cold clouds blow out like helium balloons from everyone's nose.
cold cold cold. brrrrrr. brrrrrrr. flap my arms and leap off queensboroplaza, straight into a vaccarro's italian bakery with everyone i've been cool with from every part of life hanging in every crevice of the restaurant like it was new years eve, like it was prince's 1999. lean into a booth full of friends feasting like it was thanksgiving. i sip the bakery's famous hot chocolate and jonathan hands me a hot toddy, and sala feeds me a chocolate eclair with extra vanilla cream squishing into my mouth filling me with decadence. i indulge, move onto a tall hazelnut cappucino and blueberry cheesecake that alisa serves like it was my birthday, and all of us at the restaurant pause to sing some merry merry song to food, to merriment to partying like 1999 like 2999.
chicken grease on my brain as the cold sits in my stomach like a graveyard and begs for debauchery in every way. a moment, i think, as i pass the thai and halal street spots whipping up deep-fried goodness.
on day 11, You are the only hope i have of getting through this fast, of moving past taste, of these senses that are a window to health but a deceiver to the soul, as the yogis explain, as vaidya's (ayurvedic medicine peoples) detail in health texts that read like scriptures.
i barely make it in my drift, brought back only after the gathering this evening, after linking with warriors who remind me that we are where we are and have a choice as to how to move from here. things are as they are supposed to be but don't have to be the same, don't have to be giving up again, giving in again, of moving on again without the kind of focus and commitment that brings forth change, that lends closure to chapters.
in this chapter, i hold a clay cup of nettles and mint tea, and stare at the naked body before me, a masterpiece of Creation, and when s/he awakes from the marma-massage, i hand over a pouch of medicines made for their ascension. pack the bamboo mat and pine oils in to my duffle bag, place the donation bag in my back pocket and float to the next patient, to the bronx, out over by gerard, to see a child of the stars who has forgotten how to fly, whose wings were clipped and needs just a gentle abhyanga, a kizhi with rice pasted all over her body, which trembles like the earth, and accepts the soft grains like seeds that will birth flight.
Hibernating in my house from the cold. Hiding in my cage as usual. Wanting the snow to stop. My body trembles and shivers with eratic pulses running through my body. My exterior is cold but inside, I feel warm. I feel the need to look deeper within. Something that lies dormant, is seeking attention. Almost as if someone is beating on my heart. Shouting, screaming, and letting me know there is hope that lies ahead.
ReplyDeleteThe cold reminds me of change. The process in which one must go through in order to make things "right." There is always hope for those who wander in their thoughts. I see it now. I see it very clearly. It is "I" who needs to make the change. I have the power. The cold only reminds me of past times of being stuck and lost. Where should I go now? Is this where I'm suppose to be? Yes it is...all you have to do is keep looking forward. Walk the path of your truth. Let the cold push you further. Soon you will walk into the sun's warmth and feel the love of your ancestors. Keep going, keep it up old soul, you're doing well.
In my journey I found a friend, warrior, leader, and mentor who has awaken something in my me which I thought I lost long ago. The ability to dance with words. Letting go and not worrying about hitting the ground but reminding me to fly again and soar. Thank you Earth Angel for helping me to remember who I truly am.