Feb 23 COS

It feels so good to be clean and good and alert and organized-to have a folder full of papers and many lines to fill out.

All of my morooms come out from the woods like pygmies after a war, like oompalumpas in the bushes coming together to look at Dorothy.

The Others in LOST.

Everyone looks more...European. Like how you tell a peasant from a city dweller. Tanner, like leather, more wrinkled, more worn. Clothes, hair, skin, eyes covered with a layer of reddish dust. Nothing white can stay.

We all talk about how bad we look, but looking back at staging photos, on the plane, our taught shiny rosy skin-our awkward bodies, smiles, our characterless, formless clothes, and fake looking hair, someone shouts "We look so much better!" And the myth is busted.

Thinner versions of ourselves (albeit with cheb bellies, less false muscle, perhaps bigger butts) our bodies now bear the mark of more physical work, a realer form. We are all teeming with life. Let us never forget this moment.

Even how we relate. Touching, hugging, laying on each other. No longer dividing over differences, but penning out each individual and why they are wonderful, worth worshipping.