I didn’t go to Ithaca today. I stayed holed up in my room (after early morning Ashtanga practice) and wrote. And wrote. And wrote.
I took a break for lunch, and to refresh my tea. Then I wrote. For hours. While the cat dozed on the bed.
I wrote longhand, with my favorite pen (this one, which is the greatest pen in the universe).
What did I write? It’s hard to describe this, but here’s what happens:
I sit down on my chair with my notebook propped on a pillow and I just “talk to myself.”
Or, more accurately: “I” (my ego, my “personality,’ my self that is all effed up by my conditioning and all the mad crazy things that have ever happened to me) talks to my “Self” which is that Wise Being deep inside who is not all distorted and effed up by conditioning.
Today, “she” the Inner Wisdom Guide, had a lot to say to poor effed-up Kath, and thus the all-day Write-Fest.
All I can say is that I’m feeling clearer, and it feels good. But there’s a lot more to be hashed out.