Friday, March 13, 2015


One of the feelings that gets affirmed in B.E.S.T. sometimes is "perfection." I remember the first time I got "perfection" as an affirmation: I was confused. "But I thought I was recovering from perfectionism," I said to myself. This happened way back when I lived in New York and went to see Jen every week. Sensing my uncertainty I'm sure, Jen jumped in, "Perfection as in: everything is perfect exactly the way it is." "Ahhh," I thought, "that's very different from perfectionism."

Now that I giving B.E.S.T. treatments is part of what I do, I am familiar with the feelings in a different way. When someone on my table gets the word perfection, I try to think of everything that's perfect in the world pouring down into my crown chakra out through my hands and into their skull as I synchronize their pulse points. So much is perfect, a baby turtle is perfect, the joy of swinging high on a swing-set is perfect, the Rio Grande Gorge most certainly is perfect.

A recent episode of the New Yorker Fiction Podcast is perfect. Etgar Keret reads Donald Barthelme. If you listen to podcasts, download it immediately and if you don't listen to podcasts, download it immeadiately, and start listening to podcasts. Podcasts make long drives, subway, bus and airplane rides make sense. Donald Barthelme's story "Chablis," is perfect. Etgar Keret's insight into it is perfect, and his discussion with New Yorker Fiction editor, Debra Treisman is also perfect. There's a hypothetical dog in the story named Michael. I love it when dogs and cats have regular human names. Someday I hope to have a chihuahua named Barbara.

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