I Sing the Body Acoustic*

I have been known on occasion to howl at the moon. - Crash Davis.

We are mysteries to ourselves, much of the time. This is what I think. Lately, I think it, in one form or another, with varying degrees of awareness, almost daily.

Sometimes we don't find out what is going on until, watching someone else's story, a thrumming goes off somewhere in us - a reverberation of the chest bones.

It's hot in here. I'm restless as a lizard who's stayed too long on the rock.

I notice that the cat sleeps with all four feet together, as if to be always ready to run. I wonder if I should learn to do that.

A lot of characters in movies seem to cut themselves off from risk, and then to be taught that that's wrong. Watching, I usually think I'd make a more interesting character if I were the kind who held it all back and had to be opened up like that.

And then I find how little I allow myself to play at life. How foreign it is to simply do what I want to do, in the moment.

I'm watching a horrendously expurgated - nay, butchered - version of Bull Durham on TV, and it's only just occurred to me that Annie has some things in common with me. In a way I'd never expected she would. Not because the movie has altered over time, but because I have.

Reading a book on story forms and classic archetypes from myth, I came upon a paragraph that stopped me in the proverbial tracks.

In the realm of love, the Mentor's function may be to initiate us into the mysteries of love or sex. In India they speak of the shakti - a sexual initiator, a partner who helps you experience the power of sex as a vehicle of higher consciousness. (from The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers)

Sigh. Damn, I guess that's me. At least in this particular story.
I kind of love the idea; I just hadn't thought of it that way. Yet.

*with apologies to the incomparable Walt.