I am living a life right now of contrasting colors that vibrate where they touch but never truly meet. Matter here occupies the same space in different planes, moving in and out of phase in the veil of a blinking eye.
In this place, converging lines repel like magnets when they show the same face. Visual and verbal cues are often distorted and dissonant. Those objects in the mirror, whether near or far, are elusive and hard to pin down.
Time moves differently here as well. It eddies and swirls, revealing much that has not yet taken place, or indeed never was, and may never be.
The inner eye is my point of view. I have taken on faith that the spinning world truly carries me onward though I appear to stand still. The mast dips below the curve of the Earth while the ship sails on. There is no fixed point at the vanishing point.
If this bears all the hallmarks of a classic existential crisis, then it also leaves me with the option to find my own meaning even in this strange place, where joy and grief, fear and love, thinking and feeling still cling to their unalloyed identities. My brain wants to think its way out of these cluttered boxes. My heart knows different, and this last year has been all about giving the heart its head.
My greatest challenge is while turning inward not to turn on myself. My greatest hope is that I have already gained more than I fear to lose and have much still to hope for.
I want to slide my hand in the spaces between spaces. I want to feel the crackle at the edge of the color wheel. Above the winter clouds the sun still shines. It is all right here, in the light of those I love, rolling in the leaf pile, laughing.