Sweet, soft, serenade

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 It was a good, good Sunday. Got a nice, long massage from the Urban Clap lady. She was really good and very sweet. I had been feeling low on energy and sore for a while. So the shoulder and back massage was really something. As she worked on me, I could feel bunches of tense, little knots. Then she massaged my head. She told me that I should always get my head massaged last after my body has calmed down. Because I store a lot in and around my head space, apparently. I asked if this is something they learn in massage school. She said that this was something her grandmum, who was a midwife, had told her. All people usually live disconnected lives. Some are not connected to their minds. Others live predominantly in their head space and don't inhabit their body. So one must first massage and calm down the part that offers lesser resistance. I don't know how she could make her 'diagnosis' of me within 2-3 minutes but it felt good, light, deep. It felt like you're floating on your back in a warm ocean with a full moon in the sky and velvety rose petals shower down on you. Mmmm. So good! It's a drunk, lush feeling.

I got my period today. I like this time of the month. It feels very nourishing. I think I usually have such a pit-bull approach to work and deadline, that I don't quite give myself the three inches of void that a task list needs. I like that about myself. But sometimes, one gets hardened. During menses, I feel like a hard granite wall inside of me becomes clay-like. I like that whatever else is happening, whatever other metric of productivity is following, the womb is dancing to it's own rhythm. That slight ache that keeps you a little woozy, that makes you take things slow, have a warm cup of kheer, take a nice, long bath, wear soft, loose clothes... little by little, one creates such a universe of cozy comfort for oneself. It's very nice!

I also spoke to a friend after many months. It felt so solid and good! She and I worked together in Pune and we'd go for coffee and donuts to a local place called Peter Donuts. Sometimes the somber Korean owner would be there. We'd see a bunch of Korean kids and teens working through their homework. We'd pick our coffees and cinnamon or white chocolate donuts, sit in her car, listen to the radio, and eat in silence. Dappled afternoon light would form pretty patterns across the windshield, sometimes a pretty,  bird would fly across, we'd chat, and get back to work.

One pocket of peace that I picked during this time. 

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