When I don’t have external opportunities, I can always return to my attention. This hit me last night on the aftermath of an episode of deep grief. Suddenly, I was recalling so many things which made me pause, and deepened my awareness of the beauty around me and to come. I’m sharing some observations below. In the recovery rooms they calls these writings gratitude lists, but it feels more than that. It reads to me more like an inventory, that reminds me just how alive and present I am.
The color scheme of tuscan yellow, sage green, and smokey blue around my home. The sensation when I am wrapped softly in between pillows and lavender scented linens. The quiet pride of being alone, in the quiet, imperfect shades of mood lighting and smells of New Mexican sage. Mid-century chestnut, paired with amethyst, citrine, rose quartz and jade. Ambient harmonies fluttering throughout the bedroom while I lay on the floor to ground, stretch, and return once more to center. Matcha in the morning, sour candies at night. Bubbly seltzer throughout the day.
I take walks outside and admire structures of life. Cracked, geometric branches, contrasting against purple, sunsetting sky. Stark, pre-war apartment buildings perpendicular to robust, expanding victorian homes. Cold air makes me cry, not just because of temperature, but feeling crisp oxygen after being inside is liberating, it is enlivening. I’m standing at the edge where sea meets the shore. The waves are breathing alongside me, in and out, rocking emotion away from stuck histories and into open pages, invitations to prose dreams and intentions. The isolated section of Prospect Park, adorned with lily pads, dirt pathways and private alcoves where I remember I have all that I need within.
Pressure on my back from plastic suction cups. Pain being pulled from deep within my muscles, popping after 10 minutes. A flowing, fluid walk to the subway. Airpods and synchronized, rhythmic steps. Prayers to my acupuncturist who is healing from cancer. Weekly flowers from the Ditmas Florist. Casual questions about well-being. Heart-filled admiration observing how they tie the roses to the dahlias so precisely, so eloquently. Antlers from Rochester. Ten decks of tarot cards. The Ace of Cups paired with the High Priestess. A painting of shadow figure, surrounded by fruit, gifted to me from a woman with AIDS.
Clothing that is simple. Clothing that is textured. Black hoodies, paired with a poofy neon jacket. Color-blocked corduroys that feel like the Philadelphia Folk Festival. Tie-die jeans, a muscle exposing tank top. A repeating gym uniform, while I repeat 30-minute intervals on the stair master. Cilantro, lime, Japanese thick-cut noodles and a large bowl. Hair on the stomach, a piercing through the septum. Body movement, physical refinement.
Tuesdays, from 6 to 7:30, Thursdays, 12 to 1 and 4 to 5. Energy work, black baths, flowers on the neck, mushrooms along the chakras. A poncho embroidered with my North Node, a cloak of cotton emitting protection, attracting reflection. Language experiments. Phrasing like Blood Mood, Internal Winter, Love Warrior, Energy Vortex. The intuition that comes when I close my eyes and wait for stomach communication. My cat, who is the greatest teacher of unconditional love.
Losing people, losing myself, loving people, loving myself.
I love to notice. I love to collect. I love exploring this limitless, heartfelt catalogue of living that makes me understand I’m in union with myself. What a beautiful partnership. What a blessing it is that I’m able to account. To take in. To process.