On My Way

This weekend I'm off to Taos for this Queer Spirituality retreat. Much more highfalutin than it sounds. It's a great, relaxing weekend with a small group of people at a buddhist intentional community in the mountains above Taos. We'll hang out, eat vegetarian food, do some yoga maybe. There's a no talent talent show. And some other stuff you can do or not do. Last time I did a sweat, which was surprising and great. I don't know if it was anger that I needed to express or just pain from sitting in a hut with burning rocks. We'll find out. And in the evening people play games--dominoes I remember a game called "chicken butt". So low stress. And clean air, which will be a salve after the fires in LA. I'll hopefully read a lot. And just sit on the porch and look out at the horizon.

I got off the plane in Albuquerque, and was struck as I always am, at all the space. There is so much space between people here. The airport felt almost empty, only because it was Friday evening. Monday mornings are busy. But still the ceilings are high, the vistas are endless, and the whole thing is built with space in mind. I suppose that's why people are attracted to spiritual stuff here. Or land. There's space for both. I don't know that I could live here again, but it's very easy to come back. I forget I'm a product of the West sometimes, and then I touchdown here and remember. It can't be avoided. Before this sky, there were the endless cornfields of Nebraska. Sometimes it strikes me as lonely, but it's really not. It's just a little slower (and mostly because I'm always on vacation). When I come back here I realize how in a rush I always am, and looking for one if I'm not. It's where my natural pace can conflict with natural space. And they both feel very comfortable. I was getting to the point in LA where everything felt crowded, and I needed a break. Most of the time it's a great balance, but every once in a while I just need to escape. Look at me--I'm even writing like I'm in New Mexico. 'Cuz I am!

So this evening I got my Frontierfix with Michael--a flame burger with green chile, fries and a side of beans. He got a burger, homemade tortillas and hashbrowns. Then we watched Project Runway, highlights of So You Think You Can Dance, and then Brian and I talked a bit about Broadway choreographers (Robbins, Fosse, Bennett, etc), the reworking of Nine for the movie, and about 200 other things (which is always one of the best things to do) while he folded laundry, including how we both over-thought 2(x)ist underwear when it came out. He thought it was 200 1st, while I was at the gym trying to solve for x somehow. When I asked what it meant some queen gave me a withering look and said "to exist"? like I was possibly the dimmest thing on Earth and had just asked what that was coming out of the faucet--"uh, water?". So that prompted a great book title, possibly my autobiography, "Overthinking Underpants". Which today seems like a perfect title.

Tomorrow I meet a friend who I haven't seen since high school graduation. We went to Prom together. She wore a vintage peach dress that looked from the thirties. I wore a vintage bolero cut navy dress jacket. Vintage--we were so on top of it in '86. Oh, wow. That's 23 years.

More thoughts on art 'n' stuff later. I hear a cricket, so it's time to put this grey head to bed. Have a good weekend, and enjoy the holiday celebrating labor unions and shorter work days. There's always a reason for the season.