October 2025
10.10.25
I'm running right now, God I'm running, but I'm not quite fast enough. I'm slowing down and it's speeding up, When it overtakes it consumes in one big gulp, and there I sit, within it's bowels, being digested slowly and violently. I can't get out, I can't shake it. The motion builds in my chest, it's heavy, dense, it brings me to my knees once a day. The spiral is diminishing in radii and coming to a point, and the closer it zeros in the faster it becomes. It's dizzying. How long can I stare into the abyss before I finally realize its a fucking abyss? How can I make myself see it, that there's nothing there, its only devoid, empty, cold.
My mind seems to only want to think in negatives. Being kind to yourself only enables weakness! And yet... it seems it does not... I've got it wrong. The constant drive to push and never see anything as good enough is what began the erosion in the first place, what began the initial sprint, what placed me in the belly. However, I do not even know how to turn around, how to actually be kind and accept the fact that one cannot be everything. Perfection is a myth only kept alive by those who haven't yet realized it is glaringly unattainable.
"It is far harder to kill a phantom than
a reality"
-Virginia Woolf
10.11.25
"Growth requires engagement with difference"
-Jean Baker Miller
A calm has distilled, the pendulum swings to the other side. I choose to exist in this world as an imperfect being, to join the rest and be at peace. This acceptance will not come so quickly as it is quite deceivingly described, but the first breath outside the womb can sometimes be the easiest. The preservation of this recognition is what comes after, what is likely known as 'life'; the continuation of breaths as the body grows.
The pendulum will return to yesterdays position, it feels inevitable, can one truly keep it held in the positive position? Or is this yet again another deception of the perfect myth. How much control do I really have, am I supposed to avoid the sharp rocks that stick out as I flow along the river, or is allowing my body to break against them a part of honoring the flow, a part of the experience? Are there even supposed to be rocks?
10.12.25
When I was a little girl, maybe five or seven I went camping with my friends and their family near a local lake. We were young so we were put to bed early while the two adults remained around the campfire. I couldn't sleep, I was suffering a bad stomach ache that kept me awake, and eventually I couldn't stand it any longer and emerged from the tent looking for help; I was crying. My friends father couldn't cure a stomach ache, instead he chose to console me by wrapping me tightly in a a jacket and cradling me in his lap as he continued to sit by the fire. I was swaddled so tightly I couldn't move my arms, the fire providing such an unnatural warmth to the cold evening air of a summer night. The only sounds to pierce the silence came from crackling of wood as it was slowly devoured by the flames. I remember my stomach ache beginning to dissolve immediately after settling in, as if the pain was also fuel for the campfire to inhale. The sudden absence of misery left only a quietness in my body, and soon I was overcome with sleepiness. The soft, gentle embrace of sleep wrapped its arms around the jacket enveloping my small body a welcomed me into its warm presence. As I drifted off, all worries fell away, and the pain diminished to nothing, Only the pure comfort provided from the safety of the arms which held me remained.
I like to think that when it is time, death too will feel like that slow, warm sleep, like drifting off in the arms of one stronger than you, sheathed in a soft, quiet feeling that overcomes the body. It would only be right that that type of comfort would come after the long stomach ache that is the experience of existence, that you would get to feel once again as a child who is fully protected, that you can relax in Charon's boat as he gentles rows you across the river Styx.
"The real mystery of life is not a problem
to be solved,
it is a reality to be experienced"
- J.J Van der Leeuw
10.15.25
"Until you make the unconscious conscious,
it will direct your life
and you will call it fate."
- C.G Jung
Vigilance is key. To be on guard as Cerberus, with unrelenting aggression and never-ending suspicion of those that wish to pass through. For if you are not present in your house, thieves and squatters will enter the space, demolishing all that was recognizable and structured. It only takes one moment of absence from the wheel to crash the car. However, my trip is long and I grow tired, is it possible to switch drivers? Must I always remain at the wheel? Can I not just relax in the passengers seat for a while, put my feet up, enjoy the music, observe the endless fields? After all, it is difficult to enjoy the surroundings if I cannot stray my eyes from the road very often. I speak metaphysically, so perhaps it is possible to enjoy as a passenger, while also controlling the vehicle.
I feel there are at least three people in the car. The two halves of the self up front, with the shadow self in constant trickery, attempting to get behind the wheel where it will immediately detour the vehicle in the opposite direction the moment the persona decides to close its eyes and rest. Which does happen occasionally, as exhaustion is inevitable. A third of course, remains in the back seat; the superego; who is constantly awake as a nuisance. This motherfucker is the backseat driver, constantly critiquing the pilots maneuver's, insisting we're going the wrong way, and always in judgment of the playlist. In fact, the entire road trip would be much more enjoyable without the over-eye in the backseat, yet it seems impossible to pull over and kick him out.
And I am, I am, the vehicle, possessing all three within. At most times I feel the three control the journey, control me and my direction, speed, and destination, but sometimes, for a brief window time I can see that it is I in control, but only if I allow the three to just be. As it is. Only through identification with the stooges does the steering wheel become functional to them, and without, I become my own vehicle of destiny.
10.18.25
I am a captain of a ship, commandeering through the turbulent seas. There is an infamous phrase; "any port in a storm" and there is much truth in it, however, how is one supposed to find a port when the storm blocks their vision completely. Sometimes another boat appears on the horizon, and occasionally one even gets close but it will always just pass by, continuing onwards on its own journey. Perhaps it's own captain can smell the rot and sense the fear, and in deterrence a "hard to starboard!" is announced all along the deck. My own route remains vague and unrelated, its likely it may have never been determined at any point.
The ocean is lonely, and almost entirely unchartered. Unknown horrors lie beneath the surface, and solace is infrequent. But goddamn are those some nice sunrises. The sailors reward for continuing a journey and fighting the storms is an entire sky that encases in colors and beauty. When the heavens appear to have been painted by God himself is when the ports no longer appeal, and waves cease to make an impact. The infrequent nature of this event is what makes it so inimitable; chaos interlard with hope.
10.29.25
"Still, I can't get it out of my mind what a discrepancy there is between ideas and living...
...ideas have to be wedded to action. Ideas cannot exist alone in the vacuum of the mind"
-Henry Miller
(Tropic of Cancer)
As children, we think nothing of the past, and don't think much of the future, outside of the 3 days before Christmas. We live wholly and almost accidentally in the present. At what point did that change? Was it sudden or gradual? I cannot remember. At some point you just begin to view everything through the lens of what has already been, of what you believe you are. There is nothing new, and all while experiencing new things you can only think of what's already transpired. The present is simply a future past. Like a wheel that's just slipping, and whatever tread enters below becomes the same as that before it. The entirety of the present is consumed by past memories. And if not, it's consumed by potential future memories, which are formed by past experiences and wants. The never ending machine! The ride you cannot get off! May as well just sit back and enjoy the never-ending loops and whoops. I think that's the point...
I used to, in younger years, feel that there was a whole, set, absolute point to life that if found would save us all. I see now that there is no point, especially not one singular one. The point is for you, as an individual, to make your own point. Find a purpose and make it your God, create an entire religion out of it. A religion with one follower. It doesn't have to be useful to anyone but you, it doesn't need to save the world and become known and loved. It just needs to exist. Just make anything exist.