Looking Out, Looking In

Anything living knows stretches of dormancy - when there is nothing to do but lean into the lull and let it unfold- like the things you've packed up and carried with you from one life into this other; sources of cognitive comfort from physical things. Some compress neatly, falling into loose piles that bounce back without effort into the forms you recognize, others crumple and wrinkle and distort, forever holding where they were creased, while others fray and dissolve, leaving an outline that blurs and becomes something different.

Looking out: the patterned cushion of the carpet or the couch, the soft blanket that warmed you, the dots and lines on the shirt you wore when you were scared and exhausted but did it anyway, the bright colors of the curtains you hung, flowers in bloom. There was a time when they were simply bulbs underground.

Looking in: what you nurture in your arms, in your mind's eye. The bright spots that you focus on, how they grow and multiply as you feel toward a balance between instant gratification and slow change, vivid daydreams and full presence, stillness and action. Seeking out the sort of comfort that doesn't shroud or numb, but lifts you up and bolsters you through challenge and change; up through the dirt, into the sun. Repeat.

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