I cannot connect.
I try, but…
Everything going on in my head is just me and I can’t make it also you and that hurts.
What I mean is, I can’t describe it [anything] in enough detail that you’ll understand.
Dots, lines, purposes.
Throughout my life I have tried.
But I never could connect.
Something about Norway. Specifically the waterfalls they call the Seven Sisters. And something about Iceland, too. Caves of volcanic rock in solitude with shallow, clear waters. Always something northern, always something cold.
Every word is important. Like, if you say you want to go home, they focus in on ‘home’ and try to determine exactly what that means to you. Is it comfort you’re seeking? Familiarity? Or [just] an end to the pain? Or if you tell them your heart is heavy, they will ask why you chose the word ‘heart’ and what it is about heaviness that you find so unpleasant. It’s always about opening up, giving them something to grasp so they can pull you through.
In ancient Egypt, the heart was the key to the afterlife. People believed it would be placed on a scale and weighed against a feather from the goddess Maat, and this would reveal the true character of the bearer. If the heart was too heavy, it would be eaten by a monster.
Maat represents order, truth and what is right. The heart represents wisdom, emotions and memory. It’s all bound up with the idea of absolute linearity and polarisation. I prefer circles.
I tend to think of intuition as a subtle [nebulous] thing, but today it comes thundering in. I have to flee. I have to write, and I have to flee.
See me
[dont see me]
See me
The internet has too much to say about everything. I can’t look at it anymore. All those humans, typing out what they believe constitutes order, truth and what is right. All trying to keep their hearts away from the gravity of the situation. I disable it on my phone.
I get rid of the numbers, too. All but the one I will always hesitate over because if I try again and really can’t connect, he might be able to sever the link once and for all. He’s my little L-pill. The tattooist stays.
I’m sure you’re thinking ‘if she wants to connect so much, what’s she doing deleting contacts and cutting off the big web?’ But there’s more than one way through the labyrinth, and Ariadne will always find her thread. Time to pack some clothes.
Something about grounding in time. Something about entanglement.
Let’s go.
C.R. Dudley 