. . . . in which i am sat in a seminar led by alan and mimi, somehow immune from the ongoing pandemic . . . . there is something reminiscent of school, the tables and chairs and the way they are laid out . . . . alan works his way around talking to each of us individually . . . when he comes to me he offers a number of options . . . i choose “mystical” and he proceeds to cover the surface of the table with fine salt crystals and gives me a handful of dried pink flowers . . . i scrunch the brittle fibers in my left hand while grasping at the salt in my right, letting it fall through my fingers . . . .
flowers and salt