My friendships are like a constantly shifting inner circle. Picture a spirograph moving with different colored pen on ink configurations. Each point of connection representing moments that are at times touching, at times on opposite sides. Intersecting with others at the same time. And always maintaining connection, even when there are vast spaces in between. I am so grateful for my friends. 

When I write here, I imagine writing to a beloved friend. Taking a deep breath now and imagining you reading this in your voice. Looking out in my minds eye at the sea of faces that weave in and out of circles with me. Spirograph and pen lifting. Placed down on a new sheet of paper. Settings adjusted. New movements, new circles. Shifting into holograms moving through each other. So grateful.

I am feeling victorious about having a seder-free year. I never felt comfortable at a seder. There’s the whole Jewish thing combined with my need to over analyze things. Particularly things that annoy me. Like organized religion. I can’t overlook my own. The one I was raised in, that never quite fit right, but was hardwired in the DNA. 

While my relatives and friends around the country were saying prayers, telling a story, and eating horseradish, I was hanging out in my living room with a dear young friend, really like a niece to me, who had that day received her green card. She was jubilant.  There was no talk about slavery. There was no talk about Egypt. There was no talk about Judaism. Just two people enjoying a San Francisco evening. I showed her some authors that have inspired me, and I think she would enjoy. Cut to the chase: she went home with In Cold Blood. She and I share a love of Armistead Maupin and the Tales of the City series. She even got me an autographed copy of a recent novel as a gift. I treasure it. I know she feels like we are living along that staircase. In a way we are. I’m a character in her version of novel reality. I pondered the meaning of that. How we should come to be friends and neighbors. Which then led me to pull out the Rumi collection which has been my companion for the past month or so. I flipped open a random page and read the poem presented. We read a few together. I had offered her Be Here Now, after a bit of discussion about Ram Dass and his philosophy. “This is some hippy shit.” she smiled back in exclamation. Yup. It’s some hippy shit. Very important hippy shit.

And life goes on. I roll down the hallways of my home with baskets on my lap. I am pretty efficient at taking care of myself, and realize I have a very difficult time relaxing. It’s been challenging for me to keep my leg elevated because I want to be upright. I’m learning to heal my own body. The healer directed me to look at 3D anatomy so that I could see the layers of muscle, tissue, and bone. I realize that it’s helping me to have a visual, and intellectual understanding of my body. My brain needed that. And then I needed to distract my brain, so that my hands could go to work with the energy. I’m not getting out of *this* without pain. And by this I mean life. I am shifting my entire way of being from mental driver to heart felt intuitive driver. The course hit a big bump and is holding me in pain, physical. In a way it allows me to be present, write about the present, move into the future, knowing I have committed to write here, and fumble my way through it. Go through it, and move ahead. Allowing myself some distance on the past. In the present my knee is still twisted. Significantly less discomfort, improving overall. I can’t walk, yet, but I know I can get there without surgery. I think. There’s some doubt. I’m also fighting the internal battle that curses my body for failing me, that is angry about being in this damaged vessel. Realizing this is likely to be a lifelong pattern.