Dot dot dot

December asks few words and gives even less. It’s cheap with images, thrifty with sounds, neutral in smells.

I’m inhabited by a sense of quiet wait, patient suspension. Things will have time to happen, and underneath everything there’s an invisible fertility that has just slowed down but never stopped. If you pay close attention, you can hear smaller noises. If you look attentively, you can zoom in and see the yellows inside the grey.

Don’t let December fool you, let it convince you. Be there fully with body and mind, where death and decadence can sit next to you without pretending to be opposed to life and fullness, but hand in hand with all that’s moving.

Don’t let December confuse you, let it shock you to your core and then hug you back to sleep.

Don’t do it, or you, the disservice of comparing. December stands on its own.

Don’t utter anything other than words that will fade into oblivion.

I become the size of nothingness

I walk on the verge of aliveness

I find relief in shapelessness

I surrender to the abundance of emptiness

It can help sometimes to take existence a bit less seriously, with the utmost respect.