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My life has stalled into an strange art: framed, entombed, useless. I am complaining about none of these–how could I?–but it nonetheless presents a struggle.

A struggle, or the opposite of one.

I feel a little like some spiraling bird; instead of falling I am looping in ever increasing circles upwards, and upwards, and with every iteration the world–my world–grows further away. It’s more perfect this way, from a distance, with everything resolving into doll-like miniature detail, but I have learned not to trust perfection.

Yet tomorrow I am leaving, flying away again, and again heading west. That west will always eventually resolve to east I do not know whether to give thanks for, or to resent.

4 Comments Post a comment
  1. Sending love and support. Hang in, beautiful. Don’t push. Be at peace.

    July 7, 2010
  2. Hi Siona, I’ve tagged you in a meme. Feel free to ignore if you’re too busy or not interested:

    July 10, 2010
  3. Josianne #

    Fly high, touch the sky, and follow your intuition … it’s infinite!
    Wherever you go, we are joined together into one Universe. We pulsate together and we’ll always do so. Enjoy starting anew!


    July 11, 2010
  4. Hello,

    You commented on my webspace long ago, to something I wrote about Dinesen and tragedy, and though I was moved by and grateful for what you said, I never wrote in return.

    I hope to remedy that now by saying thank you and that I truly look forward to exploring these pages.

    –Lauren (Clavdia)

    July 18, 2010

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