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Sitting now at a cafe with a group of strangers at a Shut Up & Write! Meetup. I’ve never attended a meetup anything before. I have attended silent writing groups before and thought it might be a good way to put some discipline into my writing practice. So here I am.

My dance practice is my healing practice. My dance practice is my spiritual practice. The dance floor holds my community. I can travel to any conscious dance space anywhere in the world and step into a space where I know I can be me fully. Where I will be welcomed, where I can stretch, unfold, expand, express, experiment, love, be loved, connect, slow down, rest, relax, even hide. All of me is invited and welcome when I allow my self to fully embody each breath as it travels. 

24 degrees this morning

32 degrees fahrenheit last night. Took a long nap instead of writing in the afternoon. Felt good. Took a smaller portion at dinner. Aware that I need less food than I think. Went directly home after evening meditation. Revealing in the full sky of stars. Orion watching over me. Made a quick call to Mom standing in a cold field, trying to keep my voice down, and the conversation brief. All is well with Mom. 

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

Woke up this morning to rain and 40-degree farenheight weather at 5 am. Change in location for morning meditation, and I ended up being late. 

Today is my first full day back at Plum Village. I arrived yesterday evening. Plum Village. I arrived yesterday evening. 

Two nights ago I couldn’t sleep. Sleeplessness is a rarity for me. Too much coffee and sugar consumed on my first day in Essaouira? Solstice? Excitement? While tossing and turning I got up and decided to do some research about the Jews of Essaouira. Once a large vibrant community of merchants and silversmiths, now nearly vanished. When I finally gave up on trying to sleep, I mapped out my route and headed for the Mellah neighborhood and the Haïm Pinto Synagogue. 

Late night in a Paris hotel two weeks before the American election, 15 minutes into watching a recording on my laptop of a Michele Obama speech recorded in New Hampshire, my 80-year old mother resisting sleep in bed next to me says, “Have you ever been sexually abused?”

My legs are starting to remember what it means to support each other in partnership. I got a clear download in rehab today while focusing energy on the wounded knee as pivot point for the rest of the body.

The attachments are tight. So tight they locked the muscles in place and transported quads and hams into a state of amnesia.  Memory coming back. Unsteady in the knee joint as muscle memory returns.