Flit

She stared at her laptop at the retreat.  I suffered from social anxiety and a migraine and achieved relief from putting myself forward.   She called me brave.  She said I had a great life.  She asked how I felt about returning to my family.  She scolded me for non-conformance and later was instructed to peer deeply into my eyes.  He facilitated a yoga session seamlessly and after said he would depart without pause for love or money.  He labored in the kitchen and meditated, hoping to counteract transgressions of the past.   He spoke of a master who would not malign Coca Cola, would deem it favorable, and would feel no desire to consume it again.  I could not register surprise upon learning of the internecine squabbling of animal farm sanctuaries, the corruption of a homelessness organization, that an accomplished LGBT advocate felt compelled to die, and left a message imploring less selfishness, which quickly faded, as the soccer and baseball games in the park continued unabated.   The Whole Foods was nearly un-navigable.  I attempted politeness though felt rage rising as my presence was undetected.  A young guy bagging my groceries talked to me of his newfound knowledge of food coops and his transition to vegetarianism, and asked if I was vegan.  I generated a measure of genuine enthusiasm, spoke more than I had wished, and offered thanks for his efforts, to which he responded with graciousness.   The coach chanted repeatedly, her timing unerring, her pitch clear, firm and related.  She expressed dissatisfaction and ordered that the routine be practiced again.  The athletes followed and corrected an earlier flaw, without resentment.  I understand the transcendent qualities of passion, though I yearn for simple love, and I dreamt again of classes missed and failing grades.   The charisma of the solitary explorer of the wilderness, who burned money and took itinerant jobs, was enthralling, and enviable. He was badly wounded, too.