Honesty is an everyday practice, says Zen.
I’m flipping through what I call my pocket Buddha-Bible, a steadfast guide I’ve stuffed into the cellphone pouch of my J.Crew crackle-metallic hobo bag. The book is old, the handbag new. Colour: pale gold. Following a three-month “buy nothing” vow, I’ll testify to shopping abstinence as an aesthetic practice all its own. Ready to shed that habit like a scrawny muslin tunic, I’m hungry for harvest. Food, wine, fireside, and fall fashion. I crave anything the colour of caramel-apple butter.
But last things first. Mercury is retrograde: not a good time for new purchases. (Hey, I put the coveted Lily + Jae winter coat on layaway. Meaning, technically, I haven’t paid for it…yet). Mercury retrograde is a time to look back, to assess, to sift through: bank accounts, bills, grant-writing applications. Deadlines and commitments.
I’m thinking of the Ageing Director.
Zen says, if we are looking for real, if we are looking for true, we must be honest. No acting. No pretending. We are nearer to truth than to our own heartbeat.
“Maybe it’s harmless,” I say to K.T., over the phone. On the bus. Late to an audition I really want. Should be running lines.
“Autumn in New York, with a man who is clearly into you?”
There’s a grinding whirr from her end.
“Hang on,” she says. “Coffee beans.”
“But think of the shows,” I start up again, once the racket quits. “And the clothes. I can just about smell the Fall Sales. Besides, maybe he intuitively gets it that we’re friends. He hasn’t made overtures. He hasn’t actually said a thing.”
“Well,” says K.T., “neither have you.”
Okay, she’s on to me.
I can’t swallow my heart to satisfy my stomach. It’s time to clear things up with the Ageing Director. Before visions of autumn in New York, or Christmas in the Greek Isles whet my appetite. Let’s hope I haven’t bitten-off more than I can chew.
