A Secant Query

Between Fog and Dawn

Wherein I cook a metaphor...

Between Fog and Dawn

messy

I think a lot about dawn. Not any particular person or brand or song named dawn. Just that hallucination of rising star we live to the death polluting night.

Why'd I say it like that? What do I have against dawn? Well, I should sit with these feelings.

These must be my body's feelings; they don't represent the feelings of my person. That said, the dawn is so rude! How many dreams, evaporated? For scale, have one of my dreams. Maybe you did not come with any. This one comes from my dream journal and this morning:

a lover and I, on the couch, both so cozy, we lay together.

interpretion

Wait a minute, that was my dream this morning? I don't remember that. What is going on here? That's no dream at all! I do that all the time. Why did I even write that down?

Well, usually I do that all the time. But lately, the lover has not been on the couch much. Or, when they have, it's been to do something, not to lay.

The last time might have been last moon, we sat there reading our books. Each of us pointing our legs to the other enough legs intertwine, but otherwise tending our opposite corners of the same couch.

Tapering

Feeling my feelings, make this sharp left in the thought stream with me: have you ever thought about what it would be like to put a couch, and nest it overtop another couch, to create a couch-box? I think about these things. I thought of that now, by remembering the blanket forts that lover and I would make on the couch.

I wasn't thinking about the couch-box, initially. What had me think of nesting two L's of couch on top of one another, like this: γ€Œ 」 is: there is not just two corners, anymore? In couch-box mode, two couches folded over on top of one another, there is not ,two plus two, four corners.

There are eight corners! Maths, why? Image having eight lovers all occupying their corner, all thier legs intertwined in the middle. That's probably too much cozy. Clastrophobes like my mom (with, to a lesser extent, myself) beware.

Take a seat. For a seat (and not a couch) you get the same eight corners, but since naught but one butt is in a seat, only four lovers with their legs on each others shoulders (and aren't interlaced at all, but instead, just sticking out it all directions) appear! C'mon, maths! Such odd arrangements!

Simplifying

Let's get rid of the furniture, then. Sell it for harm reduction. Our respective social connections stand. Fog from their breath finds corners of their world, places feelings are still learning to be either your social connection's breath or my breath. Still babble, failing feelings, system-wide.

That could have been stated clearer. Let me see another attempt. But I must flip this chocolate chip banana pancake.

...Okay, pancake flipped. Dreams - those words your cerebral spinal fluid share with toxins from your brain - are nervous systems in your body hosting a conversation. The body's fog, dreams.

Two banks of this fog: the fog of breath bated, and the fog of systems nervous, mix together. It's just one fog bank. Nothing is missing. But the mixing together is legs interlacing, so let's try to differenciate the fog banks. Find which corners are entirely their own. This way, the banks can relate to one another in such a way we avoid putting banks of bleach-fog next to banks of ammonia-fog!

Trembling

Your stomach's nervous system, pumping veins and the nose's nervous system, pumping songs have fog banks entirely their own. The breath is one conversation. And food is another conversation. You wouldn't take breath and food in at the same time - that would be disasterous!

Maybe it's clearer to call the "fog" cell chatter - where that chatter collects are corners of couched feelings. Call them droplets of fog chatter. This ...is signal. Signal goes on to compose person, who heads out to find more signal (where they can rest their legs - standing is exhausing).

That pancake I flip - to do it, my body finds a vibration the spatula shares with the pan and the food. I call a sought vibration my "question," but you might call it Spirit, or want, or all ears, or anything else!

My question this moment: what vibration does the (hot pan)-food moment need? Its a number of hertz, and my tibia vibrates at it, such it serves the needs of spatula and system spatula wants to engage.

Together

Let the nose's nervous system be the spatula, and the tummy's nervous system is hot pan and food. To see these two fog banks collide as they form one fog bank (to knie hertz flips the pancake, or: what prayer kicks the habit), we break our fog banks up into chinks in fog banks (places in the fog where things are clear) and notice where those chinks close up, ostensibly: running into, if not the other fog bank, something in service to the joining of fog banks this moment.

Together

Now there is not just the world, but two fog banks. And neither is there just two fog banks, but one person with their butt in a seat looking for another person with their butt in a seat to rest their legs on. Two people's butts in seats in the world rest their legs on the shoulders of each other are the nose's nervous system and the tummy's.

They're the same infinitely-small person in the same infinitely-large world; they're just broken up into two infinitely-small people in their own infinitely-large worlds who choke together when they try to breath and eat at the same time.

What has changed?

It used to be: me, and the world. Now it is me, and this person, and our worlds. Would you like to name this other person? Name them after yourself, if you like. If you ask me (where I am your world) for a name, I may name them dawn.

Questioning

Tired! I leave things here. Find words for things with me. Hope, patience, rest, from me. My relationship with language is accessible to people my words strike like dawn, evaporating fog. And I want to honor that. Have some soft, fluffy questions, to make the loss of fog easier for you (or: my late self) to pick up in handover.