Strip

I buzz-cut my hair today.

And it's not good. It's uneven and patchy.  It's a mess, really.

And I don't give a single shit.

COVID-19 has been whispering to me.  She has been saying, "strip."  She has been saying, "stop."  She has been saying, "let go."

Strip out of the unnecessary.

Stop reaching outside yourself.

Let go of the drive to be busy.

And I'm listening.

Because the truth is, I was tired.  All the time.  I was bitching and complaining about doing things that I had signed on to do - things that I enjoy with people that I care about.  I knew I was not centered, that I was disconnected.  I could feel it deep in my bones.

But I didn't know how to slow down.  I mean, yes, I had the tools, and it wasn't that I wasn't using them.  I was still doing art, still meditating.... But I was also layering, reaching, and GO-ing.

And then
along came this sweet horny-toad looking virus.  And she said, "Strip, Stop, Let go."

I don't want to go back to "normal."

I want to stick with the Essentials. 

My hair is a symbolic sacrifice of the non-essential.

I can't walk around the neighborhood naked as a symbol of the "strip, stop, let go."  That would be a little...extra.

So instead, today I buzz-cut my hair off.  I did it with a beard clipper.  My partner helped me.  It's rough, REALLY rough.  And I love it.

My eyes feel really open and exposed to light.  The wrinkles on my forehead are RIGHT THERE.  I can't hide, and there's nothing I can do to put back the tiny little hairs that we snipped off.

My head is essential.  My eyes, and ears and mouth...essential.

The rest was just a cloak.