When I am waiting for an appointment or what not, trapped in time with only myself and my phone, sometimes I will make notes about the space around me, hoping to come back later and craft those notes into something. Today’s draft comes from notes at the doctor’s office several months ago.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedVoices through the thin wallsdance around the red light machine whirr and click.How does cigarette smell invade even this clean space?Worn out sterility and the smell of cigarettes,just competent enough, the nurse at the deskputs the phone on speaker.You have nine new messages. First message.Voices float into the waiting room.(I just need to ask a question)Your voice is not secure.(It's not getting any better)Better to keep is close (Even with the medication)tucked underneath your fragile skin (And it's waking me at night with the itching . . )held inside the warmth radiated by your own body.

Forever Now

Do you remember that song by The Psychedelic Furs? I had that album n heavy rotation when I was a senior in high school. It all came back to me as I was picking the poem to inspire the next DANCE Mandala: Forever — is composed of Nows —

Now I have both the poem, some music, and a general time-soaked memory of being on the cusp of adulthood to inspire this next session. Come join me for a little exploration of gratitude for Now, Thursday, October 27 at 2pm EST. (Register at the link on the date.)