Bright sun in my room. I went to a presentation about the mysticism of Chanukah at my synagogue Wednesday night--the presentation was boring, (except for a beat-boxing Orthodox rabbi) but I was with my grrlz, Ellen and Beth, and we hung out at Ellen's house before and afterwards, which was wonderful. We're a little coven, we three; deep healing spiritual work takes place amid much laughter and teasing and eating. I can't repeat the things that were said, or they would have to have me killed, but it was the best antidote to mindless Christmas blah blah blah that I could think of.

G. showed up at the Chanukah thing also, at my invitation--he was half-dead because he's been working seven days a week for months, but he gamely got in a circle with a bunch of schleppy Jews, the only Black person in the room, and went through the motions of doing a Hora. I whispered in his ear, "You get major points for this," and he whispered back, "I better."

I sent off the manuscript for See How We Almost Fly to Jack Kornfield, who had sent me a copy of Rattle in which he named me as one of his favorite poets in an interview (!!) It would be great for me to do something at Spirit Rock, because clearly I need more of a spiritual practice--one of the questions Ellen asked (alright, they will have to hunt me down and kill me) was "What spiritual practices are you doing now that bring you vitality and joy?"

An excellent question. My answer: Interplay, writing, and swimming, but that's clearly not enough. My goal for this next year is to incorporate a movement based meditation--yoga or T'ai Chi into my daily life. And--gulp--I have to look at my living situation. This house is a bit Dickensian--big, old, cold in the winter. The PG&E person came and turned on the furnace, and then I couldn't turn it down, so accidentally turned it OFF, and now can't turn it on again. During the cold months I just stay in my room with the space heater, typing. Not the ideal endorphin-producing environment.

I wanted to fill this house with children, and a mate--but that hasn't happened. It should be a family house, it used to be a family house. Ellen and Beth suggested I rent it out to a family and go live by myself in a cozy cottage. Which makes a lot of sense except for the time, energy and disruption it would take to move. I hate moving. But I think they are right.