#journalentry4?

if the world [as we have come to know it] is ending, 

why not do exactly what you’ve always dreamed of doing?

why not be that person you dream of? 

the one you put in glass tower pedestals in the distant future. with the Rocky steps and the championship music slowly fading in as you make your way to the top. don’t mind the fact that your back aches and the stairs are harder on your knees these days. don’t mind the fact that not everyone can come. the you after you reach metric a, b, k, f, z, 10, 500 . . . the you that keeps moving 

higher 

        farther

                  faster

as soon as you 

                                      get closer to them. 

the one with the ever changing standard of perfection --- of progress. 

just one more rep. 

      one more hour. 

         one more GB of speed . . . 

the one you fear you’ll never work hard or fast enough to reach. 

might just burnout the entire system      stretching for something 

that’s been 

here 

with you the entire time.

and that’s the irony of it all. 

it’s 

all 

been 

here 

the 

entire 

time. 

and there is so much healing in so much hurting. like brain tumors at the start of spring in the middle of callosum fibers bridging new connections between you and the world around you. balance in chaos. like random drunk calls at 2am from cousins you never spoke to beyond family gatherings before dad died. like more laying on chests and your chest being laid on. noticing heart rhythms you normalized. like people asking what you need more and saying what they need, too. like reading poetry books as slowly as possible - picking random pages and re-reading some again. savoring syllables like sweet somethings. bike rides with no destinations in mind. like playing catch in the middle of the basketball courts at sunset - losing the ball as the sun moves to shine light on other shadows. as we become laughing vibrating silhouettes under new moon crescents. oh, there is so much in the intimacy. in me. 

in us.

i saw

my neighbors sitting on their roof writing the other day. 

i’ve lived here for two years and never seen them once. never met them. 

and here we all are remembering 

like the crispness of the air returning to the earth. an exhale of relief. thank God they stopped. thank God they care. we’ve been dying. 

my housemate said it reminded her of how it feels to be in the mountains. and we are at sea level next to one of the biggest bustle venture capitalist centers that never pauses. has to be earth shaken to slow.

and while the flow of my daily life hasn’t been altered too much, as a hermit creative caretaker, i’ve noticed something has changed within me. there is a stillness here that i haven’t always made room to feel. a stillness that has reminded me of the ways my own linear-time, forward, value warped eyes have been harsh to my presence. present. made me chase the end of a creative project that is me. my life work. my love work. an existence i am co-creating with the intentions of helping nourish future seeds that no longer speak my name but know my traces through what remains. 

so i’m slowing back down. 

remembering to take in as much fresh air as i can. 

in the days of social distancing, i’m remembering what it feels like to be actually close.

to my spirit. my asé. my qi. 

to really feel my lungs.

fill my lungs

and to release freely. 

this breath was never mine to begin with. 

never fully, at least.