This was my real March break, walking home along the boardwalk in near dark during a sleeting snow storm from a memorial service for an acquaintance of mine who died way too young. He is among four people within zero or one degree of separation who've died or been memorialized in the last week. And I've been on a death watch with Hector. What is going on?
We apparently do have a short and precious spin on this globe after all. Ironic, after the years of youth where I disdained living itself, that I cherish every molecule of experience now. I invited friends for dinner last night. We ate well. I kicked everybody out early, so we could all retire to the wombs of our respective beds, bellies full, warmed by the fellowship of breaking bread together, life lived.
Belly-dancing yesterday just about wore out my hip joints. J was going to be gone next week, and held us closer a little bit longer, with lots of enthusiasm and combinations for new techniques. The meditation yesterday was a wonderful visualization of swallowing the earth, moon and sun, and being one with the universe. The choreography had hippy figure eights, an execution of the infinity symbol with the pelvis as the cradle of life... Later, when I watched the younger dancers, I felt weepy for the life they imbued.
Bitter-sweet days.