Jon's letting me use his computer, I bought a new car. We have the internet again, yesterday we didn't, the day before yes, today yes, most of last week no.
My computer screen is all white. My new car is 22 years old. I came to California to live in my car until I could find a place next to the sea to write. So far all I can do is laugh.
In the meantime, I connect in some new way with someone different each day. Tonight it was me and Nicky a long time in the kitchen, energy work and long long talking and it was the only thing that brought my head out from my ass where it'd gotten lodged this morning. Asshead makes me laugh at myself most times but a day like today, 11 people on a mountain and the rain. It just made me feel bad. Ahhh and so this too will pass.
Last week, because I am meditating and journaling a lot, reading poetry and diPrima and Women Who Run With the Wolves, I had a moment where I understood all this: this time of great pause on the side of the hill. There is a psychic state of passing, it looks like traction, can feel uncomfortable. It's like the moving on from one form to the next, or the fitting in to the new skin. Before all that can happen the new body has to be cured. That's what's up, and I know it because I've been here before. I'm holed up on the side of the mountain, with time for the old to pass away, being made ready for the new, being made in to my best new form. Like much of our harvest had to be. I'm being cured.
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