Meander

 My day begins with a large dose of dally. Oh, how I've craved it all my life, resented the interruptions, the deadlines, the too much to do. Tyranny of To Do, is how I've seen it. If only, I've said to myself, if only I could just lie down and watch the clouds for hours. Thoughts are like clouds, they say. Watch them pass. So I do. Sometimes they pass; sometimes they gather. Formations come from mist, then disperse, then form again, according to the weather of my mind--the structures there, memories and tendencies, encountering new sensations. 

I put on Melanie DeBiasio as a warm up for breathing and then Glen Velez for the real Wim Hoff. Then comes Melanie again because that was the playlist and I can't help dancing to the remix of Sweet Darling Pain. I pass the tulips, take a wiff, and remember to thank God I can still breathe the subtle smell of life. Maybe I make a watercolor collage of a relationship (It's my Papa in the lower right, the man and my mind elsewhere.).
No time to sort my diaries today because I'm writing this and then preparing for WWOR (White Work on Racism) tomorrow.

Meander. When I look it up the first suggested question on Google is "Can a person meander?" Because, I guess, we're more likely to think of brooks meandering than people. We don't even get lost anymore, thanks to our phones and location services. 

I still do not have the words to describe how this all relates to suble body discovery, or to the other work I choose to do, or to the connections between things. Even if I had learned the language of anatomy I think it would not capture the barely perceptible difference between lifting this way or that way. One way is ease, the other is strangled compensation in the service of a goal. One way is pushing, the other is yielding or guiding or influencing. One way goes to what we know, the other to a fresh future. 

Aimless is my goal now. How am I doing?

Time passes, tulip droops...

February 26, 2021