Austin — Today I wake at 8, proud of my accomplishment in sleeping inside the night of this time zone. Still, I can feel my subsurface operating on different time. It feels like a dream level of my consciousness, up to something entirely different from the visible machinations of my day.
I meditate and then walk out to my studio. Austin turned to sweater weather while I was gone and I flick on the space heater.
I start singing in repeated falsetto phrases. It’s all that’s there, though my internal judge wants more, wants music, wants invention.
This repetition continues and starts to vary. I start shaking my body up and down, wanting gravity to land me more substantially here, in Austin, in this moment, in my body, in music.
I move to a deeper voice, still in repetition and let go to the possibility that this is all there is today.
I look over to the orange pomelo plant I brought inside before I left for Singapore. I see that its one fruit has started to turn from green to orange, all that time of me wondering whether green meant it was ripe, yet not picking it.
I’m glad for my patience and borrow some of that for my singing practice.