My body is my friend. My body is my temple. I feel my body intensely when I lie in bed, all curled up with a pillow under my head and one between my legs. I connect with my body under the feathered comforter. I relax. I’m alone and I let go. Letting go of recent run-ins on the job; letting go of locked-in emotions for family, friends and lovers; letting go of how-the-world-turns; and letting go of no-use ideas, thoughts and sensibilities.

Emptying my body. Preparing it for rest and cleansing through dreams. Not escaping through sleep but rather, re-booting. I am active with my body and conscious about it day and night. During the day I may re-boot by reading – not by reading the news or my emails on the iphone or the ipad – but by reading a book. Where I interact with bodies on paper and their ideas, thoughts and sensibilities. I am active with my reading unlike passively feeding on news.

I like to be active with my body. Watching a movie is an activity, again because I interact with the characters and the story to further along my own story.  I stay away from TV news. Here, I would be feeding on something that stunt or even freeze my body to passivity. I always look for interaction. Something my body feels. I tire of intellectually absorbing the constant barrage of news. I have turned off my notifications and then, if I’m interested, I can go in and look.

Right now I’m in training. Considering my body’s needs. I’m practicing sticking to my writing goals. Every day. Just a little bit until it becomes a habit I can’t live without. I write down feelings, experiences, thoughts, and sensibilities. I have stories to tell:

The chestnut brown velvet dress. (Brought out twenty years later in the company of the same lover). 

The two watercolor collages, female and male form. (Gifted back to the artist from the lover of twenty years ago).

I pick at it. Because it does my body good.