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I started by working on the space next door. covering the windows and seeing the books that angela has started to move over there. movement and spirituality sort books. She decided that the suicide girls could stay over here with the rifle. I looked at my books, the division of what goes where is not so simple. in the spectrum of body, movement, feminism, gay studies, and sex it is hard to draw the line. what is this division? and then, there are the books about death.

I almost took the roses over there. Last night, helen cut me roses in the twilight and wind. the pink ones almost glowed purple and the red ones an engulfing black. drunk off the red one. the ancient symbols of nothing by no other name and anything by everything always. Almost drunk enough. and in the yellow one, there was a deep remembering.

I did a massage that used to be extreme erotic transference (ie. slimy!). but I did a phone session before scheduling again, directly discussing things. and then---what was before lude comment put on me. so clearly manifested in the body. four left side injuries. the feet. he came wearing two different shoes: a ratty old sneaker on the left foot, a new one on the right. we talked about the stickiness of scar tissue. that basically everything we were working on was old stuff...the new stuff just stuck to it, but itself wasnt yet manifest.

anything we feel, we only feel because it is in us somewhere already. in polarity: if you feel sick, it is because you are sick. nobody gets anything on us that we dont already have. and maybe we meet it again so we can deal with it. Its hard for me to take yoga class and sit in that soup. I will be having a memory and then notice it is not mine. it doesnt serve me to feel things for people who cant feel it themselves. sticky.

but the roses stayed over here under the "no loitering" sign. I clean frantically, avoiding calling Christina, thinking I should know what to say first but I wasnt trying very hard to get clear. I spit out my gum and called and left a message. I started frantically cleanning again and right after I moved my alter out of the corner and onto the northern wall, she called me back.

The wind whipped outside and I shredded the carpet while she sat with the silence. I fell apart only after we hung up. I called her back, no answer; she called me back. I work to help people and to give them connection, but there is a bit of me that doesnt believe that connection exists. that is too scared to fail again. that bit lets the world fly apart at the atomic level---aron just kept going off about how the universe was expanding faster than made sense with the laws---fragmentation. "so where is the landing place in this?" thats just it, there is none. but it was cognition---the thinking felt good and for once someone didnt tell me I had left my body for my mind, but that maybe now they were working together. that i could feel the fear and know reality. I know this stuff. its just about remembering.

but, what if im wrong? what if I cant handle it? what if the next place I need to go is the place I cant get back from? trust. willingness to take a risk. she told me she thought I could be very good. and that I needed to do this and I know that to be true. I yell and scream about someone until Im screaming so loud that I hear my words bounce back. "oh"..."I was talking about me". And I do think of my clients where I dont know where to go with. I feel like there is something Im not being told. like there is more information that I need. Maybe that too is me.

I started taking pictures of random things. of the roses and of jo's wolf. of any number of artfull clutters. hold still. just the beauty of any one place, any one moment. hold still. this is enough.

that and the fact that it all moves so fast. I walked my camera down the stairs, kept taking snapshots while I drove. I ran. and stacy called me--invivted me to give a short talk on---cohesion. what it is that holds one together, what it is that holds us al together. one answer is nothing---we could be dust. but cohesion feels better. maybe belief? maybe joy?

I went to the rec center and taught a large beginner class. stuff came through me alot of different stuff. I got to a place where I was talking about lungs and breath and depression and greif. I had my finger on the pulse---I could literally palpate these things and wasw given the direction of how to move them. I felt like I was being directed in surgery. also I knew that this knowledge was not from out side---it was my own experience--how do you soothe anxiety. how do you digest toxicity. If you feel it, your half way there. at least you are letting it in.

so the physical body is just cohesion. a coagulation. densified energy slowed down. The first bit of yoga is cultivating the witness. the artist steps away from the work to get perspective. and a lot of people stop here. in endless cleanes, disciplines, and restaints. but I think the real goal of yoga is to step inside. to really get inside your experience---to actually feel it. Christina asked "what does fragmentation feel like?" it feels like falling away. like a picture too big where everything is relative and therefore the is a great indifference that I take to be pointless. if feels like looking at the earth from very very far away and knowing that you are somewhere down there.

I read an article and used it in a final---it was about how experiences of connection to others litterally help us incarnate more fully. to come more totally into our body and our life as it is. our stories are sacred. the little details important. the details of this incarnation give us our purpose. we have to get into our bodies.

Im trying to be able to skinroll my lower legs.

by the end of the yoga class. we had worked it though. I me contented. "it is good".


i almost put the roses over there, too. i think i'll walk to the coffee shop and take a look at that furniture store now.

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