diary #3

A lot to say this morning; much is going on. I am meeting myself in the mirror—this particular light revealing the skin of the past, and eyes with the look of hope in moving forward. “I can do this,” I keep saying to myself over and over. “This” does not refer to any immediate, compartmentalized task, per se, but instead it is a walking through a door, whereupon stepping through and looking back, the door does not only shut but vanishes altogether.

I feel so acutely aware that the ground beneath my feet burns. Fire: a symbol of death—-a clearing away as such—an event that never allows you to go back. The particles of what once was disperses, quite literally far and wide, and will never again return to the same form, the same place in space. I have never been here before, I will never be here again; this does not matter. My only fear is that I am starved and dehydrated, standing in the middle of the desert hallucinating.

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