All Over the Place

I’m not as usual in a coffee-house writing this though I’m coffee’d up. I’m low on time, as I expect to meetup with a few friends at a talk given on documentary filmmaking. I’m reluctant to go because I pretty much know it will hook me and then there’s a whole new medium that I’ll have to open up my life to make room for. No, it’s not for me a lark. I have a masters in videography which I had gotten for the sole intention on getting rich producing how-to videos. Stuff happened and I dropped all of that but I’ve picked up my life quite a bit since and could not resume videography, whether to exploit the market or drop into something more soulful like a documentary. The talk tonight is actually an intro to their two-week boot camp in Mississippi. Egad, Mississippi? They also have a four-weeker in South Africa. Hmmm, suddenly Mississippi sounds safe and cozy.

So I just have a little time to write this and want to leverage having “a little time” as a discipline for some of my writing that can get quite convoluted, especially as a convoluted experience when I attempt to edit the hell out of it. Not here though. Only the straight, unexpurgated (is that the right word) stuff. Okay, I changed “shit” to “stuff” once. I didn’t want to come of gratuitously potty-mouth.

I was headed back from brunch at Prince St. Great little bistro. Adorable servers. I was feeling my energy coursing through me partly from the coffee and partly from the morning orgasmic mediation practice. My body was missing something. The weights. I longed to leg press 810 lbs, the heaviest weights we can put on there. And growling to invoke Iron John from the bottom of the lake who would otherwise pull down with him dogs and soldiers who would otherwise try to tame him. In fact, I similar thought of wishing I had the ability of tissue regeneration because I wanted to step into a fight club so I could punch someone and feel their punches. Strange, usually when I’m itching for a fight, it’s because I’m angry and I want someone to mess with me so I can feel justified in beating them to a pulp. In that fantasy, I’m not wanting to feel any pain and am assuming I may catch a few blows but that they will go unnoticed during the adrenaline rush. And my goal is to be victorious. Here, though, it’s not. Here I just want the sensation of hitting someone and being hit. In fact, a blow-by-blow might work better.

Not sure what that’s about. That fantasy doesn’t come to often, fortunately, so I can let it pass and not feel compelled to manifest it. I imagine it’s my equivalent of cutting, wanting to feel strong sensations in my body. Why painful ones, I’m not sure why.

I guess this entire posting is scattered ideas so here’s some more. Of late, I’ve had evenings here at OneTaste where I feel connected and energized with others. I noticed it returning to work one morning. The previous day at work was particularly unnerving as I seemed more at risk of losing my job. I was left fearful and worn. Yet when I got home, I surrendered to the activities which that night was our InGroup where we play communication games. Afterward I settled into the afterglow with the residents during the InGroup debrief. At least some of us were high as kites. When I got to work the next day, I carried this state with me. Sure, losing my job could really suck, etc. Yet I chose to stay in the present where I was my connected, flirtatious self. Yes I do believe I need to take steps to anticipate the future. But I don’t need to react as if it’s already arrived.