Sleep has returned some normalcy to my days.
I feel it, a sense of OKness, self, that has been absent this past year.
Rising really early is like food to me.
I love just jars. How they fill a space with glistening emptiness.
The cloth to the left of the above photo. Safe But Open. It has been that. For a while now.
Still seems that. Looking again but not renaming. Knowing the unfinished here, the clothworks that surrounds me, will sustain me as I become along with them. There is really no such thing as finished in this regard. I have almost lost interest in it. The "finished product". At each glance, it is, and I can hold that. Over and over. We are the same. We are liquid.
Everything, in Perspective, is liquid.
