Image via Rodeo
I do not worry for I trust my love and my self but I feel the current of uneasy, excited angst firing in every synapse. The tension of turquoise. Not the lush, heavy, green of the earth, nor the pale blue of the celestial but a margin of conflict in the interim. My faith in the law of balance is strong (actio et reaction) but as my mind flutters high into the cerebral realm—reeling, reeling—an equal heaviness pools in the pit of my core, sinking low and deep. In the constant presence of anxiety I am not free to rest, or to find contentedness, or a guarantor. I swim (or fly) through a self-manufactured space, an imposter of the reality waiting around the corner. My body is hungry, seeking a sensory validation that is impossible, presently. The patterns of my body are the same, only the patterns of my body are the same. Daily motion. I have not found a way to reconcile my two halves, I have not really began to say goodbye. Even in sleep—reeling, reeling. The tension pervades into every facet and the balance I crave can only be felt in extremes, the meridians of high and lows. All is surreal.