I made the livingroom into an art studio. It has a big white table at one end, and couches opposite for gazing. I sleep in the small bedroom downstairs. I have no vision for upstairs. The winds are still settling.
Work is absorbing. I am doing my game project. And I am leading a Bootcamp to teach the McCarthy shared-vision system, "theCore," to two other program managers. I called it a cross-divisional best practices group. Like a great-winged seabird, it is lifting. Everything is converging. Theatre, bootcamp, vision teams, life-coaching, software. It feels like one big rehearsal room, except what we are making is our lives.
I am, finally, trained.
Ania arrives this Friday. I pick her up in the evening.
In my office, eight yellow flowers spray from the shale base.
Morgan, my life coach, graduated from the Academy last week. I went. It regrounded me with the Academy. And with Morgan, who lives in Oregon.
I have new eyes to see with, but no words for what I see.
joy, wisdom, instinct --
paint the wall yellow, make way for
babies; all lives change
i am the eightfold
path, iron arms outstretched, shiva
fingers mudra-soft
the electric bill
and the monastery are
equally my own
sanctuary makes
a sacred place to breathe; built
new each fumbling day
if i went to Tibet
i would only miss the
blond boardrooms of home
where souls like starsails
furl and catch, bellying to
terrifying skies
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