I cry at the drop of a hat- any hat. I cry at beauty and pain, pride and elation and times of passion. Salt holds my emotions and carries my energies out. Otherwise, I become laden down, heavy, nonoperational. It's too crowded inside me, like sand in a pipe. I can not think things through. I grind to a halt and shut down. To relieve the pressure, salt purifies. It must come out. Crying is not the only way. It's the bleeder valve, but not the switch. Exercise videos and "working out" are not a substitute- forced, useless sweat like a love token to a stranger, too easy to forget because I have gained nothing.
The sweat of hard work lightens my load. I can load a truck, climb a mountain, rearrange the woodpile, shovel snow- things like these are the best therapy. An hour or two of sweat filled productivity brings my wisdom, peace and cleanliness. I need a visual confirmation of my work, something accomplished, pile A is now pile B. I have succeeded and have proved my worth. Then I can sit down to write what I have learned.
Tears of my body- Salting the earth of my garden.
