misha says:
let all the doors
to all your senses
be so open
that every sensation is just
a pointer back to your own
centre, your own
breathing

but we were campfire girls and we were kicking up the leaves
and we returned to our jobs with our clothes smelling of wood-smoke

maybe i'm just losing tuna
maybe i'm just losing screws
but a long series of events lead me
to believe i have significant past-life connections with india.
for instance:
hiram? and the matching camel?
for instance:
my first boyfriend, who left his heart in
new delhi?
for instance:
the silk flats?
yoga
(as discipline)?
the folios i accessioned into the maltwood collection
last summer
full of krishna prints
which i pore over
still?
these honors seminars i'm registered in
as a result of those folios
on mughal art and architecture?
or that little wooden box from vv in may
with that man painted all over it, wearing the funny hat,
who, after some research, i discovered is actually
akbar the great?
for instance:
everything in my home is draped in
paisley (windows doors
television
throat)?

did you know that the peacock is india's national bird?

i don't know. it all just seems a little too
not-coincedence to me.
i mean after all, i did ask john threlfall in a dream once to help me
pierce the veil and it makes sense, you know, because
these things do not come first as thought.

(a key)

they come as manifestation.

hey guys, guess what?
i just wrote a poe,m
after so long

-ok, give me a word with the letter o in it.
-dog.
-ok. now give me another word with the letter o in it.
-strudel.

well,
here we are again.
just like yesterday.
the only difference between this night and last is
lastnight, collage, and this one,
needlepoint.
my fatigue is more readily visible in threadwork.
in other words, yes, i'm a hundred inside
and i should at least attempt a corresponding bedtime.
i know this.

but

I AM HAVING THE BEST TIME RIGHT NOW.
once, in the spring, a little otter told me,
chels, i think you're going to have a funny little summer.
and i said, little otter,
i think you're right.
and i wouldn't say this is what i hoped for, exactly,
because i wasn't really hoping for anything in particular
and so for that reason, this right now exceeds all my expectations
because there were none

(a key)

also noteworthy:
last night i had a dream in which all my people were present
at a big hors d'oeuvres party (specially you, blue) and this night,
thanks to spirit guide rem time and some subsequent research i've been doing,
i had a huge important revelation about my star of david pendant.
that tree inside it?
um, yeah.
it's the qabalah.

i love it when it's one in the morning and i've spent the last nine hours making art.

today, in the fold, clare said
it's not about getting forward. it's about
making yourself whole again.

maybe we are just two different people.
maybe we are just too different.

it is undoing.
it is undoing.

when i woke up this morning, i thought,
god. all i want to do today is
listen to mantras
go to yoga.
and then i was sent home from the office at noon because there was no actual work to do and i spent all morning reading the new york times magazine.
so i clocked an hour at the other office and now
i am listening to mantras.
i will go to yoga.
ask and it shall be yours, says the universe.
nevermind about money.
i apparently have some conflicting intrests regarding this matter.
but nevermind.
nevermind.
all this just one big excersise
in quieting the mind.
besides, once upon a time in bean
when i had nothing to do but stare at the relic cans of god knows what on their sideboard,
i wished for homework. and
now, says the universe, before yoga, go to bean
and write a book review for the malahat
(they'll even pay you for it).
ask and it shall be yours, chelsea.
just ask.

this day was so delicious.
when i woke up, it was to my alarm clock, but the sky was blue and the sun was bright and i got ready for work leisurely, ate a big bowl of porridge made with avalon whole milk for breakfast and it had dried cranberries in it and brown sugar and cinnamon and it was so warm out that when i left the house i didn't even have a scarf on. i got to the shop, though, and my boss wasn't there. which was strange. my boss is always at the shop. i looked at the cat and said, what's going on, kukka? and kukka looked at me and said, meowww! (love me!). eventually it came to my attention that the shop was closed for the holiday and no one thought to tell me. so i just put the peonies in the back fridge and loved the cat for a while and then went home, dropped off all my baggage, and set out on a big walk.
through the park, down to the sea, up to the cemetary.
in the park, i found, to my surprise, a giant albino peacock feather just lying there, it's pen end poking through the petting zoo fence, waiting for me. so i picked it up and waved it around in the wind. it received a lot of fuss from passers by. elderly women. a tiny dutch boy. as i traversed the flats at clover point, some man called down to me from the cliff.
you have a permit for that feather?
pardon?
do you have a permit? for that feather?
i didn't know i needed a permit, i said, smirking.
o, well, come up here and i'll give you one, he said, smirking.
i don't know, i said. sounds a little fishy to me...
did you eat that peacock for breakfast? with your eggs?
no no no. the peacock ate me. i'm just a figment of your imagination.
you walked here all the way from the zoo?
o, sure. i'll walk all the way back, too.
wild thing!
o, sure.
where are you headed?
i don't know, i said. i don't know.
around the back of clover point, a heron flew right over my head.
two crows followed me through the cemetary. KAH KAH KAH KAH
the back of my neck was burnt by the time i got home, because i didn't wear a scarf, so i put on some aloe and went to bean for lunch, seeking shade, seeking cavern. i almost finished journey to ixtlan but was overcome. so i came home, again, konked out in my cat basket with all my clothes on, for two hours. my favorite naps are the ones i take in the middle of the day, in the middle of the summer. the ones i wake up from sweating profusely under all my blankets.
i walked to yoga in a pair of boxer shorts and because of the holiday there were only five people there for the class. all women. small. lovely. misha asked each of us, at the beginning, do you want anything? i looked up at her from a supine twist and asked her, will you chant for us?
will i chant for you? she said. of course i will chant for you.
and now that i'm home, having been to the market, having acquired some new mantras, having traipsed all over this town on my little cat paws, i am having a quiet time. i will eat steamed spinach for dinner. with an orange, for iron absorption. i will finish journey to ixtlan. i will drink hot chocolate, maybe, made with avalon whole milk. and then i will slip into a coma, rose quartz at my heart centre.

happy birthday, country.
(gobinda gobinda hari hari)

baba says:
have a good day,
have a good life,
and even if it is not that way,
breathe in, breathe out,
and it is changed.

also: july.
holy. tuna.