I storm into the venue where I am to speak on Awareness Through Movement®. I am late. Traffic, poor signage, and of course my own penchant for pushing the temporal envelope, have whipped into a frenzy that stops temporarily at the reception desk. A very nice lady pats my hand and tells me, “It’s OK, we knew about the traffic.”
“Great!” I say, “Let me go back to my car and get my stuff.” I whirl around, and at what seems like 145 mph, slam straight into a floor to ceiling window. For just a moment, I and the glass are melded. I picture myself like Sylvester the cat. Any moment now, I will peel myself away from the glass like a Colorform, then shake myself back into three dimensions.
Instead, I slowly back away from the glass. Blood is dripping on my smart outfit. “Would you like to sit down?” asks the kind lady. I cannot move. The pain is potent; I am frozen in the center of a dozen dazzled senior citizens, their mouths open – in horror? Amazement? If I could move, I’d take a bow. The organizer hands me a surgical glove filled with ice and leads me to a chair. For some reason, the fingers are inflated, so it looks like Mickey Mouse’s hand is now attached to