Last Thursday I woke up at 2, after only 4 hours of sleep. Luckily I did not have any clients scheduled. By the early afternoon, I was totally loopy. I shouldn't have been driving, but I had some errands to run, and on my way home, I drove by my house but didn't turn in to park my car because I was too distracted by what I saw. Or more accurately what I did not see.
As I passed my driveway, I momentarily panicked as I thought, "Crap, where's my car?!"
And just as soon as the thought ended, I realized that I was in my car. Obviously.
I had to laugh.
And then I had to take a nap.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, September 25, 2009
death, luna breath, or just bad drivers....
Yesterday I'm driving in Seattle, and a cop car begins to pull out in front of me, causing me to slam on my breaks just inches away from hitting it. Everything on my front seat flies forward onto the floor, and I feel as though my heart has leaped out of my chest. If a car had been behind me, I would have been rear-ended. The cop car stops, allowing me to continue. After I give the cop the evil eye, I do continue. And less than two minutes later, another car pulls out in front of me. I don't need to slam on my breaks this time, but wtf? And then it happens again , and I think, "What the hell is going on here? It's as if they don't see me. Am I dead? I'm half-serious and half-laughing at myself as I ponder this. I come to the conclusion that I'm not dead, but I may have been doing the luna breath without realizing it. This is a type of breath taught my Emilie Conrad, who developed Continuum Movement. It's a type of breath that makes people less aware of your presence, and you're not supposed to use it while driving. Seriously. Apparently it's been used as a form of protection, but if used while driving, it can be dangerous. But maybe I wasn't luna breathing, and certainly I was not dead. So maybe that cop and the other two cars were just bad drivers. Plain and simple. But oh how boring of an explanation that would be!
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Last Night of My Twenties
Sitting in Johnny Picasso’s in Anacortes for Open Mic. Tonight’s the last night of my twenties.
I certainly hadn’t pictured myself here on this night. But here I am. And I’m glad. So what if I’m not out dancing the night away to say goodbye to my twenties? It’s not like I’ll never dance in my thirties. Surely I’ll be dancing even more. And sometimes what we picture isn’t meant to be. Sometimes what happens instead is even better.
Some beautiful flute music just ended. Actually a duet. Flute and keyboard. And it moved me deeply, nearly to tears.
The girl sitting near me says to the musicians, “That was beautiful; it made me want to cry.”
“Me too,” I say. “I felt like crying. In a good way.”
A couple of minutes later though and I’m almost laughing. Not from the music, but from what I see when I flip open the Clamdigger to my ad. I had been thinking I’d cut my ad out and tape it up on the wall next to my qigong brochure that Trish had taped up. But I can’t cut out my ad, because somebody’s marked it up, and I couldn’t be happier about that. There’s a star at the top of the ad, a circle around “CranioSacral Therapy,” and my phone number’s been circled and starred too. This makes me smile. Especially because of the attention given to CranioSacral Therapy.
And now, thanks to that little business-related confidence boost, and thanks to some funky keyboard music, I feel a 2nd wind coming on. So maybe I will go dance the night away up in Bellingham, or at least back in my living room.
* * *
During my walk home, I think I’m going to get in my car and drive north. But the moon catches my eye and won’t let go. Unless something obstructs my vision, I can’t take my eyes off of this moon. It’s full, or about to be tomorrow night.
I was born on a full moon. I think about this as I continue walking. Thinking back to being in the womb, ready to come out into this world.
I’m so entranced by the moon and distracted by thoughts of my birth that I almost walk past my house. When I realize this, I think “so what?” and keep walking. I walk through the courtyard of the Depot Arts Center and out to the marina.
There’s a movement in one of the forms of Qigong I teach called “Qui Er Gazing at the Moon,” in which we imagine gazing up at the moon. So that’s what I want to do.
I want to practice Kuan Yin Standing Qigong out by the water, in the actual (not imagined) moonlight. And so I do.
Instead of dancing with a bunch of sweaty drunk people at a club, I dance with the qi and the moonlight and the rocks of the beach beneath my feet. I feel free and alive. And, man, it feels good.
So this is how I say goodbye to my twenties. And if I hadn’t gone to Johnny Picasso’s for open mic, I probably wouldn’t have gone for a walk. If I hadn’t gone for a walk, it’s quite possible I wouldn’t have noticed the moon. And if I hadn’t noticed the moon, it wouldn’t have been able to call me out to the sea for this exquisite exchange of qi. So thank you, Johnny Picasso’s. And thank you, twenties; these past ten years have been quite a ride, quite a ride indeed.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
I certainly hadn’t pictured myself here on this night. But here I am. And I’m glad. So what if I’m not out dancing the night away to say goodbye to my twenties? It’s not like I’ll never dance in my thirties. Surely I’ll be dancing even more. And sometimes what we picture isn’t meant to be. Sometimes what happens instead is even better.
Some beautiful flute music just ended. Actually a duet. Flute and keyboard. And it moved me deeply, nearly to tears.
The girl sitting near me says to the musicians, “That was beautiful; it made me want to cry.”
“Me too,” I say. “I felt like crying. In a good way.”
A couple of minutes later though and I’m almost laughing. Not from the music, but from what I see when I flip open the Clamdigger to my ad. I had been thinking I’d cut my ad out and tape it up on the wall next to my qigong brochure that Trish had taped up. But I can’t cut out my ad, because somebody’s marked it up, and I couldn’t be happier about that. There’s a star at the top of the ad, a circle around “CranioSacral Therapy,” and my phone number’s been circled and starred too. This makes me smile. Especially because of the attention given to CranioSacral Therapy.
And now, thanks to that little business-related confidence boost, and thanks to some funky keyboard music, I feel a 2nd wind coming on. So maybe I will go dance the night away up in Bellingham, or at least back in my living room.
* * *
During my walk home, I think I’m going to get in my car and drive north. But the moon catches my eye and won’t let go. Unless something obstructs my vision, I can’t take my eyes off of this moon. It’s full, or about to be tomorrow night.
I was born on a full moon. I think about this as I continue walking. Thinking back to being in the womb, ready to come out into this world.
I’m so entranced by the moon and distracted by thoughts of my birth that I almost walk past my house. When I realize this, I think “so what?” and keep walking. I walk through the courtyard of the Depot Arts Center and out to the marina.
There’s a movement in one of the forms of Qigong I teach called “Qui Er Gazing at the Moon,” in which we imagine gazing up at the moon. So that’s what I want to do.
I want to practice Kuan Yin Standing Qigong out by the water, in the actual (not imagined) moonlight. And so I do.
Instead of dancing with a bunch of sweaty drunk people at a club, I dance with the qi and the moonlight and the rocks of the beach beneath my feet. I feel free and alive. And, man, it feels good.
So this is how I say goodbye to my twenties. And if I hadn’t gone to Johnny Picasso’s for open mic, I probably wouldn’t have gone for a walk. If I hadn’t gone for a walk, it’s quite possible I wouldn’t have noticed the moon. And if I hadn’t noticed the moon, it wouldn’t have been able to call me out to the sea for this exquisite exchange of qi. So thank you, Johnny Picasso’s. And thank you, twenties; these past ten years have been quite a ride, quite a ride indeed.
© 2009 Rebecca Clio Gould. All rights reserved.
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