my pulse is tick-tocking. could the clock have been inspired by the human heart?
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Florence and my thirst for reading. for diving into imaginary oceans and going out of them, enjoying the drops of salty water slowly evaporating off my body as the feeling from the book wears away. is this life or is it only a contemplation of life? the same question I ask when I’m looking through the camera viewfinder. am i living or is it enough that I’m watching the others living?
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should I dip myself into the sea or is it enough to just watch it? my dipping’s in the air too. sunbathing, don’t they call it such? I’m bathing under the sun and the water’s only function is to cool me when I’ve had too much of it. it’s not exactly my element.
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my relationship with the earth is interesting too. I don’t think I love the even, hard, familiar ground that says: you’re safe here, grow your roots. I want the land under me to be moving – like sand, like a mountain trail that inevitably leads elsewhere. like a rock upon whose face you need to look for the next suitable crack or ledge in order to keep climbing because there’s no way back. how can a person like me ever have a home?
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the snail: my spirit animal
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as my sister says, skipping in nature gets you back to your wild self. skipping in the jungle, skipping in the jungle, we’re not afraid, we’re not afraid.
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[…] the baggage of karma. at least the suitcase is open. afraid or not, I surrender to what’s meant to happen. contemplate = live
a blog about (making sense of) life 