A Preemptive Kundalini Strike

Das nein, No, Negation, Niiiiiiiiine

I refuse to be limited by my potential. My mistakes are entirely my own, not subject to idealized cultural tropes or the ‘Hanging Judge.’ Joyce, as he often does, said it best “I will not serve.” Everywhere we look the sane-human is an armed madman. What good then is being well-adjusted? Or living up to one’s potential when the water is rising? Isn’t it better to learn how to swim? Better yet, let us learn how to fly.
Is this our body? Lately, reading the Lost Angels and experiencing fully and deeply the oddities of aging, I’ve remembered my body is an extraterrestrial landscape filled with both horror and awe.
When was the last time you thought of your mother’s feet? Once in San Francisco near Christmas, I was standing in line at a burrito vendor and I announced without preamble, “There are two perfect foods, sushi which rises one up to heaven and burritos which bring you down to the earth. Burrito is Tejano for toes of the burro. We all know Mary rode into Bethlehem on a donkey, so the Burrito is where the Christian godchild grounded into the earth.” The silence that greeted me stopped my oration on the divinity of Sushi. Your Mother’s feet similarly carried your divine incarnation, out of the universe onto the earth. Awe. My mother had psoriatic nails and I was always afraid my toenails would be like hers. They are. Horror.
And yet, feet most of the time, are exoplanets changing the ellipse of our lives. moving us up, down, and sideways as we spiral through.
A friend taking a photography course was jealous when I said “For some unknown reason I take pictures of my feet.” “That’s what our teacher is asking of us. To find a theme and run with it again and again.”

Con/Jur/d