Super Aikido Girl begins the day in meditation aligning all the energies of the universe within herself. The time taken to do this is a worthy investment because it makes the world clearer. The colors are sharper. Her eyes and ears are more observant. In turn, the universe offers many gifts. She catches sights of great acrobatic squirrels in the tree outside of her apartment. She notices the surprised smile of the CTA worker at the train station when she nods a hello. People make space for her on the train platform. When you make space for the universe, the universe makes space for you. Ahhh, yes, young grasshopper
But it is not all sweetness and light, because I did say she has aligned all the energies that are darker, murkier than others.
She can see pain. The woman with the scrunched up face on the train. She looks constipated. No, she looks wretched. Super Aikido Girl, acknowledges the wretchedness--there's no worse thing to do that to deny wretchedness. Whatever you deny will present itself over and over again, louder and bolder and more forcefully until you acknowledge it. So she does. And she imagines a smoothing out of the lines on the woman's face. A release of weight....
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fiction. Show all posts
Friday, October 1, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Ark
The Ark and The Flood didn't happen like they say. God's usually not that direct, you know. God's a mysterious force with a dry sense of humor.
Noah, you can call him Noah if you want, woke up one day with an inexplicable tickling sensation in his limbs. He felt a strange desire to use a hammer and nails. He was an accountant,well versed in the abacus, but for some reason felt drawn to hammer and nails and wood.
His wife certainly had a lot to say about the ruckus of a man unused to the swing of a hammer. And then there was the saw. She feared for his thumbs, his limbs, his mind.
How could Noah explain this strange urge to BUILD? It buzzed in him and kept him awake at night. The neighbors threatened to burn his house down if he didn't stop with the racket.
"What are you making?" his wife asked. But Noah didn't even know.
He did know exactly how many nails he'd used. How many pieces of wood.
And he knew he felt and urgency to complete his project. He could taste rain. It flooded his mouth and made him thirsty. He could smell it in the air long before the rain clouds cast their shadows over him.
The ship took shape until its shape became clear to everyone who saw it. All the gossipy angry neighbors pointed and laughed at the absurdity of it.
One night, the ship was surrounded by animals. Goats fled their goatherds, snakes came out of their burrows, mice crept out of their corners, tarantulas... Noah's wife was alarmed--but the animals banged their bodies against the boat as if scratching themselves against a post or as if they wanted to get inside.
The rain smell grew. It tickled Noah's nose until he decided--absurd or not--when a man gets an urge to build a boat in the desert and the animals all come out and try to get on it--there must be something to it. So he dragged his wife aboard and let the animals in.
All the while, the neighbors yelled--"You fool, Noah, go to bed! Get those animals out of here! Noah! That's my goat, you goat thief!"
And then the first rain drop fell
Noah, you can call him Noah if you want, woke up one day with an inexplicable tickling sensation in his limbs. He felt a strange desire to use a hammer and nails. He was an accountant,well versed in the abacus, but for some reason felt drawn to hammer and nails and wood.
His wife certainly had a lot to say about the ruckus of a man unused to the swing of a hammer. And then there was the saw. She feared for his thumbs, his limbs, his mind.
How could Noah explain this strange urge to BUILD? It buzzed in him and kept him awake at night. The neighbors threatened to burn his house down if he didn't stop with the racket.
"What are you making?" his wife asked. But Noah didn't even know.
He did know exactly how many nails he'd used. How many pieces of wood.
And he knew he felt and urgency to complete his project. He could taste rain. It flooded his mouth and made him thirsty. He could smell it in the air long before the rain clouds cast their shadows over him.
The ship took shape until its shape became clear to everyone who saw it. All the gossipy angry neighbors pointed and laughed at the absurdity of it.
One night, the ship was surrounded by animals. Goats fled their goatherds, snakes came out of their burrows, mice crept out of their corners, tarantulas... Noah's wife was alarmed--but the animals banged their bodies against the boat as if scratching themselves against a post or as if they wanted to get inside.
The rain smell grew. It tickled Noah's nose until he decided--absurd or not--when a man gets an urge to build a boat in the desert and the animals all come out and try to get on it--there must be something to it. So he dragged his wife aboard and let the animals in.
All the while, the neighbors yelled--"You fool, Noah, go to bed! Get those animals out of here! Noah! That's my goat, you goat thief!"
And then the first rain drop fell
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
A Recipe
All day long, his words simmered in her consciousness, "You never make me croissants. If you loved me, you'd make me croissants." It was ridiculous of him, she knew. In fact, sometimes she'd roll the words over in her mind like prayer beads and smile at his ridiculousness--the childlike neediness. But as the hours passed, she was surprised to discover all at once--his words had come to a boil in her mind and she had to turn off the repetitive accusation before it boiled over. That was why she found herself at the grocery store after work. Flour, butter, milk, sugar, yeast.
No, she'd never made him croissants, it was true. She wondered at the meaning of it--her face reflected in the chrome edges of the refrigerated shelves.
At home, in her kitchen, she decided to put on the kitschy apron (a housewarming present from a friend) and felt a lovely sense of domesticity flood her body.
Two and three quarters cups of flour later and the things baking in the oven--she had to take stock of the mess she'd made. She'd floured the floor, the table, the counter top, herself. She laughed--did a little shimmy dance barefoot swishing a path through the flour on the floor. She wiped off the counter and the table, washed the dishes, shook out the apron, letting the flour settle on the floor with the rest. Pulled the croissants out of the oven when the timer rang. The whole house smelled like love. Smiling, she removed the apron, ironed it crisp with her hands, folded it and placed it high on the shelf. She made a pot of coffee and sat down with her creations.
"You never made me croissants," began to bubble up in her consciousness again, but she took a bite of that buttery loveliness and smiled.
Nope, she thought.
No, she'd never made him croissants, it was true. She wondered at the meaning of it--her face reflected in the chrome edges of the refrigerated shelves.
At home, in her kitchen, she decided to put on the kitschy apron (a housewarming present from a friend) and felt a lovely sense of domesticity flood her body.
Two and three quarters cups of flour later and the things baking in the oven--she had to take stock of the mess she'd made. She'd floured the floor, the table, the counter top, herself. She laughed--did a little shimmy dance barefoot swishing a path through the flour on the floor. She wiped off the counter and the table, washed the dishes, shook out the apron, letting the flour settle on the floor with the rest. Pulled the croissants out of the oven when the timer rang. The whole house smelled like love. Smiling, she removed the apron, ironed it crisp with her hands, folded it and placed it high on the shelf. She made a pot of coffee and sat down with her creations.
"You never made me croissants," began to bubble up in her consciousness again, but she took a bite of that buttery loveliness and smiled.
Nope, she thought.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)