it occurs to me that healing from cancer might be more than just the body returning back to normal.
there are creeping moments where i will relive a memory from the past year and with clear eyes, i realise that flashbacks are not simply memories. there in that memory, i was not there. i didn't receive the impact. i felt numb. i remember now as a process of living through that saved moment. i think this might be why suffering through something like facing your own death undulates inside you like a snake, like a swirling line that sometimes twists back on itself. yet, somehow the mice that snakes eat make their way through their bodies and the body lives, even through its twists and turns.
entering into life again feels like looking through a telescope from another planet. i get to look at my life choices and consider them with new experiential knowledge. this is the knowledge of what it feels like for your body to slowly shut you out. as i breathe into my lungs that now feel full with air, i feel that air, and the space that air occupies all around me, like i have transformed into a fish. i feel the liquid movement of air against my skin even now.
i am weighing the decisions i make within the moment, asking myself, what is possible? i realise that in some major ways, i have held oppression in my body, to deal with the world. as the world is cruel, i am cruel to myself. it makes it easier, makes me feel more in control, that i can handle the cruelty. i thought that when i smoked, it made me more okay with smokestacks. because i acted like them, i could accept them.
i am trying to be less tough and am finding the capacity to feel soft, so that i may find softness in the world. this might be something i had stolen from me.
so walking through life like an alien, wondering: what might be possible? and what does softness truly feel like?
i am finding that the space of my home, the rooms that are mine have this fractal potential. when i feel into my body, i realise that it is full of different sensations. i learned this from 90's screensavers and magic eye posters. when one area becomes the focus, it starts anew. it sets a scene even though everything else that was ever a part of it remains while also being dissolved.
there is a path to be set, in balance between ruminating and replicating the past--with the present moment a ritual--and reliving the past through memory as a way of learning its truth.
what happens to us means something. this is the fruit. sometimes those meanings are big and they open fractal tunnels into the dark. the valley goes through the shadow of death, after all. yet, fractal relationships remain stable. things that happened are remembered through re-doing them and are, in fact, rituals.
may we learn to write it.
i ask myself, where might i learn to be soft and what new infinite points may be born between two checks on a rib-bone? how might fragments be whole already?
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