teas cut with

black and green teas cut with banana and chocolate and herbs. opened into the air from large glass jars. i called their name over the busy morning store. someone i had not seen in a year.

the class would start soon, exercises and sun salutations. i brought my friend. she’s early on, expecting her first child.

i will run the river until i strike gold.

after tea, we said goodbye. i pulled out on broadway. i was in such a state of calm i didn’t get rattled when a car heading east drove up on the median. a palm tree lost some skin today.

it’s easy to lose your balance in the world if you let off the pulse.

finger on the pulse

Several years had passed and talking to others became refreshing and I was drawn off my guard. I could hold a dialogue with you, maybe withstand an argument. Then I could look into your eyes without losing my train of thought. Then you wouldn’t mistake me for dishonest.

My skin became a millimeter thicker and I wasn’t so cold at night. Then I was not so sensitive to things you said. My social norm restoration experiment was paying off. Life was less a collection of used parts and problems I wished would only die away.

Engagement became rewarding if not organic. I set my clock to the frequency of several functions a day. I demanded no less than I show up. Not every meeting was reciprocated, and not all of those that were, bore fruit. I found only one good conversation a day (face to face) was enough to keep my finger on the pulse of culture.

pulse @39

The medical tech excused herself to speak with her supervisor. She hid her worry rather well. I was in a gown after an EKG. I had a paperback in hand, from the donated library in the waiting room. This happened almost every time. I was once living at high speeds. Sleepless nights. Racing around to no end. Years ago I exited my madness. Since then life has been something to cherish in slow motion. Few sudden surprises. When I saw her, she looked relieved. I asked her the number. Today my pulse chimes in @ 39.

creative confidence

can be elusive. good thing is you (the artist) will know when you have it. all the rules they ever taught you, muted. taking risks does not feel so scary. nobody knows what you are doing more than you.    the work is mutable not sacred. you can see the whole thing moving through the smallest fragment. it is alive and tugs at your pulses.