7/2/21
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This was taken back in November 2019 on expired film by one of the many kindred strangers I met on what would be my last solo trip for a while. A trip I’m convinced has changed my life forever for a multitude of reasons – people, places, things, experiences, feelings.
The sunset was a lot more vivid than captured here. I think. Or it could just be nostalgia putting rose-tinted glasses over my own. While everyone around me was reveling in the warmth of the evening, I remember all I felt was this permeating, paralyzingly frightening fear. Fear of what, exactly? I don’t know. Fear of not being able to witness the same kind of beauty again, of having this moment slip through my hands just like that, of knowing I will never remember it as it was, I guess. Now all that’s left of that evening is an almost truth thwarted by moods and days; when we look at how we relate to our external world, we open up a window into an internal one.
After a sad road of ruined rolls of film, I’ve been finding myself going down unhealthy camera roll reminiscence spirals, trying to remember how things were in my life just before all of this. A time when I wasn’t viewing the world from a place of deficit and lapsing into states and cycles that have been difficult for me to comprehend. Some days my life flows with such ease and alignment, and as soon as I feel ready to extend such a way of living, something in me slips up and I start tumbling. Back into an abyss I know all too well. This constant oscillation between victory and defeat has had some very dark moments for me, but I’m slowly learning to meet them with curiosity and kindness, for what will continue to unfold. Accepting what is there without contention. Within others and within myself.
It’s not everyday that I allow myself to show up this way, but it’s felt somewhat liberating to just allow myself to be here with it, to witness what is shifting and the nature of it all. Remembering how animals heal, how the earth renews itself and trusting that my body is doing exactly what it needs to do. Trust is a process, but I am finding compassion and self-forgiveness to be more accessible these days. There is grief, but within it I feel a sense of liberation from what has kept me in so much darkness, with a deep respect for those dark places, for the loss that has opened me up to be receiving so much love and all that continues guiding me in finding a more honest sense of myself, a wholeness in my connection to this life.
While journaling the other day, I used up a whole page for one small line:
“In a hazardous world, the least you can do is give yourself the space to breathe and be well.”
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Rosy Retrospection
This was taken back in November 2019 on expired film by one of the many kindred strangers I met on what would be my last solo trip for a while. A trip I’m convinced has changed my life forever for a multitude of reasons – people, places, things, experiences, feelings.
The sunset was a lot more vivid than captured here. I think. Or it could just be nostalgia putting rose-tinted glasses over my own. While everyone around me was reveling in the warmth of the evening, I remember all I felt was this permeating, paralyzingly frightening fear. Fear of what, exactly? I don’t know. Fear of not being able to witness the same kind of beauty again, of having this moment slip through my hands just like that, of knowing I will never remember it as it was, I guess. Now all that’s left of that evening is an almost truth thwarted by moods and days; when we look at how we relate to our external world, we open up a window into an internal one.
After a sad road of ruined rolls of film, I’ve been finding myself going down unhealthy camera roll reminiscence spirals, trying to remember how things were in my life just before all of this. A time when I wasn’t viewing the world from a place of deficit and lapsing into states and cycles that have been difficult for me to comprehend. Some days my life flows with such ease and alignment, and as soon as I feel ready to extend such a way of living, something in me slips up and I start tumbling. Back into an abyss I know all too well. This constant oscillation between victory and defeat has had some very dark moments for me, but I’m slowly learning to meet them with curiosity and kindness, for what will continue to unfold. Accepting what is there without contention. Within others and within myself.
It’s not everyday that I allow myself to show up this way, but it’s felt somewhat liberating to just allow myself to be here with it, to witness what is shifting and the nature of it all. Remembering how animals heal, how the earth renews itself and trusting that my body is doing exactly what it needs to do. Trust is a process, but I am finding compassion and self-forgiveness to be more accessible these days. There is grief, but within it I feel a sense of liberation from what has kept me in so much darkness, with a deep respect for those dark places, for the loss that has opened me up to be receiving so much love and all that continues guiding me in finding a more honest sense of myself, a wholeness in my connection to this life.
While journaling the other day, I used up a whole page for one small line:
“In a hazardous world, the least you can do is give yourself the space to breathe and be well.”
