Soap Synchronicity

last night we went out to Cafe Luna for my college friend's birthday, and her wonderfully enlightened son, who has been travelling the world - Mexico, New York, France, and India - where he spent time at a ashram - told us a certain yogi does not advocate the use of soap.

(i know this young man does not read my blog so there is no way he knows my guilty secret. so it is either a true synchronicity or an antisynchronicity!)


then his sister, the lovely young girl whose recent birthday party theme was "I don't wanna grow up," added that the body is supposedly a self-cleaning mechanism. i said if you've ever gotten a whiff of someone who believes that, you might wish their self-cleaning mechanism worked better.


This same yogi also advocates swallowing a towel, swirling it around to clean the stomach, then pulling it back out. maybe if we swallow soap instead...?

The Dead Poet

so i had this dream last night. there is a dead poet up a tree. a man hits the poet out of the tree with a large stick. a bystander says, 'well, if he wasn't dead already..."

according to one theory of dream analysis (by the way, note that the root word of analysis is anal) every aspect of a dream is the dreamer. so i am the dead poet, the man with a stick, the bystander, even the tree. cool!

when i walked out this morning a light mist enveloped the city. the air smelled of fresh bread, a warm, summery, yeasty scent, like cotton sheets hung on a line. i went to see the two baby bunnies in the park. i would love to pet one, but even if i could, i might get fleas. that is the problem with us humans. we have an unnatural fear of nature. but we ARE nature. therefore we have an unnatural fear of ourselves.

and that is why we have to knock the dead poet out of the tree.