Between Whatever and Out

08 Feb, 2026

Wherein I podcast for a second...

Between Whatever and Out

🗣️ 88 Community Building STARTER Pack - Integrated Awakenings

Helloe, It's my person, Coral, and welcome to W/E You Get Out of It. Today: what it might be like to get out of bed.

(traversal) Inveteracy

Exiting bed is often an executive order:

• pee,
• work,
• mass,
• beat the heart of the calendar
• call the calendar a dead horse
• hope people look away in disgust

Perhaps sitting down, working out where that doesn't happen finds a condition where pulled-from-bed (as term) fails to serve.

As time, might this:

Int. Bed - Dawn

Come morning, what steps into consciousness is in a dream. (rare) When morning starts in lucid dream, morning sits and collects what (in the dream) has happened (so far), giving morning contracting times and the rest bearing reckoning.

Perhaps, pre-dawn slipping, witching hour sees left a living thing every day elects exist otherwise until all left to time is this morning. Space to cower in the corner (or continue making food or become the cloud the land beds on) aside, the morning this sentence this role left rises.

Space, ashamed, steps through, blushes, realizes morning offers more than what comes to mind^🦆. No hammock with parking ticket on bike at gate. Just clouds as far as everseen, morning: dream this breath dew be making.

Vascular tide acrewing some sense of dream, so far, steps into place or take things:

Int. Floor - Midnight

Wild place, a body (to be). Not thrilled to gunk up pre-dawn's work, midnight makes ready all it can to make the day the land's to worry (or the sun to rays, or you, worshipper, to). Where the floor steps from difficulty into sleep: a pile of clothes. Feeling homesick in a way only the interdimensional date line can, enters sunset. Offering midnight hyphenated creations. Sunset breaks tired words into fresh, and peppy ones which crash (where emulsified to sense).

All sunset offers:

Pre[ ]ty.

Fresh and new and interesting hoping kept enough, midnight keeps this side of the pale (this attempt, stay this time), bring tired to rest and nothing else out:

Int. Pile of Clothes - Late Night

Sunset, finding late night in long study, attempts to catch midnight up on the situation before late night passes on. Eleven plants from the area are being read through for histories, how each grew in what path the day works. How midmorning, noon, afternoon, and early evening struggle to make sense of the task (to weed these from the path).

Late night, collapsing, sees sunset gesture to midnight who, catching late night, settles it to bed, saying yes, the work; it continues. Ache from day will ease before late evening inherits another exhausted body. Perspective midnight is born to and others only borrow, find a set of coordinates, the path framed, and designated function: to be traversable.

In path, each plant, placed by wind, rain, and rodent, are (is this still path?) but audits. Pulling them says yes: still a path. Time appreciated. Path but plants in conversation: this is what the land was doing before plants were ever[ ]here. How removing puns from the middle of a sentence serves (speed) readers. Plants, lifted, are set aside, for a most ancient conversation:

Basalt and solar wind

Ext. Garden - Early Evening

How re-moving a speed bump might bring ache: so much faster where what's faster doesn't serve. Weeding path like security guard punches down, plants so gone paths breathe.

Early evening inherits a morally exhausted body. Heats, eats and takes up shop: how did one day leave early evening so exhausted?

Goal set (see the plants pull themselves out of ground), where might the plants consent (if not to path) at least to role in yearly audit.

Each weed pulled says: Ah, still a path, then.

Early evening (not letting day-rage eat tomorrow whole) researches plants, giving each story, presence in larger shared body (and where that body might consent to giving path their breath).

First plant reveals itself the day's shadow taking residence. This plant likes the path's disturbed soil; Weeding this plant leaves space for the day to exist without also being why the next exists.

As but shadow casting self, the plant exits, re-membered, day's rage failing, shoulders dropping, offering rest in not having a path to what lives between the end and time.

Questions

• What gets you out of being into bed?

• Where do you feel when you are tired?

• What brings you into being out of it?

• What lets you feel let to feel lost?

• When may you let sleep say yes to you?

• What weeds to benefit your person?

• What stops you taking rest this moment?

• What makes you divorce yourself?

• What might you say yes to sleep today?

🗣️ https://shows.acast.com/integrated-awakenings-with-maria/episodes/community-building-starter-pack-w-maria↩

🦆 https://www.nature.com/articles/d41586-021-01715-3 ↩