I don’t want to do this. I don’t like this exercise. I’m lazy. I
don’t always keep commitments. I just want to give up.
And then I feel guilty because I think I should do this. It’s
good for me. At least it has been in the past. But it’s
different now. Little boxes of faces, unfamiliar and strange
sharing colorful painted vignettes over bits and bytes. I
feel out of place now. Like I missed too much. Like I’m not
good enough anymore. I want to sit on the couch again.
She finishes her piece with a phrase that punches me in
the gut. I’ve been holding my breath. My earlobes are
reaching across the room to capture every metaphor and
feeling. The soft couch holds my weight as heaviness
descends from my heart to my belly. So anyway, Poni is
on the couch next to me and Pam, Jessica and Makamae
are on the couch across from us. The others are on chairs
completing the circle around the low wooden table that
holds mugs of tea, candles, and pretty ornate boxes. It’s
cozy, you know. We’ve done this so many times before.
The breeze is coming through the glass slider behind me
and the Sun has ducked behind the Areca palms lining the
yard. Pi the cat looks down from the top stair with half
closed lids and perky ears. He looks comfy. I’m comfy. In a
soft t-shirt and tights. My feet are tucked under me and I’m
holding a pillow on my lap. I like the couch. That’s why I try
to come early. So I can sit on the couch and be
comfortable while I listen to all the woven words move
through the space, you know what I mean. Get
comfortable people. It’s easier to pay attention when your
body feels good. You don’t want to be distracted by
discomfort. There’s an air of discomfort in the room. The
content she just shared is intense and heavy. Most of the
people have their eyes closed and their heads bowed. The
energetic punch to my gut is resonating around the circle.
After a potent pause, we all take a collective breath as the
air rushes back into the room.
I miss Ivy’s living room, you know what I mean. I miss the
hugs and giggles and camaraderie. I miss the big table
and the Fuck Off pillows. I miss feeling held in her soft,
strong container where I could be myself and keep trying
to show up.
don’t always keep commitments. I just want to give up.
And then I feel guilty because I think I should do this. It’s
good for me. At least it has been in the past. But it’s
different now. Little boxes of faces, unfamiliar and strange
sharing colorful painted vignettes over bits and bytes. I
feel out of place now. Like I missed too much. Like I’m not
good enough anymore. I want to sit on the couch again.
She finishes her piece with a phrase that punches me in
the gut. I’ve been holding my breath. My earlobes are
reaching across the room to capture every metaphor and
feeling. The soft couch holds my weight as heaviness
descends from my heart to my belly. So anyway, Poni is
on the couch next to me and Pam, Jessica and Makamae
are on the couch across from us. The others are on chairs
completing the circle around the low wooden table that
holds mugs of tea, candles, and pretty ornate boxes. It’s
cozy, you know. We’ve done this so many times before.
The breeze is coming through the glass slider behind me
and the Sun has ducked behind the Areca palms lining the
yard. Pi the cat looks down from the top stair with half
closed lids and perky ears. He looks comfy. I’m comfy. In a
soft t-shirt and tights. My feet are tucked under me and I’m
holding a pillow on my lap. I like the couch. That’s why I try
to come early. So I can sit on the couch and be
comfortable while I listen to all the woven words move
through the space, you know what I mean. Get
comfortable people. It’s easier to pay attention when your
body feels good. You don’t want to be distracted by
discomfort. There’s an air of discomfort in the room. The
content she just shared is intense and heavy. Most of the
people have their eyes closed and their heads bowed. The
energetic punch to my gut is resonating around the circle.
After a potent pause, we all take a collective breath as the
air rushes back into the room.
I miss Ivy’s living room, you know what I mean. I miss the
hugs and giggles and camaraderie. I miss the big table
and the Fuck Off pillows. I miss feeling held in her soft,
strong container where I could be myself and keep trying
to show up.
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