3. Conversations with Two New Friends: There's a bare wooden Dance Floor. Waiting. Music playing. Waiting. For me? Yes. He's small enough so I don't feel intimidated, but big enough for me to get lost in the erratic movements that I call dancing across his broad shoulders. Dancing. Mmm. I love the freedom that comes with rhythm and sound and my body creating its own unique conversation with it. I also love dancing around fires. Which I proceeded to do after I felt that my friendship with Dance Floor was solidified by a long and detailed introductory conversation. Next talk, with Fire. What a warm presence he has. On my face at some points, on my back at others. Always intruding, in a pleasant way of course, on my continuous movements round and round, through the silky smooth mounds of sand under my feet and between each toe.
New Realization, though somehow FAMILIAR: I love to dance. ALOT.
2. For five mornings in a row I woke up, to the early warmth of that sweet little island off the coast of Cambodia. I didn't put shoes on and I walked out the door of the bungalow that faced the quiet surf of the crystal blue water. Walking along the path, feeling every crack in the sidewalk and at one point the shell of a snail (sorry, little buddy, didn't see you). Sitting at a table by myself, though there was room enough for 4. I was up earlier, selfishly inhaling all the good, clean, bright, cheery air of the day. Reading quiet words of wisdom, letting the familiar thoughts flow over me and work their way into the tendrils of my twisting and changing spirituality. Eating breakfast, of delicious tomatoes and eggs, accompanied by a small loaf of bread, with a cup of sweet Vietnamese coffee to wash it down. Welcoming in the day. With a sigh and a smile.
New Realization, and it's very REFRESHING : I love waking up early.
1. Since that fateful night in Nha Trang, when, among other things, my iPod was lost to the swirling mist of that grayish beach city, I've been without the gentle ebb and flow of the sound tracks of my life. I love music. But more than I love music, I love bridges. And more than I love bridges, though only slightly, I love trains. So, here I am, sitting on a train watching the picture show of the German countryside slide across the windowpanes of my enraptured eyes, listening to the beats of my newmagictouchsoundtrack-Pod, and feeling most like Myself. More than I have on this entire trip. To this point. But I'm not sure how much better it can get than this. I'm on a train. Crossing and watching bridges span green pasture to green pasture. Listening to beautiful people put beautiful feelings and thoughts to beautiful beats and rhythms. Oh God, I just passed over a cemetery. I love cemeteries. To make it even better, it's fall. Things aren't dying, oh no. They are reaching the glorious season of maturity. They show it in the way they no longer care what traditional color they must wear or not wear to fit in with everyone else. They don any radiance they choose, and live happily in the knowledge that they have loved life. I hope I live my life like these fall trees. Rooted (don't even get me started on roots). Growing. Changing. Renewing. Colorful. Radiant. Myself.
New Realization, THAT'S A LIE... it's not new at all: I love trains, and bridges, and music, and cemeteries, and fall, and roots, and trees. Now you may ask, "Mindy, why don't you just say you love everything?" and I would tell you that "these are very specific things I love, for very specific reasons, hmmm, maybe I'll do a blog series about them... but I don't love everything."
Oh wait, and tomato soup, but, alas, there was none to be had on the train. Next time.
