The words are quiet in me right now. Lots of possibility pushing its way around toward manifesting, which means commitment, which means change.
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The foghorns are lowing all around us; blue sky above but the Golden Gate is thick and grey. Did you see any fireworks last night? From the little church that sits above our apt building, we could see some from Sausalito as well as the ones over in San Francisco. Sophie wasn’t sure what to do with the loud noises, with the strange noisy mechanical birds that were flying low overhead. Still, though, she was more interested in the dog that another family had brought up with them.
In my dream, there was a part of myself I could trust — like, a role that part of me played; but I could trust me when I was in that role, could trust my instincts, trust my gut.
That dream is feeding me today: I’m listening for that part inside.
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There’s a lot that I want to write about this morning — like, for instance, the meaning of the word ‘force,’ particularly when it comes to sexual violence and abortion.
But I have a staff meeting to get to.
So I want to just talk for a second about physical contact — are you getting your daily allotment? Even as someone who lives with their partner, there are weeks when I will go days without a hug — too busy, going too fast, no time to stop (and, yes, maybe too scared sometimes, too out of my body, too worried that a hug ‘means’ something else) — and then, no one hugs where I work.