Nice Jeff, the wondrous pinean SSRI evocative breath. Lego version .
Inspired inspiration.
Here's my bedroom retreat story. Trying to imagine your mannerisms.
"Once upon a septum, I breathed freely.
Now, thanks to an out-fractured inferior pair of turbinate bones and coblation and what I assume is the nasal equivalent of post-apocalyptic urban planning, I enjoy the gentle sensation of suffocation.
It's like trying to inhale through a crushed juice box.
Each breath is a slow, long sip .
It's a negotiated truce between my diaphragm and the remnants of nasal architecture best described as 'necrotic rubble.'
My olfactory bulbs? Hostages. Their last memory is a whiff of antiseptic gauze, not ripened cheese crusts. Astonishingly, I make my own crusts now. Seasoned with the refreshing Neti's pot saline.
Still, I persist, eyes closed, practicing diaphragmatic breathing like some zen monk trapped in a malfunctioning snorkel, praying for the day a breeze scented with Zoloft-infused evergreen will dance through the charred ruins of my ethmoid labyrinth, whispering: 'You’ve made it, friend, this is air"
Jeff, your hair is extra shiny in that photo -must be all the pinenes. So cool that the scent is healthy for us. And also that some evergreen resins have amazing wound healing benefits (harvested gently and cooperatively). Meditating in community also feels anti-inflammatory for me. I’m grateful, and here for this.
Congrats on the new home. Is this your 2nd home and you still have the place in Toronto? Ironically, my daughter and I are in Toronto for our annual Jays game. They won yesterday 👍
Nice Jeff, the wondrous pinean SSRI evocative breath. Lego version .
Inspired inspiration.
Here's my bedroom retreat story. Trying to imagine your mannerisms.
"Once upon a septum, I breathed freely.
Now, thanks to an out-fractured inferior pair of turbinate bones and coblation and what I assume is the nasal equivalent of post-apocalyptic urban planning, I enjoy the gentle sensation of suffocation.
It's like trying to inhale through a crushed juice box.
Each breath is a slow, long sip .
It's a negotiated truce between my diaphragm and the remnants of nasal architecture best described as 'necrotic rubble.'
My olfactory bulbs? Hostages. Their last memory is a whiff of antiseptic gauze, not ripened cheese crusts. Astonishingly, I make my own crusts now. Seasoned with the refreshing Neti's pot saline.
Still, I persist, eyes closed, practicing diaphragmatic breathing like some zen monk trapped in a malfunctioning snorkel, praying for the day a breeze scented with Zoloft-infused evergreen will dance through the charred ruins of my ethmoid labyrinth, whispering: 'You’ve made it, friend, this is air"
Ovi, you may not be able to smell it, but your comment is full of ripened wit, prose, art, heart, and soul. So glad I’m in your community 🥰
So very very good. Thank you!
Jeff, your hair is extra shiny in that photo -must be all the pinenes. So cool that the scent is healthy for us. And also that some evergreen resins have amazing wound healing benefits (harvested gently and cooperatively). Meditating in community also feels anti-inflammatory for me. I’m grateful, and here for this.
I somehow ( by mistake !? ) did not forget how to use the spell
checker .
Congrats on the new home. Is this your 2nd home and you still have the place in Toronto? Ironically, my daughter and I are in Toronto for our annual Jays game. They won yesterday 👍