I recently stayed in an apartment in Vila Nova de Cerveira, and this was the artwork in the bathroom... I added to it to create this performance piece...
addict.addiction.addictive
What's your pleasure?
I confess. I am an addict. To what? To whom? For what? For whom?
I'm in my dream-state of consciousness in this moment. I'm awake yet not fully. It's that 'fuzzy' state of mind that not even a hot cuppy joe can quickly eliminate.
In a mad mad mad world, it's somewhat difficult to find the time to devote to my cravings, but for the past two days I was able to put in the efforts. My goal was to put in two 50-mile days of cycling. I'm not sure if I achieved this 'number' — as I prefer to focus on 'time' instead, but my body relayed the message to my brain that IT was feeling groovy. Result: I had the most amazing sleep last night, and it has me thinking this morning; What is IT? I know IT. I feel IT. How do I describe IT?
Just as we can become enslaved to what harms us, on the flip side we can also be deliciously tethered to what makes us stronger.
I tether to my cravings:
* Waking up to birdsong
* Morning stillness
Time to soak in it. Let it seep into oneself. Let the hypnopompic awareness linger. There's no rush. I confess: I am addicted to slow-burn endorphin release — whenever possible
* Endorphins that very s l o w l y filter into serenity
This one... This craving invades my body like an army of euphoric warriors. There is a rhythmic addiction to exercise, so my devotional worship rewards with vitality and a glow from within that bursts through body armor. My body is my temple. I devote my life to the temple. We all do, right?
Euphoria is the only mandate in this temple. Stepping inside, I hear my blood humming. Vibrations resonate throughout. Friction. Mutation. Atmosphere shimmers from the heat of my devotion. Chemical romance is real.
Maybe it's the resulting vaso-dilation that I crave. I'm not sure. This 'glow from within' feeling; there's only a few ways that it produces results...
I have memory of lying on my couch back home in Hawaii. I was living in the jungle, in Haiku. I had just come back from yoga class, and I took a Niacin (Vitamin B3). Niacin is known for producing a 'flush' where your skin becomes 'red' from the dilation of small blood vessels coming up to the skin's surface, thereby flushing out impurities. It felt like butterflies surfacing and releasing through my skin. I believe the problem was not eating food before taking the B3 (meaning I didn't read the directions regarding dosage). I recall just lying on the couch & noticing the feeling of the butterflies shifting all around. It felt like falling in love, I think. My legs were weak, I was warm (from the dilation of blood vessels as well as just living in the humidity of the jungle), I was comfortably uncomfortable. I had a phone conversation with my boyfriend and remember describing what I was feeling and that I couldn't drive my car to the other side of the island, where he lived, because of the butterflies in my legs. I'll have to ask him about it next time I'm in Hawaii.
To summarize, THAT feeling arrives after a good long sweat. Sweat from sport. Sweat from saunas. Sweat from intimacy. It's all good.
* Hunger for creation
I watched my father and brothers creating things when a child. Our garage... in retrospect was a wonderland, but at the time, I wasn't so interested in its content. Curious, yes. I clearly remember when Curt told me to stick my finger in this round electrical socket-thing at my father's work bench, and it gave me an (electrical) JOLT. I mean, it didn't look like all the other electrical outlets in the house, so... I don't know. He was a little punk; we all were.
From my mother and older sister, I got a hunger for design. We had an old Singer sewing machine. There were knitting needles. Still today I am designing. I am writing. I am reading.
With design comes textiles. Scents on fabrics from journeys deep into the labyrinths of souks, medinas, kasbahs, etc. Each piece of fabric draped against my body reeks of ancient Silk Road caravan stories, cardamon, saffron, oud — and likely doses of camel dung and cat piss. Outside of those last 2, adorning myself with these delights simply delights me. Each piece has a backstory and add that to my backstory and a bond forms that is etched into memory as well as tattooed onto my carcass.
* Intoxication for knowledge
Books. The bane of my existence, moving them around from country to country. Akin to leaving a lover in every port, I fondly reflect back to those lost loves. The pages read, the scent of paper...
Nothing more to say here. Lifelong learner
* armor
I'm talking of the semi-precious stones type of armor. More. More. More. Especially silver, turquoise, Tahitian pearls... Perhaps I need to add a blue sapphire to my quiver. No diamonds, please.
* laundry
A strange craving, indeed. Perhaps more so a sense of accomplishment that results from doing laundry. I find a meditation in such things as:
finding money in pockets before doing laundry
realizing that some weeks I have more sports attire to wash than work attire
hanging laundry outside to dry: very gratifying — especially if can can get the perfect lines going, thus not having to iron afterwards...
ironing... Yes, this can be very meditative. I so enjoy attention to detail. I get over this task quite rapidly, though.
Generally, for this list, much da kine is involved. #IYKYK
Alright, time to soak up this rest day.
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