During this time of extreme duality — tremendous compassion and overwhelming fear, surrender to nature and tight regulation, the retreat inward and the escape into cyber space — I continue to find myself at my loom.

On those days when each fleck of dull grey dust can’t help but magnify the morning light, as the great Undercurrent carries me through each moment with ungoverned grace, I run to my loom. I skip stairs to get there faster.

On the heavy days, when my shoulders will not un-crumple, and any glimmer of potential is snuffed out by an unidentifiable loss, I crawl up the stairs to my bed. But, before I make it to my bed, I see my loom. And it lures me over.

I find the two weft yarns I held last and I begin again.

I continue to unfold the same pattern that I have been for months now.

Whether I arrive at my loom lifted by obnoxious optimism or lugged by nihilistic apathy, I am immediately reset. I return home: back in my body, in this moment, in the “real” world.

In this indigenous (original/natural/innate) state, I understand that…

These empires that we define, and these institutions that we inhibit, and these standards that we set, and these morals that we defend, and these beliefs that we sacrifice ourselves for — they are little more than sand castles.

Only the tides are forever.