serendipity

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I'm consistently found by butterflies, despite my plenty of sloth and lack of shimmer, but they're always spent. I wonder about that.

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Serendipity Retreat is the sister of Squam by the Sea, and I didn't feel like enough of an artist to be there, but that's beside the point. I sat at a table with magicians, feral preachers, passion, paint-smeared hands, beautiful hair, beliefs, jewels, convictions. And I declared that there's no such thing as enlightenment, at least not in the way it's sold: a lack and then a plenty of lasting peace, lasting release, or lasting acceptance. Enlightenment is the sister of inspration, and just the same, she can't be conjured by any means other than plain, unsexy work. The more you lust for it, splayed out and waiting all seduction-ripe, the more it eludes you. To see the myth is to breathe.

I felt right but colourless and entirely without proof.

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Heaven: a three-hour long restorative yoga class with Michelle, who made all this happen and is crafted from some kind of finer weave, you know? The difference between poly-cotton blend and linen. She's all willowy and fluid but taut and particular in the best way. In the way that makes an experience truly great. Her voice inside my head and two massage therapists padded silently between bodies and there'd suddenly be hands on me, hands that instantly diagnosed every held secret and pressed hard RIGHT THERE. They knew.

We journaled between superlong poses and I wrote breathing is reserved for the deserving and involuntarily wished for a divine muse and wondered if I've had it all wrong about everything. I lay there twisted and outstretched and propped and still and discovered that I haven't breathed for years and that's when I contemplated being wrong about everything, all this time. I'm weary of this well. It's my deepest deep. It's the well of not-deserving, that sharp-toothed place that feeds a couple of hours or so after dusk.

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The wind was strapping and it tugged at me. There's woodsmoke, and perfect coals, and a surf that's growling. Pretend there's nothing else. It worked, more than I thought it would. I went home with proof of something. I'm still trying to figure out what.

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