21.01.2026 - DONE
i can’t plan anymore. when it comes to external activities – errands, appointments, dates, social activities – it happens step by step, hour by hour. i have an idea but i know from experience now that it probably won’t stick. so i just cast the net wide and slowly allow future time to merge with present time. some people are able to meet me here, others say to try again in a weeks’ time. i’ve been able to soften my expectations on things working out like i used to. spaciousness is always there, it just depends on the perspective you’re looking through.
i struggle with solo task setting also, where no other parties are involved. i will do one thing which becomes ten things. it could have something to do with settling into a new rental, mentally reorganising the physical clutter and then actioning the decluttering in physical form. i find myself tunnelling into a task that i didn’t know existed before i started it.
call it whimsy, call it chaos, call it presence. it doesn’t matter, because at the end of the day, everything gets done. at the end of this life, everything gets done, and at the end of time, everything gets done. as it needs to. stop and contemplate the innate collectivity of micro-organism hubs in your gut. they’re waiting, sorting, transporting, engulfing, corresponding with enzymes, corresponding with other biochemical particles, constantly adapting to the evolving conditions shaped by systemic conditions and our own lifestyle choices. things just get done. think about the community of native fruit bats that flock to the leafy eucalypts of yarra bend parklands in the early hours of the morning. resting, nesting, recuperating, until dusk hits and they head out for another feed. a chirping flock of parrots danced elegantly in the wind above my head as i stepped outside onto the deck and sipped my warm flask of water, a morning practice i’ve received from ayurvedic medicine to gently activate my gut. the sky was piercing white, my eyes adjusting to the endless atmospheric focal range and resetting my circadian rhythm after a deep and restful sleep. it’s the first time in four years i’ve lived away from main roads, thoroughfares and pedestrian shopping hubs whilst living in this city. i’m grateful for the slower reprieve this leafy neighbourhood side street brings to my nervous system.
i’ve been asking myself how present i can be to every single moment – how conscious i am to my breath, my footsteps, my perception, my posture, my thoughts… and when my breath widens and i feel the air rushing down to my feet, i can ask myself deeper questions: how conscious am i to the rate and tone of my voice? how conscious am i to the rolling tread of my gait, the way the cushioning of my shoes changes in pressure against the ground; the way the ground pushes back in equal and opposite direction? what is the predominating sensation that resides in my chest right now – is it one of constriction and scarcity, or one of expansion and abundance? i have been using this as a compass to understand whether i am moving at the speed of trust, in alignment to my body. sometimes it is hard to resist the scarcity. my mind rushes in at least ten tangible moves ahead of my body; my body clumsily tries to follow, gasping with desperation to land on stepping stones left suspended in fragments after the wildfire of my racing mind trailing my mind, to maintain concentration in the midst of the loudening roar of my inner critic.
i have always found comfort in the conversations i have with myself through journalling, and so it makes sense that my writing style embodies this experiential narrative.