Mrs. Wigglebottom and I just got back from the park, which was wonderful. It was so wonderful that even the two dinks with the enormous dogs who wouldn’t listen to them as they yelled, “Rocky, stop! Rocky, come!” as they ran around off their leashes in glorious joy* and who then had the gall to say to me, “Wow, what a vicious looking dog!” could not ruin it.
It was cool and beautiful and the Governor was out running too, and he lapped us twice and each time said, “Hello,” which I thought was polite and I made sure to wave at his security detail which rode behind him in a warm car that was so quiet that it startled the dog both times.
I’m reading this book, Riddley Walker, which I’m going to write about when I’m done, because I’m just loving it so much.
But, as you all know, I’ve been out of sorts. Tremendously out of sorts. I’ve been feeling cut off from the love and luck and wisdom of my Folks, which has been, on top of everything else, really depressing.
The other night, I was feeling so out of sorts that I went ahead and sat out just for one night and it was weird because nothing happened. Nothing at all. And so, I thought, at the least, I could just sit there quietly; it would be good for my soul.
But here’s the weird thing. When I shut my eyes, I felt really uncomfortable. I felt like I was twisted, that my legs were facing northeast and my head and shoulders were facing northwest. But when I opened my eyes and looked down, I was sitting straight. Still, there was no denying it: eyes shut, I felt crooked. Eyes open, I appeared straight.
Now, I believe that the mind is the intersection of body and soul and that, sometimes, the key to hearing from your soul is to get the body out of the way, and the key to hearing from your body is to get the soul to stay quiet. And I also believe that, when things are working well, your body and soul should be in alignment**, and thus your mind works well.
But if you are out of sorts, which I have been for a while, you can lose track of how either body or soul are doing. And I think I knew, at some level, that my soul was unhappy, but I’ve been so unhappy that I haven’t tended to it.
Anyway, clearly the answer is to take the soul some place and let it loose where it can stretch itself out and align itself with the unsettling things the soul needs to interact with in order to stand the years it spends tied to a dying body.
Here were the signs: last fall when I sat out, I felt that it fell short in part because I couldn’t get outside; I felt compelled to buy coyote finger bones when I was in L.A. but until now didn’t get why; a friend who sensed my troubles sent me Riddley Walker, which has the most awesome rendition of a futuristic volva I think I’ve ever seen; I think I can get my hands on some outdoors where I can safely sit out and not be bothered by neighbors or cops; and all the sets of two at the park. There was a man walking two shelties when we got there. We had to twice make our way by a group with two dogs. And the Governor passed us twice. I don’t know what that means.
But the way is clear: I need to get outside.
*I hope it doesn’t need to be said that I have all the sympathy in the world for dogs who want to run around without their leashes on at the park, but I have no sympathy for folks who let them.
**Whatever that means for each individual person–but those three things must be in balance in some way for a person to feel healthy, not just to herself, but healthy for others to be around.