11.6.20 // Alameda Open Space + Los Poblanos Open Space
I am so exhausted. I’m finding it impossible to ignore all that is happening right now, to think deeply about my work, what I’m doing here out by the river, and in general. I’ve spent time reading through writing from the past few months—I am interested in this:
10.14.20
Where is our oppositional energy most needed now?
Where / when is it ok to surrender, disperse, and fade into the edges for rest?
Can there be too much rest?
I’ve found it very challenging to hide the reality of all that is right now. I can’t pretend or fool myself into productivity. So for now, I am chasing texture—viscerally absorbing anything that doesn’t resemble the contours of my couch or computer screen. Waiting prone in the leaves, ribs and heart to the ground, there is time to witness the subtle vibrations of the river and distant indiscernible movements.
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11.7.20 // Upper + Lower Montoyas Arroyo
I didn’t know where I was going, and I didn’t want to. I decided to start following the residual movement pathways of the last water to mark the sand in the arroyo. I walked for at least a mile before eventually finding a detour distraction of attempting to trace a water drainage pipe back to its origin somewhere in the Loma Colorado neighborhood—I never found it. I couldn’t stop thinking about how all of this neighborhood is obscuring the truth of the ground upon which it is built. It’s very challenging to hide the reality of all that is crumbling.
I walked about 5 miles through the arroyo and felt relieved to experience the texture and resistance of the sand against the soles of my boots.
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11.8.20 // Volcanoes
Today I have been thinking about the practices that have kept me present with myself and my work throughout the past few years—hiking anytime and anywhere away from the city of Chicago was such an escape. I knew I could get up before dawn, drive somewhere and disappear for a few hours into a landscape that felt healing. Three days into our weekend now, I can finally think more clearly about what I am working on and why. The wind is intense, but somehow my mind is finally still—the first time in weeks that I have been able to focus enough to meditate calmly. The distance of the horizon here provides a counterpoint to my presence in my body—I am not there, but here. I am a guest in this sacred place, and I am grateful.
