Austin — Today starts out cool and cloudy. I haven’t slept much. I can feel when I’ve been spending too much time in front of screens, computer screens, iPhone screens, TV screens. I become brittle and shifty, distractible, far from myself.
My practice starts in mournful tones and continues on that theme the whole way through. I sing with my eyes closed for a while, as today I need help not to be drawn into everything I see.
Case in point, I open them once and see the large rubber physio ball, bright blue. I roll it to the center of the room and lie back, reversing the forward concavity of my daily activity, becoming a belly-up water bug.
Immediately my song changes to words, a similar funereal scene, but perhaps from the narrator’s voice.
Then, with my head back, seeing things upside down, I gain an angle which allows me to see higher into the tree outside one of the studio windows. In it are four or five small squirrels, busy, writhing around three branches rising from a crook in the tree. Something’s different about this scene. Then I realize that I rarely see more than two squirrels interacting. This must be a family, for they appear to be oriented not toward food, but toward each other.
My mind is like those squirrels, busy in no direction.
The bell rings.