This morning: more falls but deeper into poses, particularly forward bends.
I think writing the scene I was worried about yesterday helped me on several levels.
It feels like I carry tension and resistance that come from mostly emotional/mental stuff, and I carry tension and resistance that come mostly from neglecting my body. The emotional/mental resistance lifted a bit this morning so I could work down into the neglect.
The neighborhood I’m in feels like a nature documentary in slow motion, the kind where one animal is trying to eat the other and the other refuses to get eaten quietly. Like, not Denver levels of gentrification, but it’s there.
One newer house had a shooting target in the window with clusters of bullets at the head and center-mass torso areas. A lot of chain link fences, a lot of Beware of Dogs, a lot of front yards that are paved parking spots; a lot of places with boarded-up windows and official documents stuck on doors and gates. A lot of trash in the yards, cars parked in the grass with no license plates.
Also a lot of wind catchers hanging off porch corners, and expert-level “this spot is pure untamed jungle in the middle of a tidy yard” features. Cool old cars, dudes mowing grass who won’t smile but always wave, chickens yelling at the clouds, beautiful trees that have been tended for generations, front yards and pocket-sized grocery stores filled with conversation, people riding bikes slowly through the heat, women in snow-white tee shirts using walkers.
I realize that this AirBnB I’m staying in is part of the problem (as am I), but I really like it in this part of town vs. where I was before (south St. Pete/Gulfport). I felt out of place there, but in place here. Who knows.
I feel off-kilter today, and this one spot of tension I worked on keeps trying to creep back, prickling like teeth. I do NOT want to write.
Dear next scene:
You and I, we have seen some shit. We *know* how to follow the thread through the mirrored labyrinths of the blank page and the difficult relationship. We aren’t afraid of this being read anymore; we’re afraid the way everyone is afraid, when it’s not their first time facing the labyrinth and they know just how difficult it’s going to be to thread it, in a way that leaves a trail worth following.
Will we make it through this time? Yes, every time.