyway going to. They said that today they are going through something which is very beginner-friendly, so no precious experience required.

I was unsure - my initial emotional reaction was like "oh, that is too much for my poor body!" but I also told myself that I can't just sit passively waiting for magically to feel fit enough to start regular physical exercise. That sometimes you just need to dip your feet into the cold water and let the change begin. Or, at least - I can try. If the kungfu turns out to be too much in my current state of being, then I can just withdraw, so there is nothing to lose. This way I convinced myself to give it a chance.

At Tampere I met two of my friends, and together we went to the kungfu. I still didn't quite know what the today's lesson would be about, so it felt a little bit of an adventure - going together with a small party of friends, going to face unknown situations, feeling thankful to have these friends on my side - without them I would probably just be sitting in some random cafeteria feeling mildly hangoverish and waiting for the concert to begin. The kungfu club turned out to be a smallish, humble and cozy in a good way. It wasn't one of those big sports centers where multiple clubs have their time slots to share the same space, but looked more like just for them, which made the atmosphere somehow very grounded. And there was just a handful of participants, which often is easier for my mind, and the instructor had time to pay attention to each one individually instead of just giving some general example for a mass of followers. And there I was, following the instructions to do the basic Qi Gong moves - essentially, coordinating physical movement with breathing, and focusing on body-awareness of how it feels to be there.

After the lesson the instructor gave me some pieces of advice on how to continue training on my own - as I also said that this is something I'd like to pick up as a habit, doing the movements every morning. "If it is cold weather, don't train outdoors for the freezing air is not good for lungs. Also, not in a sauna" - and that made me smile, as a vivid memory surfaced; when I was a teenager I bought one of the first (or, probably the first) Finnish books about Tai chi - and that book had instructions for 8 moves of Qi Gong. I tried to learn both, and that was one of the early but important steps in my own path of making a peace with my body, finding a sense of physical presence which kind of a transcends the old Western notion of body-soul dualism. And, with all the teenage enthusiasm I was planning an extreme winter training period for myself - first doing a series of movements in the sauna, and then another series naked outdoors in the freezing temperatures. Well, I only tried that a few times, and I think such experiments were a part of the journey of "how does it feel to be present in my body". That must have been some 35 years ago. And now, in my fifties, half randomly finding myself doing the same moves again, together with friends, guided by an experienced instructor, and it certainly felt like the hangoverish fog fading away, making room for a sense of clarity and life.

It is so simple that it feels almost stupid that I didn't think of this before. As, having this feeling of "some regular exercise would be good for me. In the wintertime I like cross-country skiing, but I can't quite find any weather-independent method of training that I'd find easy and enjoyable to start" - and I always thought about things like going for a 30 minute walk, slowly adding some jogging to it. Or, spending 45 minutes dancing to the music alone in my home. And constantly finding excuses why I won't start it today, why it feels like too much just now, or how it is more urgent to spend that time just trying to code Ancient Savo, or taking care of household chores. We went through the first three (or four, depends on the way you count, I'd guess) moves of Qi Gong, and that was enough for me to digest in one go. It only takes a few minutes to do those moves, and if I feel like more I can repeat the series two or three times. So simple, so easy, and all it needs is just a little bit space in my living room which is always available so no excuses because of harsh weather or anything. I'm writing this on Wednesday, which means that it has been five mornings I've done the Qi Gong moves on my own. So it remains to be seen if it proves to be one of those turning points, or if I'm going to relapse back into my old habits of sitting all too much... At the moment I'm slightly optimistic, as I've found the Qi Gong enjoyable on emotional level (no need to go through a phase of "it feels unpleasant in the beginning but starts to feel rewarding once you get past the beginning"). Hehe, as I write this I realize this aligns with what I've often thought about developing an indie game project - start with a minimal but functional core, and then keep on adding to that so that it organically grows bigger. Doing the Qi Gong feels like that minimal core, which is enough in itself, fully functional, does what it is supposed to do - and is also very open to any kind of additions, like possibly going for a walk after the gentle breathing and movement meditation has brought that body-mind sense of "I'm ready to face the world" Let's see - I also hope that writing this in the blog helps be to maintain the habit, so I'll try to write a follow-up post after some weeks =)

Oh, but where were we? Yes, it was Friday, after the surprisingly fulfilling kungfu lesson shared with friends. After that I headed to the concert venue, where the first band had already started - Likaiset Pikkarit, a band of four unleashing a vibrant energy of punk rock sound. I found them enjoyable, and somehow they delivered an atmosphere of joyfully being alive - yes, there wasn't that much of the stereotypical anger of punk, nor too much of that ego-building "look we are rock stars!" vibe, but more like just "hey it is really fun to be here to share the moment with you, and now let's go!"

After a short break it was Mariska and the band. The venue can host more than 1000 people, and I think it was almost full, and with some of the classic songs it was the entire crowd singing along. One of the things I've always liked in Mariska's career is that she hasn't get stuck in this or that genre, but there is this sense of freedom to always reinvent her music, which to some extent also has felt like her inner journey of allowing her talent to grow and evolve organically while always staying true to the core essence. There has been hiphop, tango, jazz punk and something more towards electronic dance music, in different phases played with different musicians. Obviously, her current band is packed with talent, and they had a really good groove going on together. And I liked the dynamics between the lead singer and the band - at a times the band gently faded into the background offering just a minimal required backing to support Mariska's lyrics, and sometimes Mariska's singing or stage presence was more like one instrument in the total sound, some of the instrumental solos playing with a good dose of prog-psychedelic touch. It felt nice to see how fluently they could pick up songs from different phases of Mariska's career, making new adaptations. And, as usual, there was everything from humorous cartoonish storytelling to some Leonard Cohen -style songs which are somewhere in between a poem and a prayer.

The following morning felt wholesome, safe and nice. I woke up at the friend's place, and soon the another friend who also was in kungfu joined us for a brunch. I think in some of my early blog posts I've told a turning point story related to the friend who hosted me - the moment when I was offered coffee and asked which kind of a cup I'd like to have and I was unable to answer for my mind got stuck feeling that if I ever say aloud what I really feel inside me it will unleash an uncontrollable flood of eerie events. The way my friend handled that situation was one of the deeply meaningful events in my inner process of learning not to be afraid of being alive. So, somewhere inside me I felt a special touch of warm thankfulness for the unproblematic and easy atmosphere of sharing a brunch with friends, without having to fight my inner demons.

I also visited my son, which always feels like that core element of my life; really not having so good a connection with my own parents it feels like the most important thing to be able to maintain and cultivate an open and honest relationship with my own son. But somehow that is also one of the areas I'm not going to go into details in the public blog, maybe just wanting to keep some areas kind of sacred and private. So if I don't write lengthy about my time spent with my son, it is not because it is less meaningful than training Qi Gong or listening to live music - no, it is the other way around, for those moments often feel meaningful in such a way that I find it easier to appreciate the atmosphere without narrating everyting in the blog. So, let me conclude this post with another merry little anecdote;

As some of you might remember, the first time I saw Mariska perform live was at that wild little indie festival deep in the countryside. The people organizing the event already quit doing it, but then after a summer or two, for reasons unknown to me, they resumed it. And for me that festival has been kind of an annual pilgrimage, for that is where I've learnt to let go some of my anxiety, just dancing silly wildly merry as if no-one is watching, sometimes alone sometimes as a part of the crowd. This summer they again said that this is the last time, so get your tickets now. Driving home from Tampere I took a route which goes near the hoods where the festival will be held, but none of the places selling tickets was open at that time. Which means that I just need to buy the tickets on some other trip, no problem. With these thoughts I stopped at a roadside supermarket to buy me something for the supper at home. I checked my phone and there was a SMS from the main guy organizing the festival, as he just wanted to confirm I'm aware of the festival taking place one last time. I replied telling that yes I'm coming and I have plans to buy a ticket in advance. With his reply I once again understood that my silly and sometimes unhinged dancing has not been taken as an annoyance, but has become something like a part of the atmosphere. And, as always, I hope that people don't experience it as being about me, but more like a collective encouragement, the atmosphere of "okay, good things and bad things can and will happen in life, and sometimes we are depressed, and we might often feel judged by other people. Yet, in the end, if you are having good time dancing around, it doesn't matter how it looks or is it impressive or stupid. It is okay just to enjoy the moment, also when you miss a beat and fumble with your ability to talk with other people or which ever are your own demons".