The day I saw this exercise class in Central Park, I couldn't stop staring at them. For one thing, the instructor was leading them in these chants that were, well, unusual. They would hold their hands close to their hearts and then thrust them out while shouting about their hearts, then step back and forth with arms raised to shouts of being open and ready to receive love. It wasn't an everyday-in-New-York kind of sighting.
Even more stunning was the all-out total participation and earnestness of the students. It was so off the charts that I kept wondering if they were all actors. It felt that unreal. I'm on fire. With my desire. The staring was warranted, okay?
This morning I'm thinking about the times we have to talk (or chant) ourselves through hard times. Saying words to ourselves that we don't understand or believe until some morning like any other when we actually do. This will pass. You can hang on. Hold on to hope. Love will meet you on the other side. If we're lucky, we have friends who will say them, too, even when we feel like we're making a spectacle of ourselves under a big tree and the words we're saying are all out of place in the louder conversation we're living in.
I've been doing a lot of that lately. I've also been doing a lot of gearing up for things I'm about to do. It feels like mental illness and agitation, but all the movies under the covers and Track 14 on repeat for the second week in a row and passionate debates and angst, they're paving the way. You'd think I was a crazy person shouting and jumping or an actor playing one, but I'm getting in shape for something that I'm really reluctant to do. I need all the air-punching and jumping jacks I can get.
And the words. They only help.
I'm on fire. With my desire. Damn, I wish I'd written them all down.