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.
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*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.
Tiny Cat Pants 
That headline made me think there was a sex scandal in the offing.
Are the emplumados trying to get in touch with you, you think?
Damn you Sarcastro! Beat to me the punch line, again.
I love it when Bridgett uses the word emplumados, isn’t it beautiful?
Wishing you a healing sit-out, B.
Damn..lapped, i mean beat again, I mean, THWarted again by the masters…Mack Daddy and Sar. The joke was just sitting there.
B, you seem to have some rather shallow friends. You pour your heart out, and they make dumb jokes. Whenever I feel misaligned, it is usually because I have too much going on in my life and can’t get centered. Or Sar is giving me grief, usually the latter.
Not to be too shallow, but I was also lapped a few weeks ago when Father Sarcastro and I were on a cruise. Not by Father Sar, but I digress. I planned to walk on the top deck of the ship every day. That lasted two days. Everyone was lapping me, except some poor unfortunate man who had obviously suffered a stroke. Sar and Exador are falling out laughing, but it is a true story.
I feel ya, Aunt B.
The disconnect between my soul (that which I define as the spiritual/psychic/mental/emotional whatever that makes me more than just a fleshy machine) and my body was never greater, I think, than throughout the last two years or so of my first marriage. Physically, up to that point, I’d never felt better or been in better shape. However, I rationalized around the spiritual and moral sickness with which I had afflicted myself. I never took the time to close my eyes and look at the compass. I could give you a rundown of some of the horrible shit I did during that time period, but I’m not quite sure the statute of limitations has run out yet, just in case some of what I did crossed the line. Not sure; don’t think so, but not sure. I digress. Anyway, I’m much better now, as long as I take my psychic meds as prescribed.
Anyway, from your description, I don’t know if what you were feeling was anything more than a temporary glitch. I suppose we all get those from time to time. In a more general sense, I could tell you about a philosophy I grew up with that states that the human condition is in an irreversible downward spiral. According to this philosophy, the discordance between body and soul is an expected aspect of the contemporary human condition— ah, shit, this could take all night. I’ll think about it some more, and write about it on my blog. I’ll be sure to send you the link then.
Meanwhile, Andrea Conte was walking on sticks.
Wow, that’s spooky. I was just wiping the coffee off my monitor from the “I was also lapped a few weeks ago when Father Sarcastro and I were on a cruise” when I read “Sar and Exador are falling out laughing”.
I wasn’t even involved in this.
Thank you, Mother Sarcastro. You should run a help line, like how Butterball runs a helpline for Thanskgiving?
You could have a helpline for girl bloggers who run into thick, unweildy sass from Sarcastro, Exador, Mack, and the like. I’d call you up, explain my problem, and you could straighten them out.
That’d be so awesome.
Tim, I just hope that wasn’t one of the sticks that Mrs. Wigglebottom leaves laying around.