the dream

 Yesterday was the equinox, and today is cold. Equinoxes are important to me and many of my friends, so we tend to celebrate them. That, full moons, new moons, many moon phases in general. I feel the need to acknowledge the seasons and the moon. Not woo woo. the moon and the seasons are just important, some of the most beautiful things in the universe. The moon literally. Seasons more symbolically. Though we didn’t do anything big* 

*I am unbearably exhausted. My heel is bleeding, but my burn has healed and the scab fell off. I was wrapping it in a pair of silk underwear because gauze stuck to it and stung when I peeled it off. And then n told me her French grandmother said to sleep with a silk handkerchief around her neck when you feel a sore throat coming. It will ward it off, or help it heal. And I thought, in retrospect, silk heals all things. Doctors, take note, for your sake and mine. The day before I pulled glass out of my mouth while eating a heaping bowl of rice and wilted spinach dressed with lots of soy sauce. I had already been feeling like something was wrong, but this solidified it. Though little has changed… there’s not much I can do at the moment but wait. My feet feel like only bone. And my future is very hard to imagine, though I’m trying. See:

I did rearrange my apartment with c. But I was very anxious afterward… I felt that I had disrupted our Spot. Before it was very, very beautiful. Shells were everywhere and light bounced in and out. The space was open, light, and largely impractical, ie. We had a tv that sat probably 10 feet away from the couch. For the first few months we lived there, a white metal bed frame sat there without a mattress. But still I laid a quite pretty, little, silk kind of baby sleeping bag on it. (Ah, silk again)

I have always been precious, but especially lately. I feel very sensitive to magic, that charmful quality native to beauty. Call it divinity, that’s what I’ve begun to do. Not necessarily God, but I say that too.

The space is much different now. Still lovely and special, with shells and lace hung from nails left behind by dozens of past tenants, though indefinitely divided and far more practical, and I find something about that a bit boring and sad. It’s the same way I feel when I ride the subway with corporates. How sad to know the rest of your life. I’ve always considered resignation a tragedy, even if it’s not a bad thing. I am so attached to not-knowing. I find that life lacks when it is made up. It is so much more when it unfolds like this and oh! that! But I also struggle because I cannot imagine a future… it is one big hazy cloud in which figures occasionally take form and then blow away. But it is all one big dream! Oh just let me be (free)