A manifesto for Dante on the day the Barefoot God leaves the Sea
For a long time, God refused to wear shoes. Fourteen years of bare feet in saltwater. Fourteen years of dissolution, of softened edges, of immersion without arrival. Neptune moved through Pisces like a dream that never quite ended, beautiful, infinite, exhausting. An era devoted to feeling everything and deciding almost nothing. You learned to read pain like scripture. Trauma, became a language you could speak fluently. Lineage revealed itself as pattern instead of accident. You learned how n...
The Fool’s Headlining Set
By the time the Fool reached the monastery, he was four days late, one sandal short, mildly hungover, and carrying a folding chair he claimed was “symbolic.” No one had asked what it symbolised. That, in a way, was the beginning of the problem. He had not set out to become a heretic. He had set out, like everybody else with a cracked heart and insomnia, to find Meaning. Something sturdy. A hidden key. A bearded man on a mountain with excellent posture who could explain why everyone he loved b...
I choose… even if I’m still learning how.
A manifesto for Dante on the day the Barefoot God leaves the Sea
For a long time, God refused to wear shoes. Fourteen years of bare feet in saltwater. Fourteen years of dissolution, of softened edges, of immersion without arrival. Neptune moved through Pisces like a dream that never quite ended, beautiful, infinite, exhausting. An era devoted to feeling everything and deciding almost nothing. You learned to read pain like scripture. Trauma, became a language you could speak fluently. Lineage revealed itself as pattern instead of accident. You learned how n...
The Fool’s Headlining Set
By the time the Fool reached the monastery, he was four days late, one sandal short, mildly hungover, and carrying a folding chair he claimed was “symbolic.” No one had asked what it symbolised. That, in a way, was the beginning of the problem. He had not set out to become a heretic. He had set out, like everybody else with a cracked heart and insomnia, to find Meaning. Something sturdy. A hidden key. A bearded man on a mountain with excellent posture who could explain why everyone he loved b...
I choose… even if I’m still learning how.
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My Dearest Loyal Soldier,
It is with a heavy heart, but also an inexplicable fondness (a word which here means affection tinged by the mild irritation of long acquaintance) that I pen this letter to you. You, who have faithfully stood guard at the gates of my life, a stern sentinel armed to the teeth with cautionary phrases and suspicious glances.
Do you recall the countless occasions when you whispered urgently, "Stay quiet," or hissed, "Better safe than sorry," as though safety and sorrow were somehow mutually exclusive? You guarded me with fierce devotion, casting wary glances at possibilities that might be too thrilling, too bold, too dreadfully full of life. And for this protection, I must thank you, profusely, sincerely, and perhaps somewhat begrudgingly.
Yet honesty compels me to admit that our relationship has not always been one of roses and chocolates, but rather thorns and bitter cough syrup... good for me, but distasteful nonetheless. Your constant warnings have at times felt like a heavy coat on a hot afternoon: suffocating, unnecessary, and strangely itchy.
Oh, but how faithful you've been! How tirelessly you have toiled to protect me from bruises to my pride, scratches to my dignity, and the vague, shadowy horrors of embarrassment and rejection. You have always preferred a life well-hidden, securely buttoned up behind a coat of careful obscurity.
But, Loyal Soldier, the times have changed. I find myself equipped now with marvelous inventions: bravery, laughter, self-trust (which, admittedly, is occasionally misplaced), and a peculiar ability to shrug off life's inevitable disasters with grace, or at least with a mildly sarcastic remark.
I have friends now, companions who provide the sturdy warmth of support, who do not mind the occasional misstep or humiliation, in fact, some of them thrive upon it. I have learned to speak, to sing, even to shout joyfully from rooftops and hillsides, without fearing quite so terribly your gentle, anxious reproach.
Therefore, dear Soldier, let us part as friends, and meet as companions or perhaps amicable acquaintances who exchange knowing nods from opposite ends of the room. You have earned your medals, your accolades, your altar draped in caution tape and comforting shadows.
And though you might fear my journey will become perilous without your vigilant watch, let me assure you... I am ready to brave the winds, the dark forests, and the terrors of uncertainty. I am ready, at last, to live openly and daringly, knowing well that the bruises of life are simply evidence of having truly lived.
With utmost gratitude and just the smallest sigh of relief,
Your ever-appreciative, slightly rebellious companion.
My Dearest Loyal Soldier,
It is with a heavy heart, but also an inexplicable fondness (a word which here means affection tinged by the mild irritation of long acquaintance) that I pen this letter to you. You, who have faithfully stood guard at the gates of my life, a stern sentinel armed to the teeth with cautionary phrases and suspicious glances.
Do you recall the countless occasions when you whispered urgently, "Stay quiet," or hissed, "Better safe than sorry," as though safety and sorrow were somehow mutually exclusive? You guarded me with fierce devotion, casting wary glances at possibilities that might be too thrilling, too bold, too dreadfully full of life. And for this protection, I must thank you, profusely, sincerely, and perhaps somewhat begrudgingly.
Yet honesty compels me to admit that our relationship has not always been one of roses and chocolates, but rather thorns and bitter cough syrup... good for me, but distasteful nonetheless. Your constant warnings have at times felt like a heavy coat on a hot afternoon: suffocating, unnecessary, and strangely itchy.
Oh, but how faithful you've been! How tirelessly you have toiled to protect me from bruises to my pride, scratches to my dignity, and the vague, shadowy horrors of embarrassment and rejection. You have always preferred a life well-hidden, securely buttoned up behind a coat of careful obscurity.
But, Loyal Soldier, the times have changed. I find myself equipped now with marvelous inventions: bravery, laughter, self-trust (which, admittedly, is occasionally misplaced), and a peculiar ability to shrug off life's inevitable disasters with grace, or at least with a mildly sarcastic remark.
I have friends now, companions who provide the sturdy warmth of support, who do not mind the occasional misstep or humiliation, in fact, some of them thrive upon it. I have learned to speak, to sing, even to shout joyfully from rooftops and hillsides, without fearing quite so terribly your gentle, anxious reproach.
Therefore, dear Soldier, let us part as friends, and meet as companions or perhaps amicable acquaintances who exchange knowing nods from opposite ends of the room. You have earned your medals, your accolades, your altar draped in caution tape and comforting shadows.
And though you might fear my journey will become perilous without your vigilant watch, let me assure you... I am ready to brave the winds, the dark forests, and the terrors of uncertainty. I am ready, at last, to live openly and daringly, knowing well that the bruises of life are simply evidence of having truly lived.
With utmost gratitude and just the smallest sigh of relief,
Your ever-appreciative, slightly rebellious companion.
FigTree
FigTree
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