I can’t help but be struck by an aura of eeriness in all that I see lately… or maybe it’s that I’m only seeing what strikes me as eerie. All the spring warmth is humming with tension and anxiety of uknowables. And yet continues the mapping of expectation against actual, but if not that act of projection then what is there to do but numbly go through it in dumb animal mime? Meditation lately feels sisyphean, clarity that fogs too soon, and my body itself betrays me with its diseased, unfathomable inertia to entropy. The space of possibility seems to be shrinking.