sometimes it is night, and you are sharp, like a knife made of paper, or a brand new sheet of eight and a half by eleven, slicing through the air in a curling curve

sometimes it is day and you are fog incarnate, hazy and shapeless, both filling the entire room and nowhere, shapeless and everpresent, an enormity

sometimes it is just after sunset and you are unsure and lonely looking out at the sky, wondering where all of your friends are, even as they sit right next to you

sometimes it is almost midnight, and you realize, there's nothing stopping you from leaving, there's nothing holding you here, and there's nothing stopping you from staying, and there's nothing making you leave. there is just fresh air, and tomorrow's tomorrow, and it feels pretty good.

sometimes I catch a glimpse of it never ending, like the road to the future never ending, it's just continuous tumbles into the future, moving ahead, ahead, ahead. what's next? we'll see. what is progress? what is a coherent identity? are we ever stable? what is my name? who is my place? we're an ecology, listen, there is nature and fresh air and places to move into. why be here? it can all be lost, it can all be gained, there's nothing and nowhere to be but to be in shimmering being and to care, to care for each other, and to laugh a bit

I hope so dearly that when I am old I am making things, tinkering, thinking, dreaming, ready to toss it up into the air and embark on an adventure. what's next? why not? what's there to lose? only our lives, which is both so flippant but so important. there's only our lives to lose. when being collapses to a second and becomes paper thin, then being becomes infinitely flexible, foldable, shapeable.

justness within this is joyousness, about living in the world we want to be already.

let's know that we could lose it all and gain Nothing, a gift, a gift.