The gaseous facts I had been cultivating in myself have become stone
Lunar notes: the fog dissipates
post-Full Moon in Capricorn
Full Moon (1635), Claude Mellan.
At various points of today, I
trawled the portfolio site of a poet and felt a deep sense of insecurity arise
caught and calmed those thoughts and emotions through cognitive and somatic techniques that came easily, honed, as though second nature
observed two white men who stood near me in the train carriage, benign, clearly wealthy in dress and body language
thought once more about Hirayama, the protagonist of Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days
took only public transport to dance class and back home for the first time since I fell ill, instead of needing a cab for at least one journey
breathed deeply and touched a new solid surface within me, discovering that the gaseous facts I had been cultivating in myself have become stone
A few truths came to me in these moments, namely that:
the version of my mother who has lived in me for so long is dying, and the pit of my heart is her deathbed;
my path has its own timing, just as every other person has theirs, and this fact makes our lives incomparable;
my task is to attend to the mystery of where I am; and still
I am just like everyone else.
I am beginning to accept the facts of my life — the specific union of privilege, and trauma, and talent, and limitations — fully, without resistance, without needing to name or justify every part of the story. I no longer feel the desperate urge to tell you what has happened to me. And this is real this time, in my soul and psyche, rather than only in ideology and poetry.
I feel less and less resentment and distrust towards other people. Only a deep acceptance akin to love. Their faces passing by, at times staying in one spot within my vision before going away, bring a smile to my face which feels like peace.
On the competency scale, I've finally crossed into the conscious competence bit of my healing. The path is a lifelong one, but I am grateful to touch some land after swimming so long.
Somehow, this city has become anonymous enough for me. I want to slip around, delighting in my life alone.
⊹₊。ꕤ˚₊⊹
past lunar notes: