We started tossing the balls around on Thursday, and someone said, "Oh, my favorite," as she caught one of the sacks. I looked at the one in my hand. It was black with a greenish pattern. Each ball (there are about fifteen in the basket) is a different color and design. It had never occurred to me to have a "favorite"--to even notice the colors for that matter. When we're in ball work, I am focused on the eyes of the person I'm throwing to, who is throwing to me, on my breathing, on releasing tension, on being part of the ensemble.
Fifteen years ago I would have definitely had a favorite hacky sack. No questions asked. And I'd probably privately take physic signs from it like, "If I get my favorite pink one tossed to me today in class, it means my grandmother is here." I used to make these kind of Magic-8-Ball ideas all the time with arbitrary things as a kid. Most of the time much less endearing: "If there are eight pages of paper in the trash can, I'll really like the next episode of Rugrats I see."
Bunny that hopped in front of me on the way to work a couple weeks ago.
But, today I am really unaware of most THINGS around me. I'm very person-orreinted at this time in my life. It's about connections and communication and when I meditate, I meditate about people. So, I'm trying to bring back the wa a little bit. It's about staying committed to the acting circle but noticing the weight of the sack in my hand, the magenta dots on it's rough skin. Walking to my sister's apartment thinking about what I want to be sure to mention, but also the dead lilac bushes and how soft they are.
The moth don't care when he sees the flame.
He might get burned, but he's in the game.
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