The waiting room is the Live Oak lodge’s porch. I wait, slouched on a wooden chair, feet up on the railing, gaze North East and skyward. To my left, UMa is dipping big time; straight ahead, the Cassiopeia is rising, Perseus follows her. The Saturn has gone direct today, or so the shaman said.
A meteor shoots just over the horizon. Soon there will be more of them. Sunny walks out of the lodge. “You are up,” she says. Into the lodge, and up the stairs, to the loft, I go. Continue reading “Healing”
My roots extend from the heels, from the fronts of the feet, through the mat, through the floor boards, through the concrete foundation, through the dirt, through the bedrock, through the crust, through the mantle, all the way to the hot molten core at the center of the Earth. The Earth’s gravity pulls me down. With equal force, I pull it back up, through the roots, through the heels, through the tailbone, through the back of the heart.
Dr. Eric directs us to open the eyes to a soft gaze and begin to move around the room, roots and all. Continue reading “Seeing. Grounded”
One of my occasionally unhelpful patterns is to connect with the people who are leaving. I thought about that, uncomfortably, one of the deep Fall evenings we shared the way home.
There is another way to see that. Continue reading “A Traveler’s Friend”
When I first met you last August on a bike outing, I quite liked you. We had important similarities and you were pleasant and handsome. I started going to the milongas where you went and texting you occasionally. I flirted with you for several weeks, you seemed to enjoy that for the most part and flirted back – maybe, but didn’t exactly take it anywhere, so I gave up. Continue reading “See You Next Christmas”
You walk late into the philosophy class. You carry a name I want, you are wearing a hat with a pompom. You sit next to your friend. Your friend made space for me before the class; you sit behind me. Continue reading “Hands and Hats”