Upside Down Kris

You do you   You do you–or, in this case, me be me. That being also means action resonates with me. Just "coming into being" is a miracle that puts into motion a whole slew of bodily processes that then become automatic. That's why babies are so fascinated with themselves (what's this? It's a hand! How grand! And I can even open and close it! Look at that!)  And they have every right to be excited.  We take our inner workings for granted until they stop working. Think about something as vital as breath for a moment. If you start paying attention to it, at first your breathing gets out of whack because you never actually do  anything–it does itself. Our lungs pump us with air and life without us being aware in the least, which is totally amazing. And if we concentrate on it and slow it down suddenly a lot of things start to make sense.  I've always been drawn to the "you do you" idea even if I don't always "do me". It has such a differen...

Happiness: a character sketch Happiness is first and foremost a dancer. She dances on the street and in the aisles at the supermarket, basking in the amused attention from fellow shoppers. Even her voice dances, alighting from one sound to the other as she speaks, and at the checkout everyone can't help but chuckle. When she's not dancing, she's skipping. She sometimes jumps for no reason–just because she feels like it. Happiness's most prominent feature is her amazing grin. She likes to spread smiles as much as possible. It's her mission in life. Most people describe her as a butterfly, flitting here and there, but her favorite animal is the dog. She is often found rolling in the grass with one. She loves children and delights in making them smile. The funnier the face, the better: then they both end up giggling. Peak-a-boo is her favorite game because it's so simple but ends up tickling both the peaker and the booer. Ah, yes–and speaking of tickling, she's...

  Frustration: a character sketch He goes around with a tuft of smoke coming out of the center of his head from a burning irritation (or maybe more than one). If he could see himself, he would surely laugh because he is quite the character. Actually, he is a caricature...a caricature of frustration. He can get flustered quite easily until he's red in the face. Muttering is his way way of communicating, usually about something that nobody understands.  He is not sure of his steps so he stumbles quite a lot. He often stubs his toe and kicks the culprit (normally a chair or a toy suddenly appearing out of nowhere)  which only intensifies the pain. D oors have something against him as they're always swinging back to smash him in the elbow. Rotating doors are the worst because they never let him in or out. He has to go 'round multiple times before he gets where he wants to be. He doesn't eat out frequently because his digestion has never been that great. The burning in his b...

Daily Ins and Outs The morning brings the beach walk with all its pulls and pushes–not just the tide but also those happenings that draw me and mark the differences between the days...those ins of what I know with the outs of what I choose to notice. The two blonde boys–almost white–were not there this morning. The motion of their running  or playing paddle ball was sucked out of the scene.   The last time I saw them they were with their mother as white-blonde as they were. I assumed that they were tourists, probably renting an apartment or a room in front of the beach volleyball nets. Maybe they had gone home. Or perhaps they had just decided to stay in because of the foggy weather.  I had a full glimpse of the beach-cleaning process, possibly because I was five minutes earlier than usual. In reality, only one worker was working, raking seaweed into the mouth of a plow while the other two chatted. The stench was strongly    leaning on the morning air as  ...

Reality Pang Pung!  A pang right in my solar plexus.  Despite where I live being a paradise for most, there are a good number of desperate destitutes roaming the streets and making the pavement their home.  Some souls stutter along, jittering from the toxic effects of drugs. There are others in wheelchairs outside of supermarkets or eateries waiting for a good Samaritan to give up some change. Still others are on their feet searching for a pint of pity. One even scolded me the other day for my lack of sympathy telling me I was "bad".  In reality, I'm not lacking in it, but feel overwhelmed by it...by the fact that I can't help everybody and not knowing who to help. There is one homeless man who sits on the boardwalk near my apartment, repeating a raucous "HELP ME, PLEASE". He usually leans against the wall in the same angle across from the beach, although recently he has started to change spots because the shop owners have complained about his raspy pleas. ...

Inner Smile I had forgotten my inner smile. You know, the one that shines through the eyes and makes people glow. I don't know exactly where it went, but I do know it was lost for many years. I think it all started when I moved to Italy. At some point my brain molecules took to running, then colliding, and my smile was no longer true. I realize as my mind flips through snapshots of my life that I've been trying to put my smile back into it since those first years of bewilderment–with yoga, meditation, Feldenkrais, dance, biodanza...the list goes on and on, all in the name of a fleeting smile.  Now that I've moved again, I want to move my molecules in the right direction.  I refound my smile thanks to the lack of it in my singing last Sunday. During rehearsals I just couldn't keep my intonation up: the sound was bringing me down. After racking my brain for the why behind it and finding no cure to my conundrum, I really focused on the sound of the tenor I was listening to...

The Small Things  The little things pull life like the magnetic force of the moon on the tide. Only the magnet is sucked into a moment, an almost nothing that you tuck into the back of your brain. Maybe it moves the tide of your whole life without you knowing it. Those tiny, monumental things...the visible micro-movements in a cheek after two years of paralysis, soaking in the red from the brick buildings while revisiting a city you once loved, playing board games on a warm July night in front of an open window with your old roommates, the zest of coming up with a word that uses most of your letters in Scrabble...lazy yet true talks and simple evenings...collections of calm moments and rare flashes of truly being there. Instead the flashiness of florescent fruit drinks and cocktail dresses, of all night dancing and filling the role of the charmer...of "your moment on stage" (whatever it may be) and the rush that accompanies it–gone as the liquid adrenaline gets absorbed and c...