I am so grateful for bartering. Bartering for yoga means healing my body–my lower back which has felt like tight stitched-together plates that bite and snarl at each other–and now being present in a flexible and fluid-spined springboard of a body. Lumbar limber lyrical lalalalalalalalala!!! I’m grateful for the opportunity to Listen, for friends throwing ropes over the telephone, my many umbilicals, for buses and trains and endless means of connection. I’m grateful for Connection. For remembering the essential truth of connection, that We. Are. All. One. I’m grateful for the cleanness of my moments, the clarity of sobriety, the tunnel out of dark little hovels where I slumbered and slithered and lay dying. Alone. I’m grateful that my 13-year-old son remembered to take two buses across the lake today to bring me my shoes–the red Converse he borrowed when his own became holey and waterlogged. I am grateful for my son. I am grateful for shoes. I’m grateful for the chiropractor who is giving me a discount, who is wonderful and does kinesiology and who hears my body whispering and who has a sunlit, leafy office. I’m grateful for queerbo solidarity. I’m grateful for my clients, for their trust, for the chance to serve in this way, for the universe sending me resources. I’m grateful that I’m learning to take action to walk forward into my expansiveness, which is exponentially increasing because I’m learning to love myself enough to allow it.