I looked out this window and saw this building, a generic stone-and-glass corporate building surrounded by trees and cars. Then the universe opened, and it was far more.
Things are lifting, lighter. Monkey is absent, though his nameless cousin–the deep, sizzling foreboding, the grey electric heebie-jeebies–makes a daily visit. Mornings I get up without worry, evenings are short but are resonant. I feel things slipping and moving, edges both fracturing and softening.
Looking out this window I felt like I was in college, looking out on a sunlit winter where the future, though fearful and unknowable, bounced and breathed out giddy energy. I didn’t know what it was then, but there was something to expect and breathe in. Even looking out a window was stunning.
So it was today. No reason for it, but there it was, fresh and happy and reasonless and exuberant in bluesky quiet. It comes more and more, and holds. I remember the shape of that world but not the guilt, I should have, I could have. I don’t even worry about scaring it away.
When a wild animal walks into the open, you are quiet and watch. There is nothing to grab for. Just be quiet and it will stay.