#082923 | Rebuilding the foundations of my home

an open journal entry

This was written back in February and as I excavate drafts and shadows, I think it should see the light of day:

I’m back at it with that feeling I’ve been exploring for weeks—like I’m picking at layers of paint in an old house (it’s me, I’m the old house). As I slowly pick my way through layer by layer exposing a multitude of colors, themes, and heartache I feel like I’m getting closer to Her. She is me, everyone, and no one all at the same time—the holy trinity of human existence. I hear a song, read a quote, watch a bird in flight, take the train, have a crush, smile at a stranger…is that Her? Is this what she would be doing? I haven’t been embodying myself recently (read: the last few years…or maybe always?) and feel this nagging sense of detachment from this mortal sack. If I could live the rest of my days pontificating, reading, and dreaming, I would happily do so. It’s easy for me to exist on an ethereal plane. It’s the business of the body where I get tripped up. I have always attributed this to astrology (stellium in Aquarius) and being an only child (living in my own world). What I’m inching closer and closer to now though is that this constant analysis and escapism has been hardwired, needs attention, and is actually holding me back in life. It goes deeper than the paint, it’s in the basement and was mixed there with the concrete.