Being in love makes me understand, with a deeply growing interest, the reason for teddy bears and black sand beaches, the difference between scattershot and sniper rifle, sunshine and laser, the tea cup and charger plate, the fat drippy brush and the .03mm fine line pen. I get it: the phrase "see me through this," the word "unstoppable," the channel that I am, the player and the stage, the meaning of a life, heaviness, lightness.
I pray to my own flora living inside, the critical need for the orchid, the moss, the grass, the storm, the desert, the cebo tree. Thank you.
I was held in the way that I've longed for in my most alone moments and my body rejoiced.
Do you know that I didn't think I'd live to feel this? My body rejoiced.
My entire body rejoiced. So much so, that at 3:42 am on the last day of February, I felt a feeling, got out of bed, turned the headlamp to red like I did in the jungle, and wrote it all down.
Just like getting a tattoo in the middle of my forehead, I could not risk forgetting this head-to-toe sensation of YES, this cosmic confirmation that "love" is the desire and the ever-rising force inside our bodies asking us to grow. I see the heart has a gravitational pull of its own, reminding me I was born to join the lineage of body scribes sharing the loud soundlessness of what annihilates and integrates us in the middle of the night.