HERstory: Spiritual Gangster Part 397...

 

I'm in a "SHE-RAH" kinda mood these daze. No apologies, but pondering. Lots of pondering going on over here in Camp Holly... 

Solo_ojo (unknowingly) taught me a lot about the art of penning while pondering others actions, which feel unjustified. Yea, back in the daze of Gaziantep.

Fast-forward to today: I.Have.Learned.Much in these arts.

So in America today, I see this meme or soundbite (wherever it first came from, I know not): "fuck around and find out." It's been all over Twitter for some time now. I like it, politics aside. 

Let's see what my latest foray into this realm will bring me... I have no expectations.

You know what feels good? Just the art of the email itself and figuring, "what the fuck. Why not? What have I got to lose?" When you express yourself from the heart, there is nothing to lose. One has said their peace & laid it out for others to attack, accept, debate, etc. Whatever the result, I'm already winning, I figure.  As well, I've always thought about what people inevitably say to help express their sympathies with you, etc., "When one door closes, another one opens."  I will take that to heart. 

In other news... next up on deck: channeling energies into useful distractions.

I got this one, too. I have this love/hate relationship with my sewing machine.  I love that Miss Barbara, Sardar, and myself went out shopping for one a few years back here in the bazaar.  I hate that it doesn't have a foot pedal. It sat ignored for a full year- minus the 1st casual dalliance with it soon after its purchase (uhm, putting stickers on it, threading it, checking the tension, etc.).

I've been quite the creative crochet-core enthusiast this past year and now I'm in 'cross-over' mode: splicing together two favorite loves of mine- sewing and crocheting. Yes, knitting is taking a back-seat right now because... crochet, of course!

So I'm making this funky-ass pencil skirt. Once again, the fabric comes from traipsing through the Sulaimani Bazaar with Miss Barbara and Sardar a few years back. Because I'm growing tired of all this conservative dress that has been self-imposed on myself, I'm going all out. Thinking forward to live in Europe, I've got a thigh high split so high that it's going to create it's own windy weather system... 

Anyhow... I'm digging on the two textures. 

I'm also really into the HERstory of my pieces: I've been creating some pieces in the last 6 months and feeling super creative these days- which offsets the bs exploding all around me, as well as throughout the world... To date, my favorite pieces are my wrap-skirt I recently completed (a la Diane Von Furstenberg), a minimalist, sleep racer-back slip dress, and now this stretch pencil skirt. 

The process of art and science keeps me entertained for sure.  Add in some happy hour entertainment and BOOM. I'm a one-woman show. As I've recently stated, I think us Gen-Xers have sailed fairly smoothly through 'lockdown in the age of coronavirus'. 

With each piece I've created, the story that I have woven and inset into the fabric, etc., is monumental.  Each piece has its own life, its own story and each is titillating- however you wish to interpret that is fine by me... To top it off that all this has occurred in Kurdistan is the icing on the cake so to speak. HERstory is real y'all...

HERstory rocks

Books are Sexy AF

 Current read: The Fifth Mountain

Discovered while road-fishing through an ex-colleague's apartment back in July, I delve back into Paulo Coelho 30 years later...

An author that never really took hold for me back in the day of 'discovering spirituality', I guess I felt I had long past that 'point' of my spiritual discovery journey so decreed the book as necessary for 'neophytes' to need to read.

Anyhooooooo... here I am in my rawness still journeying. I've been luxuriating in books since early summer and as my intimate time book-reading nears its end (yes, the new semester is set to start soon and we all know that means you have to divorce yourself from pleasure reading), in the 11th hour I rummaged through my humble bookshelf skimming the titles. 

[Can I just interrupt here and say what a pleasurable feeling it is to SKIM THROUGH A KICKASS BOOKSHELF!!!]

...I was scanning for a 'skinny' book. And there it stood out like a gaping wound. 

This is a budding relationship. I'm only on page 38 so we are just feeling each other out as to what we are about. How serious are we? Is this going to be a solid commitment or a 1-night stand? Page 38, though, isn't like page 7 so there is a certain amount of intimacy that has already been indulged in and slipped out from underneath our stern facades...

I can already tell that 'this isn't the right one, but the one for right now', and that's okay. There is solid satisfaction in that knowledge, meaning I can delve further without any collateral damage that would otherwise be leftover after the break-up. 

So yea these are my ponderings.

Further enjoyment about the book isn't necessarily the contents, but the circumstances of acquiring it. This is perhaps the real story. The story that lasts in my memory of time and place.

As an 'expat' (hate that word but what other sums it all up in 1 word?), I flow through life remembering places more so than years. feelings more so than words, etc. And objects in their settings. This book forever will be for me: Sulaymaniyah, Pak City, and covid. As another colleague packed up an ex-colleague's life left inside their apartment, we shared this strange experience. It is an odd feeling to be rummaging through someone else's life, in such a way. Happening upon someone else's bookshelf- what an unexpected pleasure! 

I think about books like this:  I'm the hostess with the most-ess for a weary traveler that needs to be put up for some time.  Shacking up, we share a temporary journey together- which mirrors (at least my) real life. We laugh together, get sad, bored, angry, and finally terminate our existence together. But do we forget? Should we? I would like to think my essence is 'etched' into the lifespan of this physical tree of knowledge. Long after I return to the soil a part of me lives on in my books. Yes. This. 

The content of the book was unexpected. As it unfolded I came to understand the backstory of many words: Jezebel, Sidon, cedar, Ahab, Baal, Elijah (okay I had to really research this one as only had the faintest of ideas), Phonecians, etc. 

There is a certain smugness or satisfaction to find oneself so familiar already with the backstory of a book when going into unknown title territory. This is perhaps a reason I'm turning this 1-night stand into a simple fling as I'm just interested enough to delve deeper because of familiarity.  I like these familiar words. I like what they do to my mind, how they make me feel. 

Well that wraps up my ponderings this morning. Damn I've already finished my 2-cup of coffee daily limit. 

main idea: BOOKS ARE HELLA SEXY

Peace

Coronavirus Communique: Saturday May 20.2020

Bom dia,

Eu preciso de practicar meu Português mais tão estou escrevendo em Português só hoje. 

Eu acordei cedo para exercicio fora, antes que fique muito quente. Já está 31º C as dez horas... Minha caminhada foi pacífica. Depois eu fui direito para o ginácio. Agora me sinto relaxado tomar meu cafe no meu lanai na sombra.

Estou ouvindo reggae música a partir dos meus amigos sala de estar na Hawaii. Isto é, claro, de um computador.  Cada semana eles fazem videos para que todos possam desfrutar.  É muita masa! Eu sinto que estou de volta ho Havaí. Eu posso ouvio os sapos ('coqui' frogs- a very bad invasive species to Hawaii) no fundo.  Eles vivem na selva (jungle?) é, bem, isso me faz saudades para os trópicos.

Tem sido séculos desde que eu ouvia reggae parece...

Hoje eu vou continuar cortar tecedo para fazer um vestido de verão.  O tecedo tem bolinhas brancas em um fundo azul.  Felizmente, eu tenho dois mais semanas gratis de trabalha!  Recentemente, um ano atrás, eu comprei uma máquina de costura é tem sido último para costurar novamente.

Na verdade eu tenho minha amiga, Denise, de agradecer pela insperação. Eu a conhecí há trente anos em Santa Cruz, California.  Ela é o melhor!  Ela costumava tem um atelier chamada 'Wild Thing' e eu trabalhei lá. Foi na praia no Capitola Village. Ela me ensinou sobre a vida & estar feliz em tudo. Também, ela me ensinou a amar a música jazz.  Agora ela está vivendo no Surf Beach, Austrália e tem seu estúdio de design em casa.  Ontem, ela me disse que ela vai me fazer um vestido!  Então, eu escolhi um estilo e tecedo.  Ela só usa tecedo com Aborigional impressāo. 

Aqui está a sua informacao para a 'Etsy store', se chama 'Global Vibe' dela:

https://www.etsy.com/shop/globalvibe?fbclid=IwAR0-EetNXqwhQhUC1nAKraAL6f5lF3WXmW22EZRAeJNuIglYO8FkXiX3kqI

 E uma foto de nós: Ela visitou-me e meu namorado e sua familia no Hawaii para as férias.

Hippy chicks. Denise e eu na manha de Natal no Maui. Eu não me lembro o ano...

Voltar a Português...

É muito difícil para mim entender Português... Eu posso escrever e ler muito melhor do que eu posso escutar.  Eu vou tentar ouvir podcasts Portugueses mais.  Minha nova coisa é ouvir Bossa Nova podcasts porque as palavras são cantadas mais lento. 

Isso é suficiente para hoje! Como é que eu faço?

paz

Coronavirus Communique: June 4, 2020 Outward Bound Through Inner Journeys

Jazz jam session:
You guys if you wanna hear a cool jazz rendition of Peter and the Wolf, check it.  Oh, and the narration...

https://www.podbean.com/eu/pb-xspyt-d9a98f

This podcast episode features the New England Jazz Ensemble performing a jazzed up arrangement of Sergei Prokofiev's, Peter and the Wolf. Arranged by Walt Gwardyak with a hip "jazzbretto" (narration) by Giacomo Gates.

 The Odyssey continues.


 Funking on down Pak Ciry Parkway this morning:

the local wildlife; meow

BEE present

break on through to the other side

give me life

beautiful decay

support local businesses

(some of my) medicine

structure

form

sanctuary

weave

tension

harmony

ego

focus

I am healed. Again.

to-do list:
master:      Google Classroom
continue:   The High Mountains of Portugal
organize:   Tarot project
binge:        Orange is the New Black {yes yes, I'm late to the game}
foster:        Continental Portuguese
cultivate:   Health
liberate:     da kine

And the dark night will give you the day. (that Special Feeling-March 30: My most favorite bewitching hour- the storm commenced)

Tonight Suli opened up to me

(I love Airdrop; sometimes technology really gets it right. It's so fucking useful)

Anyway, Still washed aglow with that feeling one can get when they think they must have been the only earthling to witness an event. That feeling.

It was a crazy night *yawn* The day started trotting off to the bank. Yay! I finally was approved *yawn* for a bank account. I hadn't ridden in that direction since last week so knew about the civil servants strike, but hadn't seen it. There are tents set up, the road is closed so everyone has to circumvent. This region is so interesting, fragile yet with a core strength that inspires.

A few hours spent at the uni, and let the weekend commence. Oh yea, then I ended up back at said bank again- just joyriding this time though. My next super-exciting mundane stunt? I pulled off another Carrefour journey. I actually got to check one thing off my "to buy" list- a fan. I predict this next week to be the week that weather dictates I will need a fan...

There is just come comfort in knowing there is 1 grocery store with exactly 1 aisle that is dedicated to 'health food'. I know. It's not Mana Foods, or Ashland Co-op, but it's there. Another small victory is knowing that I already this was going to be the case, so faithfully every new move to new country I pack exactly 1 suitcase FULL of potions. It's like Christmas all the time for me; looking in my bathroom cabinet and see all those Dr. Bronner Organic Soap bottles awaiting...

PICK ME, PICK ME, they silently scream out at me when I peruse. Just last week I finished my Almond soap. I opened up that treasure chest of delight *squeal* and lustfully mulled over my choices: Peppermint (old #1), Almond (new #1 for 3 years running), Eucalyptus (unexpected pleasure), and Lavender (kinda going on the outs- yes, you can tell I chose this one).  And then there is the Skin Trip Mountain High Coconut body lotion, you fans know- that same one that hasn't changed in 20+ years. I love potions from home for sure.

Steering back on course now...

As you can tell, I'm still in that 'honeymoon' phase of a new area... Everyone seemed to (somewhat reluctantly) agree to hang low and we'd all resurface tomorrow evening, so I followed suit. I ate the entire box of bonbons (as I do) that my friend turned me onto that night at Carrefour when we were supplying for another's tequilla-themed birfday soiree. It has evolved into monthly tradition: Carrefour means payday means box of bonbons to devour in less than an hour. It works. Also, the chocolate soy milk, and the bubble water...

Continuing on...

The night was spent binge-listening to My Favorite Murder podcast and knitting my-totally-awesome-still-in-formation-pencil-skirt. I've come to an impass though, and need some critical consultations from friends in the know.

Eating. Yes, eating also played an important role. Spiritual binge-eating I call it. All week at work I only eat a (huge) salad, so that 1st night of weekend it's a grabbag. I dozed-off staring at the skyline as My Favorite Murder droned on in the background fuzz- something about their live show in Anaheim...

On a side note, I've LOVED watching these Murderino ladies evolve the past few years. I'm not even sure how I first found their podcast. I think it was Katie or Diana? I've turned quite a few friends onto this podcast. Istanbul, with the kitties, and the KnitWits (our group of wayward drinkers with a knitting problem during Snowpocalypse 2017. Yosemite, high in the Sierra Nevadas on the Merced River at the rock, by the Trailer Girlz pad. That was suck a fucking awesome headquarters. Twas also a great run. I did always think I was going to run into a bear- every day. Or a mountain lion. Heehee. Flying to Hawaii on 5 episodes. In Ashland at The Kitts groove pad listening to them outside on the lanai staring into raw SoOr landscape that can only be southern Oregon. Every trip I take, My Favorite Murder comes along for the ride (No Agenda, Snoop Dogg's GGN, Lore and Two Dope Queens podcasts too).

MFMs content- it's  just interesting, and funny in an organic kinda way- from the beginning. Random. Love it.
https://www.myfavoritemurder.com/

Back in bed later, I slumbered. Something woke me up. Thinking it was much earlier in the Bewitching Hour, I got up. I love roaming the halls at this hour. Always. All ways. It's that da kine abstract daze, my nocturne. Its arrangement of line, form and color leave my breathless and eager to indulge in its texture. Mood. Moulding. Nocturne. It's on.

What a fucking amazing display of nature follows. Darkness interrupted with horizontal streaks of lightning. I realized this grumble was rolling thunder. What a delightfully agitated scene I am witness to. I sensed rain to follow. This land knows. I know.  Just waiting.

My lanai is so inviting. Settling in, here comes the rain. A brief appearance and once again all is quiet (well, it is a city and all but it's still relatively 'quiet' as far as cities go). Thinking the show was over I debated going back to sleep, grabbing my computer to write...It was already 5 am. My internal rhythm's ego injured (thought it was 3 amish), I sat in disbelief. Get over it. Boom.

Light has broken through the greydation sky and suddenly a hugh 'crack' and the sky lets looks little balls of hail. The size of a Cocoa-Puff, they hardly stuck yet hail nevertheless. The moment was soon over. What a moment though. How fantastic to witness this event up in the foothills I imagine. Time to explore the hills. Perhaps that should be tonight's get together. Yes. I'll offer it up to the local local branch of the general council of weekenders' KRG shenanigans.

I realize I'm supposed to go hiking these very hills today, but that will likely be cancelled by this eternal downpour. I guess I'll just chill and watch the show from the couch unless I can wrangle anyone into some explorations. Oh, just realized this likely means no Nepalese food sellers down in the park today, or a run today.

It's nearly 8 am. Time to make coffee...

Somber Sunday

Newroz! Spring has spring here in the K.R.D

My staycation here in Sulaymaniyah continues. I woke up yesterday with an ever-so-mildly-annoying headache *hangover?*. It certainly wasn't a 'wild' evening; I had some friends over and we just chilled talking story(ies) about Hawaii, Lebanon, and Australia respectively. We covered the world- the universe actually- right here from 35.5570° N, 45.4359° E,  Iraqi Kurdistan- affectionately known as 'Slemani.'

I had been wanting to visit various museums here in the city so staycation offers a perfect opportunity to finally chill out and check out the city (most days I'm skooling myself about 3 books deep into grammar tagging- yes you know, breaking down sentences into its most basic parts... *le gran sigh*).

So, here's the breakdown of my day:

First off is the bank. It's taking a long time to get * be approved for * a bank account here. What place does one have to be approved to give an institution money? First I needed my Kurdish Residency card to apply. That done, it's been over 2 weeks, and...

Walking into the bank, after a light frisking- either physically or with just a 'you good' nod, depending on who's standing guard at the entry. Banks are serious biz here folks. I stared at the machine for a few moments- it clearly offers English directions as well, but I still stare. Every time. I sit and wait for that number to be called and pass my time people-watching.

Not much happens as I relay my story to the bank lady. I'm just wondering if my account opening has been approved. It has been 15 days after all. Phone calls made, information received (takes 18 days), feel I have made a major accomplishment in this task in that I have had confirmation on what I had previously suspected to know... A secondary tidbit was that as I was sitting there with the teller (yes, civilized- we sit here and transact), two colleagues walked in! I already know people out and about in the city! Major score for sure. I'm surely becoming localized.

I have finally succumbed to the quite normal ritual of having phone credits with internet access. Yea, I know. Why did it take so long. It certainly makes navigating around much easier... This means that I have to carry around my phone in my hand. Feels weird, but I finally get to where I'm headed anyway- after a slight detour (I didn't believe the GPS). Or, it was just a difficult building to locate. After all, I had just arrived at the Amna Sukara...

The Amna Sukara is the old HQ building of the Iraqi intelligence agency, the Mukhabarat. Under Saddam's (Hussein) rule, it was a most dark chapter.

Here's an article with a decent explanation of what happened inside its walls. I don't really want to even talk about my feelings experienced there. It's darkness and this vibe washes over you as you walk about, your mind simply blown while reading the words- words from the brochure, words written on the cell walls from detainees there... Fuck, it's fucking heavy. Then, you see some sort of beauty in some pictures, in the refugee camps or something. Something catches your eyes, the surrounding hills, the camps, the close-up shots of the people, and you sense a beauty within, and there's just this feeling of... I don't know. You have a sense of guilt for finding something beautiful from this capture of dark history. Art. Art is healing, bittersweet, ugly, beautiful- all at the same time and so there is this arrangement of fucked up emotions that consume... That's the best articulation of words that I can muster up in this moment. Yea, read the article.

https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/4w7dv9/sulaymaniyahs-main-tourist-attraction-is-a-torture-museum

Okay, now with some background, here is my eyefull:

the Hall of mirrors

selfie

notice.the.walls...

 

something about irony and shit, coming out of the ammunition hall and all...

nothing like some fabric to put a smile back on my face though

I want...

So I'm deep in the beginning phase of my pencil skirt I'm knitting now so...

'Chemical Ali'; his desk...

After the darkness, heading out into the light

 Well, that certainly made for Somber Sunday. Wanting to readjust my kaleidoscope, I headed out on foot down to the Slemani Archaeology Museum.

https://slemanimuseum.org/

http://etc.ancient.eu/exhibitions/sulaymaniyah-museum-iraq/

Babylonian, Assyrian, Hurrian, Sassanian, Sumerian, Akkadian... Essentially it's a timeline extending back from pre-history up to the Abbasid Islamic Period. It's a sweet little museum packed full of history, and herstory. A volunteer came up to me, a local woman, and went around with me. She was clearly excited to talk about each piece. We had a great time, trying to negotiate words in both English and Kurdish. Heart swelling!

This was the perfect closure for my day of explorations! Yes, a successful Explorer's Club kinda day hitting up 2 museums. Satiated, I trotted off towards my favorite park, Bakhi Gshty. No sign of the South Indian and Nepali families that are there every Friday selling their homemade food, I trotted off towards the bazaar. I had one last item on my agenda- fabric cushions for my lanai (deck). I already knew where to go. BOOM. Fifteen minutes later, I'm cruising out with 2 sets of cushions in hand. I flop into a taxi and away we go.

Here's a little snippet of information on Sulaymaniyah, in case you're curious.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sulaymaniyah

In other relevant news, spring is here. My 2 indicators went into high alert this past week: First, my coconut oil is at its most PERFECT consistency right now. Not solid yet not oil, it's just right... Last, no more comforter for sleeping. Yep, just a sheet and a smallish blanket- my new favorite from Yosemite!

Last, sound vibes this morning provided by Gabrielle. Ah memories flood from back on Maui in the day when the group pumping out beats and dancing in the jungle until sunrise. Good shit.

https://www.mixcloud.com/djgabrielle/

Peace from Iraqi Kurdistan,

HollyMissBerry

ALOHA FRIDAY Kurdistan-style... and then this old, unfinished post: Hau`oli Makahiki Hou 2018 (Happy New Year)

Hau`oli Makahiki Hou 2018

The lost entry: Back in America, back on January 1st, 2018, back in yet another bed, with another cup of coffee, from another french press, I typed...

It's a fine, brisk, foggy, crisp winter morning here in So.Or. It's a new year, and I'm ready for it. Right now, as I sit here with the kitties and drink my coffee, I'm in preparation mode. A new year equals a new job, and with that new job comes a new country; Iraq- Kurdistan to be more specific. 

The kitties came to America ('Merica F*ck Yea!) and conquered the hearts of friends and family- much to my delight. They can't continue on in this next chapter with me, nor would they want to. The Middle East Beasts are deep in the honeymoon phase of their So.Or. HQ. 

What a journey, this ending of 2017; coming to America from Istanbul and temporarily setting up shop- first in Yosemite working for the NPS. The Yosemite Chapter captivated me. It lured me back into the beauty of America's wilderness. I got to live out that 'mountain high girl' fantasy. 

Integrating back into American life was somewhat challenging, I suppose. I think all expats feel a bit 'weird' at first going back 'home'. It helped to go immediately into a new job (NPS archaeologist) and community so as not to dwell on what I had left behind. A fantastic voyage back into archaeology and the realm of scientific methods were a welcome respite from language teaching; just what the holistic doctor ordered. The heroes and heroines of the Yosemite Chapter are far too numerous, but are etched deep into my heart. I wonder who will be the first to visit me in Sulaymaniyah!!! I have some ideas.

It had been eight years since I left America. What I realize is that 'home' is everywhere. My new 'home' is once again in the Cradle of Civilization. I'm so stoked. I'm so ready. I'm so fortunate that I have love and support from family and friends in these processes.  
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FAST FWD 6 weeks and here I am in my bed, drinking my (french press) coffee, burning Nag Champa incense w/da kine on a moody Friday morning here in Iraqi Kurdistan. All I can eek out so far this morning is... oh what a night... We were all on point last night, our theatre troupe. That is all.

It's a moody morning. Solid waves of graydation interrupts the apartment buildings interrupting the Suli skyline. Luscious cashmere cocoons me in this perceived 'chill' my body is experiencing. Still, I stand strong; bare feet explore the wood floors- always.

Bare naked feet shuffling to and fro the hallway, into my living spaces. Oh the luxury. Toes spreading flat, walking my yoga-walk- trying to spread every toe up, down and out with each step- with some sort of consciousness. The toes knows; freedom. FREEDOM.

They pull on my body to enter THAT room. Yea, the one with the yoga mats; La Stanza nota come Studio di FORMolo. Funny, true story about Studio di FORMolo. Two evenings ago, after a long, successful week of work my feet bring me home. Seeking out the yoga mats, they set about into action. Unfortunately I stopped them from attaining total FREEDOM by first diverting them into the kitchen for a low ball glass of ice, tonic water, and a fresh lime. At this point said feet knew exactly where to trot off next; you guessed it- the bar, which also happens to be part of the open-air (of sorts) floor plan of Studio di FORMolo, which also moonlights as both a workspace and living room. Yea, give me some of that Sapphire gin (secretly pining for Hendricks). 

A friend calls & joins me for  pau hana cocktails (finish workweek). With da kine and Nag Champa incense wafting, slowly seeping through layers of skin, fighting its way inside cells to cleanse away the filth from the work week, I start to sink into the reality that I have 3 days off! I don't have to work at home  tonight. I don't have to pick up any work whatsoever tomorrow, you get the picture.

Said feet are quietly rebelling the entire conversation. Revolution. Time to draw Holly to the mat. To the mat; a welcome barge of familiar graphemes that always hits me like a mega-namaste-kinda-bomb. A phrase dear to my essence; all this shit that the universe constructed (chaos) and subsequently spit out to deposit into my star matter, back before 'it' mattered... Kinda like spiritual vomit, and I constantly seek out ways to express gratitude for the deposition, and the chance to walk this magical eARTh.

But I digress. Feet float me over and upside down. I'm in Sirsasana (headstand) pose. Headstand Pose, for me, is in the top five- with Trikonasana (Side Triangle Pose) being absolutely number one. One of my first yoga teachers back in Santa Cruz told me Sirsasana was the 'beauty' pose, because you never get the chance in life to maintain proper blood circulation to the head (brain) as you do when in a headstand. Any inversion in general is going to do this, but Sirsasana was my initiation into this school of thought. I love being educated, and am a dedicated student. As well, it's always hard to part ways with your first (yoga pose nirvana) love, isn't it? 

Moving forward, Sirsasana... it was beautiful. Blissed out, I returned to the couch, and my empty drink. Alone again and on the mat. Endorphins = addiction. Sweet addiction. 

I'm honestly not one to drink that much- I honestly think I'm too vain. Or realistic- I get that from my father. Perhaps it just comes down to I'm just too mortal. I likely won't be having a drink and doing yoga again... Something went awry, and I cannot say for sure what it was. There was no (distantly familiar) cacophony of listening to yourself pull a muscle and immediately know you fucked up. Having that happen once in life creates awareness of wanting to be really conscious of never experiencing that sound ever again. 

I recall going to sleep a bit freaked out. I hate fucking up my body. It was all so innocent; Marichyasana D (Sage Pose), which is always thrilling every time I nail it. And, by nailing it, I'm referring to relaxing in it with slow concentration and long exhales every time that mind tries to fuck up the body by trying to convince body that body can't do it. With each exhale body tells mind to shut the fuck up. 

Back to the main point of the story... even the tiniest bit of alcohol is going to favor mind over body.

Yesterday was spent babying the right side of my sacrum. I persevered, because I'm a Formolo foremost, yet I have allowed myself the ability to give in to a softer form of withstanding a sorta dull-yet-constant pain. Yes, I'm talking about taking a prescription anti-inflammatory. A very wise person turned me onto them a few years back. I hardly like to take them, but when shit hits the fan, you already know you have to deal with it, so may as well try to centralize where the fuck the pain is coming from so you can work on it.

Active work included (successfully I might add) liberal amounts of Tiger Balm slathered on lower back, 2 anti-inflammatories, loads of water throughout the day, and a cloth napkin wrapped around the head of a knife strategically placed in pain HQ. I used the 'attack from the hinterlands' method; slowly I worked from outside the enemy territory to the inner sanctum, where all the unrest was aflutter.

As I rest upon my acupressure pillow (this hard plastic square thing with about 500 pokey points sticking outta it- truly a nirvana once you get past the concept of the visual pain and sink into it and let it open up circulation in your blood vessels so oxygen can flow again and start circulating through the body, pumping it full of nutrients) and think I'm pretty fortunate.

Fortunate not just because I didn't really hurt myself, but fortunate for every thing.

It's Aloha Friday everybody!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTfIGSnApD0