There is a plant on the desk next to me

There is a plant on the desk next to me: on the far right hand corner, with the longest leaf poking towards 10 o’clock. Closer to me is a jar, half brown half green, quarter leaf, leaves lifting up from underneath. They subtract the space behind. Half dead tulips above, six precisely, maybe more. The radio is off. I am drinking tea: a mix of Echinacea, acerola cherry and elderberry. My chair is underneath me and my legs in a squat-like position, it is more comfortable. I have not stretched. Before, I was sitting in half lotus. My experience of life is as follows: sensitivity, femininity – no – womanhood. I experience life as someone with moderate financial ease, illusory perhaps but that is how it seems. An object of attention. An oddity, strange, eccentricity, extra-ordinary but muted, gentle, quiet, moody, angry, frustrated, confused, fragmentary, creative. I am sitting at my screen, on pause, it blurs, there are vibrations everywhere: out of the corner of my eye I can see humming, shapes humming, moving ever so subtly, like waves, motion, on one plane. A two dimensional image has become distorted by a perception of a world beyond. I feel denial and disbelief, but meet with truth. What is my experience: sensitivity, creativity, artistry, femininity, ecology. About that: I am not Gary Snyder I was not brought up outside. I live in London out of term time, and have done so always. What is my truth? I began to connect with nature because of the book on Chakras. It was to heal – when did it happen and how? The garden became a place of solace and quietude but also panic, fear, rage, anxiety, death, and doom. My feet are cold.

There is a plant on the desk next to me

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