I’ll be your mirror, reflect what you are in case you don’t know...
Lou Reed
People are always calling me a mirror, and if a mirror looks into a mirror, what is there to see?
Andy Warhol
...toes fuzzy and pink...remember dipping into cold water on the Oregon coast 1987...a mellow place, even if not feeling that way inside...scents of incense, wet bark, and self-righteousness...brightly colored star fish and those long green whips of seaweed...bright blue anemones in profusion on the rocks along the shoreline where I walked...
...knees harbor nostalgia for early childhood...when they touched the earth with every movement...dumb feet dragging behind...
...like a globe representing a tortured world...churning and rumbling at the most inopportune times...my stomach is prone to self-dramatizing...
...spine like an old soldier, too long stuck on guard duty...soldiering on, nonetheless...dreaming of learning to dance, like a snake...
...fingers have a regrettable tendency to get into trouble...well, a tendency, at least...can’t say I always regret it...
...shoulders tense, hard...impregnable bulwarks...or so they’d like to think...against dangers real and imagined...past and present...and far too often unable to tell the difference...
...throat feels lonely...too much struggling to express what needs to be said...to establish connections...victim of post nasal drip and whatever crap enters through the mouth...and yet, tirelessly bringing the breath in and out...I’m learning to pay more attention to my throat...
...nose often irritated...kinda like it’s the angry talk-radio host of my face...but open to whatever comes around...taking in as much as it throws out...hard to say what its politics are...
...right forehead, this morning, from the eye on up, a dark grey cloud...though dissipating as warmth and light gradually filter through...
...artwork stolen from Karin.......okay, so she gave me permission to steal it...which if yer gonna insist on bein' all literal n' shit means that, in a purely technical sense, it wasn’t actually stolen...but just lemme feel like an outlaw, awright?...
Lou Reed
People are always calling me a mirror, and if a mirror looks into a mirror, what is there to see?
Andy Warhol
...toes fuzzy and pink...remember dipping into cold water on the Oregon coast 1987...a mellow place, even if not feeling that way inside...scents of incense, wet bark, and self-righteousness...brightly colored star fish and those long green whips of seaweed...bright blue anemones in profusion on the rocks along the shoreline where I walked...
...knees harbor nostalgia for early childhood...when they touched the earth with every movement...dumb feet dragging behind...
...like a globe representing a tortured world...churning and rumbling at the most inopportune times...my stomach is prone to self-dramatizing...
...spine like an old soldier, too long stuck on guard duty...soldiering on, nonetheless...dreaming of learning to dance, like a snake...
...fingers have a regrettable tendency to get into trouble...well, a tendency, at least...can’t say I always regret it...
...shoulders tense, hard...impregnable bulwarks...or so they’d like to think...against dangers real and imagined...past and present...and far too often unable to tell the difference...
...throat feels lonely...too much struggling to express what needs to be said...to establish connections...victim of post nasal drip and whatever crap enters through the mouth...and yet, tirelessly bringing the breath in and out...I’m learning to pay more attention to my throat...
...nose often irritated...kinda like it’s the angry talk-radio host of my face...but open to whatever comes around...taking in as much as it throws out...hard to say what its politics are...
...right forehead, this morning, from the eye on up, a dark grey cloud...though dissipating as warmth and light gradually filter through...
...artwork stolen from Karin.......okay, so she gave me permission to steal it...which if yer gonna insist on bein' all literal n' shit means that, in a purely technical sense, it wasn’t actually stolen...but just lemme feel like an outlaw, awright?...
12 comments:
i love all that you wrote today.... 'spine like an old soldier' - i feel as though there are rocks implanted along my spine and when i roll slowly out of a shoulder stand, it's like i am going over a speed bump in the road .. thank goodness for yoga, or where would i be...
i hope you had a warm and fuzzy christmas dr jay and that 2010 pleasantly surprises you..
[apologies for the lack of punctuation and capitals, my keyboard has chosen to malfunction]
So great! I admire the depth of your understanding of your self. Will you do a post like this of a scan of your Self?
Feel like an outlaw if that is what you fel like feeling like and in the end you must go an by a black fedora, just because all outlaws (except The Outlaws who were black helmets when they ride) wear black hats.
What a joyride! Thanks for the fuzzy pink toes, the snake dance and the rest!
I felt myself doing a body scan as I moved through your words, relating along the way... cold waters flowing; reminding myself release - no present dangers to harden myself/protect myself from; a longing to express, but having words catch in my throat, if not first in my mind.
Thanks for stealing, and using my art in such a thoughtful way, Dr Jay!
Your Oregon experience sounds like a real trip, drjay...kinda psychedelic.
What a great imagination you have. I loved your description of all the parts, though I felt for ya regarding the right forehead...mine is usually the left side of my face. Ouch.
Okay, Dr Jay has infected me with yoga. I have actually been doing a bit between reps while weight training. It has helped tremendously. My favorite pose is the Tree Pose.
:)
I have done similar meditations--on the body parts. It always helps me relax too, especially when its the last thing on my mind or on my agenda.
I love that artwork. Its very dimensional and elegant.
The shoulders, the globe, the knees ... such amazing connections body to world. Thank you.
"throat feels lonely." intriguingly accurate. mysterious, too.
Great post. Great writing. I read it aloud to my boyfriend. I'm not sure what he thought, but it doesn't matter. The "throat feels lonely" paragraph struck me hard. Good stuff.
The throat part spoke loudly to me and I actually started to feel a drip. Thanks. :>/
Happy New Year to you and yours .. all the best for a great yoga-ry 2010.
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