#thesis maybe

I have spent too much time out of ourorbit, trying to escape the concrete laws of our world. I have been distractingmyself by trying to define what I find floating around me. This is obviously contradictory, but it is my nature as a human being to make things concrete and solved.

As I said I have spent too much time with the blend of cosmos, the flotsam & jetsam found in the galactic deep blue. I need to return to the landscapes of Earth. 

Kathryn said that I am building my own religion. I work at building astral altars & celestial chapels. If heaven is what I am trying to build out of craters & constellations, then I must find my heaven on Earth.

Going from Toronto to Ottawa, & back again, I always find myself staring out at the marshes & wells that mark Ontario’s surface. Though my train runs through the South Eastern regions, I know that this dissolving landscape is only more obvious up North.

Within the grey waters are wild reeds, broken saplings, & winding mists. It is in these blurred out, damp pools that I find a peace similar to that of a church.

There is most definitely a wide range of religions that run in parallels with the natural world. Some are highly respectful. Some are completely dependent. Some use it for relatable imagery. Though they are all completely valid, with various aspects of them quite appealing, I cannot attach myself with them. Though I am constantly casting the world in concrete, I cannot create borders for my own identity. Again, this is a law that I have decided on & set for myself. That is a whole different conversation though.

So I have found my cathedral in the small bodies of water trapped within my province. I have no depictions of angels, no manifestation of a deity.

Just a place, & a feeling, & light. 

The light above these pools almost never seems to be fully bright. There are few shadows & little, very little shade. Without a doubt in my mind, the haze contributes to the heavenly. 

Around my neck, I wear a cut piece of shell. I don’t know what kind it is, who cut it, or where it came from, but a shell itself is a measurement of time & experience. A shell is a precursor to fossils. A fossil is an introduction to oil. Oil, stewing deep beneath our feet, meets heat & pressure, & flirts with them. They make crystals together, rough & gleaming in the inky darkness of the underground.

Though I do not think of what lies beneath the tiles of churches, under Ontario these minerals sprout & blossom, like gardens in deep chasms. 

It is our skeletal system. The soil is our flesh, & the water our rushing, stirring blood.

We may see a day where the pools spill over their rims, connecting together through rivers & streams. Water may course across the Earth like the first scribbles of a child’s drawing.

We may see a day where there is no longer a mainland for Ontario. Instead, the water replaces our solid ground, & what remains becomes our newfound province.