Our Body is the First Layer of Our Soul

I thought this with my legs up and ankles crossed over the seat in front of me, glancing out a pink frayed curtain like an old western playing with the light from a new eastern sun. There is new inherent knowledge here about honoring this body, and I imagine bringing it to some place I will learn to call home, in a new bathtub in a new city where I can be alone with my heart and lay it down to soak in bubbles hot and frothy. And my feet will keep me there. And my lips stained a crushed country curtain. I watch the unfolding and the re-creasing of anothe year in the skin off my elbows, in the dip below my throat. I can shape the way I intend to feed and the way I will absorb. I recognize all my sisters, one with a long curved foot like a silver fish, there in a smile I watch age in my minds eye. They are sitting nearby on a bus also heading inland, maybe westward. They float by, they pass on. Nobody ever really leaves, not really.

You know, the feeling of knowing you are falling asleep is the same as the feeling of knowing you're becoming awakened.

Breathe is the work but the body is the office. I'll cross my ankles under a new oak desk and with my palms bring cooling blue behind my eyes if a screen is too much and take out a pen that excites me in more ways than one, from there I set out to continue my task.  I have found meditation when I am locked on the side of a wind whipping boat and I can lick sea salt off myself or whomever I please. I will never regress there is only ever growth. Oh and what of decay? "I've died before," I told a friend today on a double-decker bus heading inland, "I can do it again".