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“And if I say “I” it’s because I dare not say “you” or “we” or “one”. I’m forced to the humility of personalizing myself belittling myself but I am the are-you.”

-Clarice Lispector


I wanted to write about others, because I thought it would be more generous. But then I read this quote and it resonated deeply. “I am the are-you.” Do you agree?

To be is enough. Enough for what? Sun, shadow, heat, sex. I write what comes across me, what I contain in the moment. Sweat, pulse. I observe myself observing, and then I observe myself observing myself. Hah! There is light coming through the cracks of my thoughts. There must be.

I am constantly searching for meaning, I can’t help it. My mind, and maybe more than my mind, wants to understand why. The tension in this moment makes me laugh. I am reminded how potent questions are, better than their answers, as many wise people have said.

A question is an invitation, an opening. How do I learn not to cause harm? What do I view as an act of kindness?

Sometimes I feel I really could shoot lasers out of my palms.

What is this? Some ultimate question?

Fall in love with details.

Remember there is no right way. Or is there?

Oooh forever in search of that sexy combination of wonder and self awareness.

Make a list: what is moving to you?

Oh oh oh the beauty. Butter sun. A mix of butter and fresh air in my spirit. Unquantifiable joy at the way the sunlight hits my sheets. To feel beautiful in a way that connects me to the sun and to the air. Church bells, birds, river flowing outside. My body here, momentary. The small folds in my sheets like mountain peaks. Dusk. This is really dusk. Also I feel lust, but it’s golden like the air now, and it’s a bit delicate too, not just brutal. I remember over and over that I cannot capture things, moments, people. The freedom in this will nourish me endlessly, I feel sure. And I could be wrong! And I’m excited to find out.

And sometimes it is the most tragic thing to let a moment go, to say goodbye to the beauty of it. Humbling, I guess.