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8:32 p.m. - Sunday, Sep. 23, 2012
"When I masturbate, God comes."
"Be your fucking self," he said. I had already cried three times today. I cried when we offered five sun salutations to those who needed our forgiveness. Letting it go with every forward fold, facing them with every upward dog, and offering forgiveness up to the beautiful blue September sky. I cried when we offered five sun salutations to those for whom we could be better. The living and the dead for whom we could be better. And I cried when I sat back to back with a stranger. Breathing together. Feeling her breath expand against mine, twisting together, connected in breath . . .connected in body. I hugged her. I offered my peace on a piece of cloth. One scrap pinned upon fabric. One scrap, united with many. On my scrap I wrote, "movement."



"In 200 years, no one will remember who you were . . .So make the most of it. Enjoy it. Don't just be yourself. Be your fucking self."



I want nothing more than to be my fucking self.

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