superbowl solitude…

it’s the superbowl, i live in seattle, and i just don’t care.  totally uninterested.  so as my seattle brethren go nuts, i sit in my nest, setting up an instagram account (follow me at bloomiverse if you wanna) and discovering i am obsessed with it, for some reason.  i guess because it’s instant gratification of sharing art and little poems.  love posting.  already found about twenty painters to follow, who inspire with their amazing works.  feeling the painting buzz ignite like crazy inside, but not ready to paint tonight.  because my body hurts.  my brain is tired.  i over did it last night.  but it was worth it, to come out of the routine, and it was just like my dream the other night, where i did not really want to come out of my routine, because my routine feels the best, but knew i needed to, in order to remain supple and open, and not turn into a content curmudgeon.  needed a little grist.  anyhow, it worked.  i slightly danced (swayed?) to a brilliant pink floyd cover band, and slipped into a shamanic trance, feeling like neptune took me over.  belly laughed hard with old friends, so happy to see K again.  stayed up way too late.  shared quartz infused good whisky.  was reminded of the olden days.  lots of nostalgia rises in the heart during a cancer moon.  K asked me if i had any new year’s intentions and out from my mercurial mouth spouted a bold affirmation about being present, my thoughts impregnated by passion, swelled with devotion, like i could’ve dropped to the ground and cried over lotus feet. happiness is not the success of being present, it’s the devotion to being present (says the bhakti heart).  told them i would join in the superbowl festivities, but awoke feeling the need for solitude.  my impetus is to stay out of the collective hawks fever.  listening to krishna das, whom still fills me with intense joy every day.  burning dragons blood and hiding away.  chrysacola round the neck.  words are simple.  don’t really have anything to say.  why am i blogging?  i dunno…