I see shifts in my reality etching closer, while everything else is moving further away and there is this ache for the fate of an ever-expanding universe; I wonder at the heartlessness of our inevitable dissolution and if this could really be true, why we even try. The futility of our struggles, macro and micro, to keep these bonds. Perhaps this is a lesson in letting go of the physical world. But If the lesson is to let go . . . why cling to this body? I miss my sisters in the stars.
When building the world around me I rolled rocks and dripped clay-thick mud and tossed wildflower seeds in spinning circles so that they would grow through every crack; there are places mapped out for trees too but I don’t know where they are. I smeared the mud on my skin for clothes and stubbornly ignored those around me who suggested that cotton was a better answer but maybe I was just in love with the smooth cool against my naked skin and didn’t think about what it would be like when it dried and cracked.
I built a wild hut with winding corridors that folds up into a suitcase, but everywhere I go I collect more rocks and I would sell shares to the right buyer with arms strong enough to help me haul. I also consider perhaps folding it out one last time and planting those trees that will root this castle of mine to earth that would otherwise crumble under its weight.
When I asked for paintings for the walls I didn’t necessarily consider whether the mud would hold a nail, and when I asked for a stove I didn’t necessarily consider gas lines and when i asked for plates i hadn’t yet built any shelves. There are many things lying on the floor. Sometime I am one of them.
I’ve seen many beautiful thing out these huge glassless windows, but there is something to knowing where the sun will track as it rises.
This future etches towards me, and rebar falls out of the sky; even if it hits me in the head I can still use it to strengthen my walls. Care packages come from unlikely senders, full of surprises, and the boxes of nails I ordered usually show up too. People are always stopping by for a drink and to help spread some plaster or hoist a beam or just to lay with me on the cool floor and watch the shifting sky through my unfinished ceiling. Day after day, I keep laying another stone on top of the last, on the hopes that human science does not have the whole answer.