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the best place to remember and find myself is in the middle of a bustling mall
where the sidebench can be my armchair
and the pleasant scurryings of the shoppers-by
can be my rhythm and also my tide to swim against
it requires energy to swim against the current [of mental noise]
just as it takes energy to dive into your craft and find the place where
stroke after stroke, you and the activity flow together as one
and you no longer exist aside from the conscious being watching words appear,
watching lengths unfold
i’m swimming again, in the world’s sea, moving and remaining still
every blank page, every still mile of water is full of exactly the lifesource i need
i hope it’s clear that engaging here is as necessary to my survival as breathing
and in fact, i’ve already lost myself, blown off steam, given away my troubles, taken as many deep breaths as a yoga class could provide
i kind of can’t believe how easy it was to arrive here
the drive and requirement to be the best that i can be in turn requires that i pull away to rejuvenate, however selfish that may seem
i can rise to the occasion as required
and i believe i have it all in me
but i do not want to feel inadequate
for not rising to an occasion
that does not [currently] exist for me.
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You know when you’re focused on something
and all of a sudden, you feel inexplicably
back to “life”?
It feels like you only just woke up from an unknown sleep.
And like some previously evasive truth has been made resoundingly clear.
And you feel grateful/sort of happy because the thing you
were so intently focused on,
can’t possibly be as important as LIFE.
And then you realize, you’ve been at this realization
And then you wonder if you are meant to go in circles
or if you are simply not getting life.
And then you get called back to task.
The view outside is so clear now that we’ve cleaned the windows.
The silence this spare room offers at late hours despite the near-constant sound of tires gripping road, engines conbusting outside, is like the sanctuary of my consciousness despite the constant traffic in my mind.
I feel like who we really are cannot be suppressed, even if the environment and circumstances change. Here I am, years later, sitting at the windowsill, writing in this journal and looking out, and in.
I think I’ll always find my windowsill no matter where I go.
May there be many more quiet nights like these.
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when light falls on you,
I see you
and I infer light
light illuminates and
light disappears while doing so