lately I've been zooming– exhilaration and also no slow quiet time to meander among the various threads of vox posts and comments, to catch up with the 'hood (which has been feeling a little too big actually lately–not that I really want to cut anyone, just feeling that difficulty keeping up), to read and ponder and perhaps a little bit vegetate.
last night I had an evening at home by myself– went grocery shopping, took a bath, threw on slouchy cotton clothes, and did nothing in particular other than refilling the well of quiet and stillness. took george for a walk and savored one especially crystalline moment in the mild night air, gazing up through the pattern of tree branches at the sky. munched on baby carrots and good tortilla chips. watched dumb tv on the web. gloried in the nothing-particular of it.
often there's been too much of this in my life, the alone, nothing-particular time– but fill it up, even with most delicious delights, and I begin to feel like a piece of flimsy fabric, whipping in the wind– and must retreat and recharge. the most literal definition of an introvert, I suppose. also just preternaturally dependent on pockets of clear air for reflecting and mulling– brings me back to a sense of center.
as I stood beneath that tree, I stretched my neck and back and felt a number of soft pops and shifts– literally my spine realigning– and was reminded of the last visit to a chiropractor and the x-rays that showed developing scoliosis in two places– there is a literal emblem in this moment of realignment.