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.”
Who am I in all this / to feel love so abundant? This morning, a tree / on my lawn catches the sun. It sits in bare branches / like a bright ball of yarn I want to keep in a basket / even though I can make nothing of it.
My question for Nicholson was, when it’s time to steer Cassini straight into Saturn, will you feel sad? Will you miss it? Leave it to a poet to want to understand the depth of our attachments.