You know?

My mother, she is this concept.  I think she is beautiful and amazing and sad and I don't know her, but I desperately want to.  I am 40 feeling like I'm 3.  Wanting to lay my head on her lap, to feel the stroke of her hand in my hair, but I am 40.  Really, 40. 

Money

Lack as a Driving Force:  Going back to the past to Dial Up my experience, charge the body and feel what is there.  Rewrite the story to change the present and affect the future.

Exhausted

Training is never what you expect, the Match isn't either.

2011

The official Title Match has begun.  It is a 50+ rounder that will take a year.  The training involves daily Perception changing statements, feeling at levels never reached before, a whole lotta Skill to stay present and a desire to go into the unknown.  Here I go, touch gloves......................

can't sleep

Skeptical, tired eyed.  Lying in bed wondering where all of this goes.  What direction to take, which doors to open versus keep closed.  Do I have to open them all?  My body changes, betrayal taking a backseat, windows, opportunities open and shut.

Monday

Saturday morning-  the breakthrough happened.  A call from a long lost brother, my mother's number.  I have been searching for her for the past 6 years....I have only seen her 5 times in my 40 year span.  Conflictual stories of being pushed out versus abandonment.  I can't believe it is finally here, sometimes I am reduced to 4 years old in a single sentence.  Longing, pushing away, begging, protecting, an endless cycle dancing around the fire.
  It is Monday and there is work to be done.

Estranged

22 years since I've seen or heard from the boy.  I don't really know him but the familiarity is there. Family is a complicated web of interactions...let's see what happens the next 22 years

What a day

Out of sorts, something new, something old, not sure what I am doing or where I am headed.  What to do with the spinning thoughts and chaotic rhythm?  Keep moving, throwing punches, don't care if they land or not....just throw, throw, throw and keep my eyes open, hands up and chin down.  Out of sorts, but only til I find my back, my feet, my power, my punch.

PAWN

I am a pawn.  Sometimes black and sometimes white.  Never do I have a choice.  My color is always selected and determined by his forefinger and thumb.  I sit upon my felt bottom waiting to be told what to do.  He teases the nub on my head, twirling and twisting me in disorienting directions.  I tilt, I sway, but only when prodded to do so.  He teases me with false moves, making me expectant and jerking me back to sit and wait.  He covers my eyes so I cannot see what he is thinking, but I can feel it through the energy in his fingertips.  I am bound to his touch and he to my obedience.  I am a pawn.