I spent the week of my birthday with deep slowness — that which I’ve only learned through my now 31 years of being here on this Earth — with subtlety and care.
I took myself to the Korean bath house and popped an edible with Kevin in the car. I grabbed my favorite orange uniform and immediately headed for the Salt Room with Survival Takes a Wild Imagination under my arm. I sifted through Keyboard Fantasies and Ethiopiques in my earbuds while bouncing from Clay to Charcoal to Jewel and back to Salt before hitting the tubs.
I undressed in the locker room and headed for the wet amenities — a space that used to cause me anxiety. The showers are open and exposed, like little window displays for all of those who are already enjoying the tubs. I rinsed my pits and watched the bodies to my right lined up on the tables getting scrubbed down. The thought of signing up for a body shampoo entered my mind until I remembered the sensation of the slick table during my last session and how my nipples were raw for a few days after.
I jumped in the hot tub, laid under the infrared rays, then quickly plunged in the cold tub that caused my feet to tingle. I brought myself to a plastic stool and shaved the winter hair from my legs in prep for the tattoo I’m getting next week with my sister. This specific bathing space overlooks the tubs on the backside — a sanctuary removed from the main activities that allows for the witnessing of women and elders and queers treating their bodies like the homes they are meant to be. It’s unlike any other space I’ve been as a Queer person. It’s beautiful.
I watched myself in the mirror while bathing, recognizing how much I’ve aged since the first time I came here. I watched myself through every part of the process — washing my face, shampooing my hair, and sitting in stillness. I took time to notice the marks on my skin and all of the places this year decided to age me. I mouthed “I love you” anyways.
I used to be so timid, unknowing of how to take my time, unknowing that every single body is sacred. This time around I relished in the slowness of bath and leisure. I relished in the place where my leg meets my butt and dimples with delight. I relished in the shitty tattoos on my arms that remind me of the dumbass men I dated. I relished in the fact that my hair now tickles the uppermost part of my back when wet.
I celebrated myself this week like the true home that I am. Not once did I wake up with a hangover. I witnessed Barry give a talk on their Oracle Deck at Charis. I wrapped myself in a quilt and flipped through the pages of Many Hands Make a Quilt. I came back to my meditation practice when the new moon made my dream state larger than life. I took baby dog on a trail in the beautiful sun. I practiced yoga, first at home with Kevin and Adrienne, and then to my studio with Stephie and the bolsters that treat me just right. I bought myself some new bowls from East Fork.
I found myself coming back to practice again and again with more ease than I ever have. These moments, this year, remind me of how much has changed within my internal ecosystems. I spent the week of my birthday thinking deeply about the fact that my liberation is beautifully bound up with the liberation of all of those around me.
My practice has grown immensely. My intuition is stronger than ever. My purpose remains steadfast in community. From the river to the sea.
Cheers to 31.
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With care,