"We become conservative if we’re still trying to preserve the mythologies of our youth.”
— Philip Rodriguez
18 of 100
April 23rd
After finishing Adam Schiff's book, I am in an uncomfortable place - emotionally, energetically.Alighting anywhere, emotionally, energetically, physically, is not easily accomplished. I dug out another rose bush, besieged by grasses, uncovered some sage and rosemary, and cut the dead stalks off of some other flowers that seem determined to come back this year.
April 25
Today is being spent (wasted?) in an orgy of music on YouTube. Currently grooving to Taj Mahal and Ry Cooder. Sometimes Ry's playing keeps me alive. And today is rather one of those days.
The jasmine is in bloom. That sweet smell perks me up from time to time. The LA heat is upon us so things are pretty still out there. The breeze comes up every once in awhile, blowing the sounds of the freeway this way, as well as the jasmine scent.
As I mentioned in my previous post, I have been a bit sad for the last day or so. And that was before Elon Musk bought Twitter. My technology forward friends think he is the greatest thing since the last greatest thing. My "spidey. senses" (and do remember I was bitten by a black widow spider back in 1994) tell me that he is a giant schmuck and means the world no good. All we need is another lumbering, egomaniacal narcissist getting more exposure and power in the world. There have been plenty enough of them.
My New York trip is less than two weeks away. Perhaps some of my mood is the usual stress of going away anxiety. I have to remind myself that it is unlikely that it will be as exuberant and exultant as my last east coast tour. I already have my trepidations about some of my plans. If it doesn't get above freezing in the Adirondacks, my Schroon Lake adventure is in jeopardy.
On the other hand, once I get over my current state of mind, perhaps I will find new adventures and time to spend with folks I haven't had much time with.
I need to focus on getting three things done today before I head back over to Christina's to complete my dress which she largely made for me yesterday (I did help) plus the two shirts that are almost done.
dysania
- The state of having a hard time waking up and getting out of bed in the morning.
Who knew that this was an actual thing that can need treatment by medical professionals? I just thought it was me.
I guess this round of depression has been creeping up on me. I haven't been abusive to myself in any way, no bingeing on bad food or alcohol or tv or even too much spending (been a bit close there, getting things for my trip). One day last week, I forgot the pin number to Janet's debit card as I was trying to buy her lunch. Just. Could. Not. Remember. This, of course, set off alarms and I couldn't use it until we called the bank today. Fortunately, thanks to cousin Dan, I. had funds in my personal account that took care of Trader Joe's visits and such in the meantime.
With Steven and Joe (husband of Steven) in the Galapagos, and Andrew on limited mobility due to his arm injury and surgery, it left Sonia, Cindy, Ashtynn, et moi to our own devices for Saturday yoga. We practiced on Cindy's roof, which was pretty cool. But it was very hot up there, even at 9:00 am. I took off my t-shirt and just practiced in my bra. Sonia had written up some notes for class, but we decided to take turns calling out asanas or short vinyasas which was very mellow. None of us was willing to do a full inversion on a roof with safety railing. We decided to go to breakfast instead of practicing next Saturday, which will be my last group meeting.
Calling our Saturday yoga meeting a class is misleading. Yes, someone has usually written an entire 90 minute practice for us, but it does not have a "class" feeling at all. I have yet to come up with the best way to describe it. It's more like a yoga klatsch, although we generally don't have refreshments save for water (I have brought citrus on several occasions) and we do more yoga than chatting (which shows our dedication and fortitude) but often enough someone will make a comment that might not strictly be related to an asana we are doing.
Cindy and I are the worst of the lot, and probably me the most. I do stop and ask questions about postures or how to deal with particular teaching issues. But then again, I might just think of something random and burst out with a "can you believe?" or a "did you see?" This never stops the practice, we just carry on with our downward facing dogs, planks, and crow poses.
Arugula-walnut pesto, shaved fennel and raw artichoke, parmesan/romano on olive-oil toasted brushetta.
Sonia had commemorative t-shirts made.
Lucky me.
FOUR HAND IMPROVISATION #3
Love is in two places and I will tell you
of the one behind the other,
beyond the apple trees of unripe fruit
and green leaves. Fullness is made of pulp,
of memory compacted powerfully.
The male shifts his weight and slides,
move his weight until he is where green
apples enter his heart. A wrong place.
Music is created the way dense seas
cast up all things time-eaten,
sea-bitten, creased with our salt.
The scent of coming and going.
We leave the way the ocean leaves.
The kind of going in which all goes,
the dense shade getting darker.
What is behind love is another love.
The rending is a reason. Not a thing alive
in nature, but nature itself.
We go down the hill into the trees
where we are stunned by a silence made
of our earthly parts. We prepare ourselves
and go toward, dragging the here.
All the evidence gone.
— Linda Gregg, The Sacraments of Desire, Graywolf Press, Minneapolis, MN, 1991
But Covid is spelt with a C, not a K, unless you mean a strikeout in baseball scorecard parlance...and then it could be be a backwards K if the batter struckout looking. Which we have all done at some point in our lives, I'm sure.
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