Definitions are in flux here, these days. Incorporation of all this new stuff is leaving me feeling unstable. like i'm a popcorn popper starting up without the lid... a quarter in spin .
Yesterday I momentarily won a battle with the 'what he thinks/feels/wants' game, and did spend some time focused on self-definition. (the game is awful, it requires me to make-believe, and fill in blanks in conversations that aren't actually happening. It frequently results in tears or in telling myself to shut up.)
It was a victory, however fleeting, and I have clutched it to my heart. These days I am a gardener. In winter. I am in it for the long haul tending, learning of chemistries that kill and bolster. I am prepwork, and whole cycles. I am every part of the process, from seed to death, to seed again. Check me preparing for winter now, while the snow is flying, tending my tools, gathering my dreams of seeds, and the invisible, buried, and faith-based lurk of life.
The Accomplice, by Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson
3 days ago
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