Mussy Bones

I woke up this morning with this phrase in my head: "I became so chilled by the violence to my soul that I had mussy bones." I thought, "What the heck are 'mussy' bones?" I looked up 'mussy', but kept thinking of 'must' too, as in grape must. You know, stomping on the grapes, expressing them of their juice. But 'muss' is to make a mess, to be disorganized. So the violence to my soul disorganized my bones and froze them...literally. Especially the sacrum and the pelvis. In that bowl lies my heart, my soul waiting to be expressed.

I love Yoga. I've been basically, for all practical purposes, teaching it since I graduated high school in '85 and taught it as part of my aerobics classes. I was good at it. Then I left what I loved. I stopped teaching from 1994 - 2008. I think I could have a tombstone that reads: Here lies (insert birth name). Died in 1994. Reborn as a Phoenix in 2008.

A friend who had to attend a visitation and funeral yesterday, said that most of the people were already dead. The word moribund comes to mind. In 1994 I was moribund. By 2000 I was just about completely dead. By 2003, deader than a doornail as they say in Tennessee. I'm still waking up like Snow White and Rose Red from a long frozen spell under the magick of 'The White Witch'...no more Turkish Delight for me. Saruman can gaze in his crystal ball all he wants. My soul is my own. I can taste the spring rain. Crunching violets like a Shakespearean ass.

No longer 'looking' at myself in the mirror, I SEE myself, just as I did in Jiwan Shakti's eyes at Solstice. To quote Gabrielle Roth again:

Seeing implies detachment. Looking implies attachment. Looking is with the eyes. Seeing is with the whole being...I look at people. But if I stare into my left eye in the mirror...