Inner space offering a new coherence. When it is shared, what emerges? This and other questions that spin time into silver threads. The teacher asked if human beings are a function of the past making love to the future. In this way, the evolutionary potential of crises sends a message to Jessica. Collective intelligence is at work.
I hear chickadee notes skip across November's end as I work for (h)ours in the cold. The call to critical questioning manifests. Exertion can be noisy. Pulling everything out of the shed so that I could put it all back in a different way produced grunts and clanging and swearing and heavy breaths. Yet the bird song pierced the work. I knew I would avoiding writing about this bird; it is the “why” that rearranges the clutter.
The train sighs at 3 a.m. – my first awareness of another world trying to get somewhere on time. A child coughs in her sleep and the dog's collar gives away her anticipation of an early meal. At 4:30, the rain returns. What I read in myself begins to count less as the work of the previous day washes away under the deluge. Tea and its perfect timing.
The intersection of vertical space and the grounding of embodied structure. How my body as a service to the surroundings is something to consider. Our wedding bands no longer match, which isn't that big of a deal unless one is into symbols and such. We meet in the morning and part at night to make room for true sleep. It is love that calls me in and out . . . and love that brings me back.