Status Updates From Soft Boiled

To take only as much as fits into the palm of your hand – our bodies are the oldest measure of having enough.

However perfect a surface might seem, wilderness always gets through. The unofficial life. Life’s subtle ways are not visible at first sight, they require looking slowly, they require time: many returns to the same spot, at different hours of the day, in different seasons.

Being in between places. The pleasure of anticipation. In between, where the vitality of life hides.

More that anything, home is a story.

What if “at the heart of the real”? The essence of home is, more than anything, a constellation of relationships, of everyday rituals, of cycles.

The sun made time visible.

I feel like my body craves water, but having a drink doesn’t quench the yearning. What kind of thirst is that? As we learn about interconneconnectedness in a way we never have in our lifetime, I think that I might feel the dryness of the soil in our garden through my body.

Sea, the only true freedom of senses. Sea: coming back to ourselves. And we, the unlucky ones from land-locked countries, going to see the sea this year? Am I going to lick salt from my lips? Find grains of sand in my bed?

What if slow wasn’t slow, just real?

I am fond of slow, subtle changes, I like the in-betweens. I became aware of my internal cycles aligning with seasons, cycles of expansion take turns with cycles of introspection and reflection, and thus, when it’s time to compost and go inwards in nature, I too go with the everchanging flow.

Sometimes silence contains everything and every word would chip away from its complexity. To learn silence is to learn a language.

An image like a tree: There’s as much aboveground as below.

To hover over an image is to hover within oneself.

I figured out that sometimes, mysterious and desperate can be mistaken, at least from outside.