I am using “practice” in the sense that one has a practice because a specific kind of activity is regular and frequent (ideally daily). In other words: consistent, engaged and present with.
I was totally surprised when I started evaluating progress on my official 2016 writing /poetry goals. According to my mood related to writing in 2016, I believed I’d failed every goal I’d set. Turns out, I totally nailed it.
Paying attention to all of it reminds me that I am of the world. It’s easy for me to live in my head. And while I enjoy retreating there — and need to sometimes because the world can feel too crowded — ultimately it untethers me in a bad way. I need to be in my body.
They brought me the sort of joy I hadn’t felt in a while, and it caught me off guard. It seemed like a gift. Yes, I understand it to be a chance encounter that had nothing to do with me, but I came away from it feeling more dreamy than I had in months.
It’s the episode in which I throw a bunch of tantrums and grow deeply resentful. It isn’t pretty, but it’s my stubborn process of relearning lessons. Like this: if I don’t claim my own space, I’m useless to everyone.
Here / trying to enact what they mean when they say Let’s cross over. / If I write about the butterfly you’ll think I want to be one But who are you
Do you believe in synchronicity? We’ve been writing about gatekeepers, and this card appeared in my mail along with a deck of tarot-type cards I’d ordered: “The gatekeepers are gone. You are the one who will open the door to your dreams.”