It is past 6am, and I am still awake. I have a candle lit, the ashes of sage in a seashell, and some black tea in the gaiwan beside me. Notebooks sprawled out before me. My soul on paper. My feelings were hideous and torturous and beautiful when I felt them and laid them out with my bleeding pen… and now they amuse me.
I haven’t written much in the past 6 months. I’ve been exploring within and without. Moving. Refining. Reforming. Cleansing. Grounding. Praying. Somewhere around 11pm last night, after getting home from a marvelous modern dance class, I stumbled upon a sparkling bag filled with journals, and slipped haphazardly into another world. It happens every once in a while.
I meet myself again.
I’ve met myself again and again in these pages.
