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the blog that ate its own head

a series of personifications with no where else to go.

This day started with me breaking my Neti pot. It seems to happen once a year, almost exactly to the day. Last year, I was in Berkeley. Sleeping in my car (because for some, somehow not understandable reason, I didnt want to share a bed with someone who seemed to want to kill me....whatever). It broke in the shower at the 24 hr fitness. This day. It shattered in my hand in the sink. It seemed to explode. But this time, I remember the thought that broke the Neti Pot. In her beautiful bathroom. I had a thought of impermanence that was the opposite of empty. So, relaitionships, as temporary as they may be, whatever... loneliness, and the space between. endless; just as temporary.

Keisha told us the story of the mud cloth. It is woven in strips and then dyed with a wax resist. They were maps. The first one she showed was of moutians and stars. For gold. Another one was the path of the soul, with rivers of life and shooting stars. telling how to live. this one seemed especially secret. So they made up lies. They told the lies town to town by drum. So when the white people came, each town told the same fake story. Most of the real stories are lost. but Keisha knew some.

Camilla called part way through and said that its not about breaking talk down to its elements, not to quantify--quite the opposite, or at least real different. And a sort of experiential spectrum of emotional resonance. How to be where you are and at the same time hear where you might be going. How to move forward in a different way.

We were driving to visit Deirdre's nuns. I was talking about how tricky it is to feel out what bits to keep. In a certian paradigm, if we deconstruct all the way, we can't even speak. I remember Mary Overlie talking about "deconstruct", "ediface", "re-edify"...Is movement possible if there are only questions and not answers? I talked about not knowing what bits to throw out and what bits to keep. Rabea said that its a sick baby anyways.

She drempt of me once protecting her and I was glad to. In a world that is toxic and, in its pain, looks almost unbearable. As we talked to the nuns, there was a coffee table between us. She set her wine glass down exactly on the edge.

You could cut it with a knife, but rather poke it with a stick. She asked me, what does it feel like to have been given that label. I told her, I have a lot of other lables more compressive than this. My psychiatric record is the least of my concern...maybe one day I learn Im wrong, but I'd like to believe. I'd like to believe nobody cares, that they might see me right now. Anyways. I told her. The labels I imagine apply not to a person, not to their gifts of weapons or tools, but to the """maladaptive"""" patterns aound them. They describe the symptoms of a specific resistence. and I tried to answer these questions---what keep you this side of that line? how are you sure? In Santa Cruz, at the beach and I look at the moon and imagined our teathers. At one point, fear held my boundaries. What is it now that is my glue?

Before that, at Land of Medicine Buddha. we were very tired. We walked to a field where you could feel the curvature of teh earth, even though there was no horizon. Before we layed on our back to see the stars, for a long time, we knelt before Quan Yin. for a long time. I cant remember what I was asking. I cant remember even what I am asking now, but in the light after the sun had gone down, it kept seeming like she was opening her eyes. fluttering and then gazing at me. I cant remember what I was praying. Maybe it was graditude. Every once and a while, the projection would jump.

I keep having this image, like the image of a person transparent a few times copied and layered over eachother crooked. And then I imagine them sliding into focus. like I visiably see someone stepping into their self. The next week, at the workshop, I was asked to sit next to Sharon when she had conference with each person. I didnt need to do or say anything. I sat there to watch them get heard.

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