sweat and laugh

A Sikh guru I sometimes listen to says one must laugh and sweat every day. I can manage that, every day. There is always humor, and there is always the dripping sweat of a workout that I have convinced myself I need to survive, or fuck it, just walk outside in Indiana in July and you sweat.

Laugh and sweat, and maybe cry. Why not cry every day? There is plenty to cry about. I can cry just thinking about how many things there are to cry about. How about some anger? Does it pay to have some righteous anger in some part of every day, just get it out and let it go? Yes? No? I don’t know. I get angry. I get over it. My partner says anger kills him a little bit. Damages his immune system. But he means my anger, not his anger. My occasional, explosive, Mt. Saint Helens anger is bad bad, he says. I will kill him with this anger. His anger, on the other hand, is something quiet and heavy that he’s carried on his shoulders for so long he’s forgotten it’s there. That’s what could be killing him a little every day, but no doubt I seem more like the guilty party to him, standing there with my occasional bloody knife of a tongue. I’d say, skip the anger most days.

What else? What else does anyone need, every single day she gets up, to have a real life? Joy, rest, bliss, calm, art, noise, son, homegrown tomatoes? Today I jumped off the high diving platform at the swimming pool. Sixteen feet. High enough to think about falling while falling. Hit the water and go deep enough to wonder, for a second or two, how deep will I go? Last time I did that I was maybe twelve years old. Thirty-five years since I’ve jumped off the high dive. I have no idea what possessed me. A whim, a need. Tonight I drank good Italian wine, ate delicious, chewy bread with garlic and tomatoes, tuned the radio to Latino music, and danced barefoot on the porch with my sweet thing. I can’t remember the last time we did that and so it must’ve been a long time ago. Does that call for laughing or crying? (I see them as intimately related.) And sweating, of course, because it’s July in Indiana. And all of that seems enough for today.


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