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November 8 2018: Message from Bill

My friend Bill Schmidtkunz wrote me the following email message – this was partially in response to what I wrote yesterday, about the somatics poem. I have expanded upon my original response to Bill.

What Bill wrote:
This is a beautiful poem, Alys, an equally beautiful response. Very honest. You know yourself well - shit on the short comings, they plague us all. You are a remarkable person whom I admire so much.

"I now understand that I felt this resistance because I had not crossed the science/art divide. It was like one of those rickety suspension bridges, one that was missing a few slats. I chose then, to stay safely on the science side. I did write in my journal, and use writing to problem solve; however, I did not cross the chasm. Instead I viewed it from afar, well knowing that Art Young, a man who in further defining the key tenets of writing to learn was ahead of his time, would have encouraged me to put my heart and soul on the line"

I think every day we have to cross the chasm. Every day we have to face our fears, our troubles, our weakness. Do we put on our boots and walk out the door or do we go back to bed. I struggle with this all the time. But every day, I put

Bill Schmidtkunz

on my boots and I walk out the door. And I know you do the same and your courageous effort is a reminder to me that I am not alone in this world. 

We all have eyes. Let us live with awakened hands. Find your people. The solution to the mystery is to find a friend to pull you forward and to assist others in getting the same joy from their life as you do from yours.

I could not see
that I was just a witness
in the desert

What I wrote back:
I seldom get it right, the out-the-door footwear thing. For instance, I’m supposed to have gym shoes, for working out in the gym. I have many pairs of running shoes and sad to say, I often wear them in the horse pen. And I also wear Pete’s running shoes in the horse pen. And so, today I wore Pete’s smelly running shoes to the gym -- fortunately I had a roll of paper towels on hand -- the paper towels are for cleaning the car windows of Death Trap, my beater vehicle. Death Trap does not have windshield wiper fluid, so the windshield wiper’s smear the crud that the semis leave on the windshields in their wake. (Be patient, I’m not moving at the speed of light, but I am going somewhere with this).

And so I cleaned off the soles of Pete’s running shoes before entering the gym, but of course they were dirty because I put them on before leaving the house instead of my boots. I simply forgot they would pick up crap. And of course, they left imprints on the yoga mats. And, well, they smelled very horsey. To add to this, I smelled like woodsmoke because I stoked the fire before I left home. My personal fitness trainer does not know what to make of me or my shoes or my woodsy body odor. He's remained unfailingly polite, but I am sure that I’m trying his patience. I started out by not wearing any shoes at all, like my former yoga teacher and Tai Chi teachers recommended. Of course, my personal trainer one day took me aside and told me that I had to wear shoes when in the fitness center. Ben tends to over explain things. I tend to under explain things. It’s the way we communicate. I think this has to do with the fact that he thinks I’m old and dottering and I think I’m old and dottering. I wanted to say, but did not, that I own my own movements (this is functional movement talk), but not a pair of clean running shoes. Furthermore, I’m not going to invest in another pair because I know me well. I’d at some point end up wearing them in the horse pen. So as I’ve learned, in such instances, to just nod and bring on the stinky shoes.

I try everyone's patience; in fact, am good at pushing other's patience to the max. Poor Pete – he has to live with me and the fact that I routinely track dirt into the kitchen, often after he’s mopped the floor. I have at times, retraced my steps and attempted to clean up my mess with a broom, but have discovered that the broom makes mud smears on the tile.

Best that I continue to live the semi-monastic lifestyle in the winters, this way I manage to keep my feet on the ground and my head in the clouds.

Thanks for your kind words. I'll take what I can get.

Alys in footwear land

313. 11/9/18: Late Bloomers

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