Part One

Today I forgot my key. Not that I didn’t have it, but that I didn’t know what it was. On the chain is the communal car key, public house key, and then this other key - my key. This moment, it opens anything. Not a threat (testiment I am mending), only every door the key might open has no access to me. Not emotionally. Not ever.

Not that I’m unavailable, emotionally. Circles in town I go to, or group chats with neighbors who love me, invite me on walks and trips and ask for my ear, hear me - every word Moon phase found this solar term - my band, it’s open. Any heart could broadcast whatever it wants; I look at this generic, third key, and I am not terrified. The key is any of myriad I walk an ocean away to be from and not carry.

So many solar terms in my body a mess, their emotions live skunkish half-lives. Why are they being kind neighbors? Those solar terms realities feel so far from all who love me. Their keys, relationship blooming I leave and never soon enough, overtaken… (“trust, that gentle kiss you give yourself”) …forgotten, down to the sense. This pulse I am path to no more than that. I tend a pulse. Am this land.

Rhythm, this breeze in it, bird call, wind and horizon line, cloud cover, first bite | temperature change - the key could unlock no door. I carve out a space entirely mine. The key fails to be anything but.

This pause. This rock in the river the Earth is (not). Words strike water, vacuum my presence, fall as light, is stone. Holds here warm. Puts the image this moment down, picks it up and puts it in the hand, and sees it put down again. The sun its leaves, entropy its own reality to live, ideality insists what it like, what actually happens gets to ideality’s concerns in its own time.

This edge rising, egress with required reading, rereading, corrective lenses, and rereading. A boundary new words make. Hot data shadowing rising entropy out of the earth light falls for, solar winds cht across, planetary ejecta leaves. These words. Pulse between the one I tend and everything that wouldn’t serve. This pulse mine. My one or two (or maybe four or five) words noticing an aural landscape timidly cracking.

River breeze pressure change, a sun steps. People meet, love, nourish, feel ready, go, head out, the rest of the network. What that might rest from all becoming offers. What drive to word neverminds scarcity. Grapes rot on the vine as wine fails to sell. Map that. What love it as mindset serves. How getting stuck serves process. Light this moment, what it’s up to, into, a step from looking, this vantage, angle, voice, appearance, slick, feel, stick breaking down freely this into feeling serving still.

This morning, “life’s too short” caught light in a scarcity mindset. I bring it to a mending table. The phrase sick in the story. Where is the sickness? I find and stitch it up, continue. The day life’s to short, where a fuse is concerned. Break down sharpened adage, see them legendary weapon, invitation to release into what is actually on offer. What attention “life’s too short” needs. To manage its charge.

A jupiter of a phrase, magetizing every comet, every thought straying near it. Another abuser I leave, another solar term I still have the key to, or my maps app is still addressing as home, or abuser’s car sharing make and color with a neighbors. That whole song + dance, earworm, bookword, mouthwarm, world squirm, death angel I am to ot every context. Someone says “life’s too short” all I hear is “life’s to short.” Hurts imposition, saves pain, invites curiosity. Serves light.

Sayings find me this week, share: People who never struggle with something, struggle to describe that something. Put differently, “I’ve never had to think about it before,” as a phrase, has “no rich understory.” See phrases forests for parcers indigenous to our person - maintain those understories through words, ready words not to fight and win, but to break down and devour. Where a win state fails to serve is a world of forests, look up.

Light; Photons from the Sun walk up the riptide of nothing missing surfacing offering water branches the dawn recognizes and grows toward like river delta we take in, metabolize, form words, what is the rest of the conversation. Ask now something, ask it what might be up with those places machine and life find themselves without words.

Think of life and light always offering things - be that. Yet the pause you want to settle in the world. Speak our brief while not to be heard, but for what is, what attention movement needs. How words get so big, audience rises to attend. Life a loss of words voice breaks in recognition.

Be movement’s motive, what transformation meant to say, or went to, or asks. “Amazing water amuses light,” in words - slow. The difference - slow, to a world of energy, is word. Scenic route the fastest thing’s the gist of and looking to share. It’s seen autumn walk mountain island paths in the densest morning fog only to notice the cliff into ocean’s a footstep away, so falls back and laughs and sits - ocean, 218 body lengths below, breaks on rock edge and crows, given time, surface in courtship barrel rolls the rest of dawn.

Feeling without a name for the moment without a face the image without a smell sees. Word it, break down smelly proverbs until potential and chemical energy arrive still learning to love one another. The process is enamoring. You are too, I think.

I haven’t found a name for the pulse of potential on the path of light. Attention for your thoughts? Born to name the first image that serves? Slaps.

The movement of tall grass in the golden hour, the feeling is the brush that holds me. Name it presence. Hear recognition a moment. Fall like droplet or fruit or whatever sky into what nothing is missing. Found the word, look at you go! That’s so cool, lovely seeing-speaking. You caight that snowflake of awareness on the tongue of presence and’re …here (however here feels or finds or calls), here. “I’m good,” I respond to light on the window.

Ask the light if it ever worries it’s good enough to maintain an ethic of care in the forest of every heart. Silly. Sit, here. Whoosh your heart flutters, ripple, earthquake emotion how being recieved grants. More attention than celebrating a quality of reception.

Each facet light catches of my attention shared greatest common denominator with whether planet formation was wrong move, whether an asteroid belt where Earth is now would serve this moment. How hard it is to remember the color ever comes back once its all mixed together.

But physics and chemistry move through mutual understanding to offer each entropy rising how dawn must, so every photosynthetic event must, so this one, these words, your here, growing into them. Forgetting turns to mystery, conversation, the rest of the ask. Enough, I feel.

I close the window pointed at the construction site, the cat purrs from across the room arriving ((((((the cat pushed the door open and entered a bit ago) perhaps to take reprieve from the sounds) or to get a better view of the people as they make the racket) I know it always helps me to imagine the ligamental thing that makes the noise) and not just the raw bone-on-bone of noise itself) the way the Moon sees ligamental tides for the explosion that was two young planets colliding into each other).

Safety baselines at some geologic low, cells get picky about not wanting to die from radiation or blunt trauma or exhaustion or the other thing. Big bang doesn’t feel safe enough around dark matter filing noise complaints. Moon doesn’t feel safe enough to form, so alone she’d forget which sea on her surface the first to form. First extinction event doesn’t feel safe enough to end. Hurricane don’t feel safe to see not a drop become another child lost to the terrible land and its haunts. Cells too comfortable.

Beating each other up, judging each other, brain asks the heart tone it down, heart fires back lighten up. This serves? This leaves you to your thoughts in a good way? What is it, today, about the phrase “I can’t be alone with my own thoughts” - it gets its own dedicated water tower with signal, doesn’t it?

You put away receding baselines of safety - get molecularly precise with galactic supercluster placement until we’re computing planck length interactions, the sun a single-cell organism. Be a gentle kiss or speak the word trust (what’s the difference). Be dregs at the bottom of the cup of tea a comic artist looks at and goes “oh, no.” Great at being the crown flash on our shared context, be the best afterglow dawn’ll ever know. I see someone great at check-ins who plays notes from a hollow stick with the best last light. Some boundaries, some venting, some body doubling, and you’re set.

I’m a break from wording things. The cat, Magnetic Fields, Magnetic Fields looks at me in the way that says “cushion” so I grab the cushion and put it in my lap and the cat’s asleep and I can’t move my battery at nothing percent. You be what serves. You remember.

Sustain no threshold between the eye and the mist - see curiosity through the ground mystery serves. Be movement. I remember you.

The End