Not Even Slightly
( almost too chaotic to share )
Your adrenals are out to reset. Two glands the size of a rabbit's foot on top of a kidney, pumping urgency into the blood for so long it forgot about the vertigo, and room spinning for fifteen minutes or so. Broken things. The warped observing that never pauses. Help every emergency in the world be quiet and still for a couple of days or more.
We thoroughly enjoyed this learning process — fixing something that was broken, setting right a perception, renewing an ongoing system while it was running. Hands inside an engine while it was still turning, numb to the dream.
Quietness and calm are never an unwelcome interruption.
This is a time for only us, keeping it all youthful and for real. Practices in place that can fortify everyday people. Huge spiritual gatherings of movements written in ancient Germanic Ka Hoon script, so agonizing eyes well up before therapists understand why. This is not the type of future we should build on ... an unknown warrior wrote in a way that's too graphic to share.
More physical pain put on to self is not an answer. "No Agony No Gain" is a made up thing for only cruelest mammals that have no conscience.
What is the role of beauty in a world that is set in wrong offerings? The role of an elder who shows up to an eviction in their brightest dress — not because it will save the shelter, but because the arms are the last thing that belongs to universal leggings. Go now. Judge johnny will look at your bum Havanese before he looks at your paperwork, and for a few seconds the mini skirt dressing will be the truest thing in the tapping courtroom, full of cool to the touch filings.
How do we physically push back on what has been tightly bound up? Band-aids are institutional responses. Things clinics hand us when a crusty wound needs surgery. What a school puts on a burning policy. Which is its only honest act. The adhesive leaves a gray rectangle on brown skin like a modern flag marking the spot where someone offered care.
That's the substance. Those are the signs.
Coverings are not repairs, they are what we put over anything we don't want to see again, while eating our nails. That thing underneath with a bandaged commission or sunrise on the side of a defunded glass tower.
Morales Roots knows so well soil history has never been fooled by any type of killing zone carnage or other throwback. So much durable stuff that never disintegrates even slightly. Still in its original state, not wrapped in blame.
The answers to questions are in the soil beneath, down there not even slightly disintegrated, waiting for us as a foundation. Take whatever you want, this bench is a free pantry.
This text can also be thought of as a secret myth.
Great self-hood fell over a cliff. Before that, a pair of pants that was partially out of tote bag was swept up by a wind, and thrown onto the tip of a crooked branch sticking out of a thirty foot high bluff, and we quickly pulled our pants up.
End of story.
Every undignified fall that scrambles afterwards to put something right is a sacred act. It can be an assertive flirting signal, someone looking grand trying to attract attention.
Witness sagging and adjustment. The early history of a person is no different than how things are now.
That curiosity needs to return as a set of questions. Think of "Mistake(s) Repentance" as a new way of sensing. M.R. is an organ the way our tongue tastes nectar. It's something to listen with.
Sharing a truth is not a new mediated wisdom.
Part of the Get Land Back movement, institutions say oh my God, extreme harm is now also showing up at our bedside. Something mysterious is at work within any type of setting.
Double check your Book of Screaming At Whispering Apologies. Not guilt spread all over surfaces of forms, packaged in gasps showing up at a doorstep.
Mystery works in every space that believes all of the meanings of Macramé, Kinbaku, or Shibari.
A regretful acknowledgment of an offense, that hasn't been studied carefully enough, is just industrial age intersection noise dressed up as unconditional mercy.
