filtereddestiny

[filtereddestiny]

I refuse to stop dreaming of living on a big plot of land - with an endless landscape of mountains and flowers; my hives nestled out along the tree line. Owning a cafe, bookstore and flower shop in town by day and a beautiful yoga studio on our property by night. Cabins slued across our acres where we allow many good souls to retreat from the seemingly mundane world. Raising our children on love, dirt and homemade bread. We spend our evenings watching the sun sink below the horizon burning up the last of the day’s light, eager to wake up and do it all again.

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right back at it

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when i was reading the book entangled life which is about fungi and the author merlin sheldrake said that once he got his first author copies he was going to dampen the pages and use them to grow oyster mushrooms and yeast and then use the yeast to brew beer and then drink the beer with the mushrooms to complete the cycle of fungal knowledge. i was like really and truly this guy gets it

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and I will remember that summer -

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general relativity for babies

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Wrote this one today about embracing our hidden emotions and healing through love.

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The power of now is all we have. Harness that, and let go of the rest.

Connecting with the present

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“Empty yourself of everything. Let the mind become still. The ten thousand things rise and fall while the Self watches their return. They grow and flourish and then return to the source. Returning to the source is stillness, which is the way of nature.”

— Laozi, Daodejing, Feng & English tr. (Ch 16)

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If there’s a heaven I think its me walking through the pearly gates to the entirety of the Peripheral Vision Turnover album. Golden hour, towards to my husband with our dogs beside us in a field.

I think if I make it to whatever version of heaven there is, I absorb that feeling fully.

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I just want to lay down and let the anxiety envelope my entire being. I won’t. But dear god, I want to.

It’s like pacing the halls of your own head. Opening and closing doors like there’s something new lurking behind each of them. I can’t stand it. An enemy to my own mind. I want to feverishly rip the doors from all the hinges; turn over the the layout of this maze inside my mind. Start anew.

Who planted these seeds of inadequacy? How long have they been entangled in my sense of self? Surely, I’m somewhere buried beneath it all. Fragments of myself torn about and scattered, hoping only the worthy could discover me hiding in the corners of my existence. Piece me back together and soothe the monsters in my ears. Shed a light into the darkest corners and coax me from my hiding place.

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He asked me when I fell in love with him and I knew it sounded dramatic to say the moment I saw him, so I told him this story of my grandma who had Alzheimer's- she forgot her name and the words for fruit and food, she forgot her address and how to use the washroom, all her life lost to the disease. The only thing she remembered was her son's name and when that began to fade, the one thing she always remembered was that she loved him, even in illness, even in insanity. She saw this 6 foot 2 man with a scrubby beard and she didn't know him but she said she trusted him, she asked him to hold her hand when she died. When does memory end and love begin? All I know is- she loved him before she remembered him.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

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My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Edit: I added a visualizer for this on my YouTube channel. Check it out here

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light;dark ☯️ I’m not me without you, shapeshifter 🛸