Restoration

by Cheech

I love restorative practices. There's an interesting paradox with them, though. They're often not enough to exorcise the inner critic. Banishing her (I call her the Queen Witch 👑🧙🏽‍♀️) requires profuse sweat and rhythmic pounding. Whether of feet on the pavement or palms to the mat, it matters not. A drumming connection, some contact with the outer world's solidity is what silences her unrelenting evaluation. That striking is so necessary. Coming into contact with hardened surfaces brings me into contact with the rest of me, and with the rest of the world 🌎. Otherwise, I retreat to my head and meekly live out my days from there (with her prattling in the background about how I'll never live up).