I do not know anything anymore. I am rudderless, soft-bellied, suspended. I long to be pulled back in, have cold water thrown in my face, bathed in the sound of a gong that rattles every cell back to connectedness.
Please do not try to save me. Allow me a place to vent that is mine.
I long for a cool, pine-filled forest, where the light cracks through the trees in shafts, away from the pings of technology, where we can be wrapped in imaginary swaddling, calm, sweet, protected, hundreds of miles away from doubt.