Thursday morning, late August.


It takes an hour even to begin to write.  A couple of touch-ups on the previous, then establishing yourself in the moment.



Wednesday afternoon:

He reads his August Horoscope off of his iPhone to his therapist, who is also a Capricorn.  Planetary strength is gathering in the Northeastern quadrant...  Return to what you started back in mid-March, under similar stars, Mars, retrograde Saturn...  And what was I doing in March, that I should return to...  Joseph, the feast day, the celebration of the worker, not as just a tool of pagan hierarchy, but an individual, a Christian soul of dignity and God and meaning...  Value, and worth.

And health, this is a good time for health, and he reads the horoscope, how this will be a good time for yoga, meditation practice, and detoxing the body...  And he has already started, getting back on track, he tells her.

Small steps, she tells him.  "You seem to get overwhelmed in making decisions.  When you seem to get ready to decide something, you'll then immediately talk about the merits of the opposing position, justifying the status quo..."  Yes, I cannot suddenly quit tending bar and become a yoga instructor...  "Start by taking a yoga class."  Small steps.

Yes, six shifts in a row is too much.  Painful.  We are in agreement that at the most four can be handled, such as things are.

He has to go back to work.  It will be slow, so he'll have to do it himself, basically.   He orders a lamb gyro over salad from the hot dog stand vendor, a Vietamese woman, who recognizes him coming, with his yellow bicycle and helmet.  He goes across the street and eats his breakfast in the shade, Starbuck's outdoor tables...  Nearby is a guitar in a case and a back-pack.  An Ethiopian woman has a suitcase on rollers, just sitting there.

Coming in, before readying himself for the ride to his shift, his Polo shirt is soaked.  He takes a serene nap, twenty five minutes, so I'll be a little bit late, that's how it goes...

He gets through the night, has a glass of wine spread out over the end of it, with a rare hangar steak over spinach and a Madeira sauce.  He bypasses the busy bar with the college kids back up the street. He is happy to get home, and he lies down on his yoga matt without even taking a shower and he is too stiff to move.  Eventually gets himself to bed.  A glass of water.


Corollary to Buddhist thought:   If you are hurting yourself, then you will be hurting others, you will be hurting the whole...  The glass of wine, this is hurting you...  Take good care of yourself.  There are enough routing little chores to do back home, just like you do all night at the bar, while you still have time.


Writing is work.  Slow and painstaking, a chore...  Writing is not glorious.  It is stuff for a working man.  Paul put-up tents.  Joseph as a jack of all trades carpenter.  The Romans initially threw the Christians to the lions, disobedient as they were to their rules of corporate work conduct and religious practice...

He takes his green tea, a cup of hot water with lemon and sea salt, a dash of ginger and turmeric powder.  Sticky, needs a shower.  Sits cross legged on a pillow, laptop before him on a low wooden breakfast-in-bed table left years ago out on the street on trash night.

Be kind to yourself...  Celebrate.  Just as you are.