A Secant Query

Between Algae and Rocks

Wherein I step into an old struggle...

Between Algae and Rocks

note: the sky is the grey of dark goose down

I Grow

To live on the land is to live in time with a vast scale of self - I don't matter, my work doesn't matter, nothing is surviving off of me.

I am, in many senses of the word, free.

To move to the city - whether it is imposed or not - is not a light event. It is a fundamental reframing, it's a cultural shift: Now I do matter, my work does matter (something is surviving off of me). That changes the scale of self from the land toward this particular moment in time still finding its way to land. I am being invited to tend moments in time.

That is (I am so totally) not (up for this) normal.

I Rock

I need to recognize time is a land to tend, as any other. This tending is possible, with faith in time. People maintain this level of care all the time; cells make it to wound, and wounds close. I can make it to this event, and help with healing. Time WILL break down into soil and light under my hand; I just need to tend. To listen.

I need to touch base with the land - time needs me to touch base with the land.

I can't just tend the land, then switch to tending to time, and expect the land to tend to itself: I work in an intimate sense of scale (Is what I tend: time, or Is what I tend: the land) where both are true. My response to these questions function as rods and cones. Wording responses gives me sight to what is actually happening. This is as skill as it is all in my head. I can "grow these eyes" - it's not physically impossible. It's not even abnormal.

I think differently from others. This is fine. I still serve.

Wavy Rocks

Technology is a tool shed, not an obstruction down the road.I can't just prepare to face it, pull out the chainsaw from the back of the truck, and clear it out of the path on my way to the grocer. I am to care for technology as I would that chainsaw.

I can set up hourly calender events that just ask me how I am feeling. People in the city love things to be done on the hour; I will honor that. I will note what an hour is. The belltowers may all be deconstructed, and the families needing them may all be functional units teaching their young what an hour is without need for belltowers, But I still have the need. I will set the events.

I want to cook at the same times, regardless of which scale I am tending. Food can be a bridge between these times. To flicker from one sense of care to the other as fire on cave wall, I realize the time needs me to eat. The land will offer flow to my work, I can pause and eat. This disruption is sacred, and I thank the land who bids me stay to allow in the time who ask for consistent breaks. This dissonance is a terrible burden. And I am not to be envied nor belittled, but recognized.

I Wake Up

It will not be the time the land invites me to wake up, but I will. It will be a time alien to the land. The land will not be tearing the clock's throat out for this. But eat it and get up.

The clock will wake me sweetly and in an understanding manner. This will respect the land I am. The algae's and the rock's conflicting scales foubd moss. The land and the clock's conflicting scales do not have to fight one another nor leave one dominant; I can be ambiextant. I can be moss.

I can write things on paper and I can type things on mica. The algae and the rocks found a way to get along: the plants and the crystals will find me also. (I can do this.)

I Can Do This

The privacy of the land will be violated by the apps of the clocks. I need to let those violations not inhibit me. Transit will sell data I use to get around, I need to be fine with those data I generate. Some data benefits the land from being generated. I am part of a city - times I use a bus are crucial information. It is data I can survive generating.

Flexible schedule options will onboard me to more consistent work. As the land once had people before me, clocks will find I serve. Or they won't. To get my bearings before I am finally able to sustain such a thing as an eight-hour shift maliciously scheduled to be antagonistic against employees looking for other work in their off-time.

I live in exceptional times. May I be exceptional.

I am from the land. Being forced into the city and told to belong to the clocks has left me houseless and without support.

The land has been consumed by equity and run-off. I have been left to tend to clocks. May, under these hands, those clocks find they, too, are soil.

Setting Intentions

I will:

I will continue to find ways to ground the sky in color. The sky is the grey of shark underbelly. I will continue to be the person I have been, for the land that loves me. Until the time after clocks finds me, may I carry that love.