Ha! I remembered!

What’s mine is always mine and will come back to me! It was dark mode. The mode!

I’ve been trying to figure out why I couldn’t find my voice during the day, by a window, on a computer, and it’s the hrhdbsva light!

Light touches, dark covers. I don’t want to touch into everything or be touched by fonts, formats, diction, web design, the shape of whatever anything is, because I hold so much respect for what shares space with me. I don’t know where it’s at on its way. And yes, I do want to interact with it to some degree. That’s definitely the puppy energy of the moment, so it’s not to be brought a microphone. It just is and is allowed to be. The rule is, they’re all on their way somewhere and at their own tilt, so I must maintain my spin and stretch this space out as we all do for one another. The infinite picnic blanket. And yet,…If I don’t say something, in a space where it is held it would be a sin. That’s the feeling. It’s sinful to not allow it to move. This voice has its own trajectory I cannot compel to one book, song, essay. It does not follow “write what matters” unless I follow it directly translated to my own language and write what forms.

Whatever begins taking on energy to move through space and time has matter. I had been applying it to “write what matters to you” The complexity of “you” dulled everything about the stream because it started pebble pinching for relevance. Nothing is! It all is. Let it dance.

My dance agreed, “oh yes, the stage is quite full today. I need to sit down; which seat is mine, maybe the ticket has more information.” Then I decide to say nothing.then it’s dark.the show is done.Everyone leaves. I breathe The show stays alive in me, except it’s rendered within some sort of wubby skimmy stimmy composition box for a transmutation unto itself and I’m mother of monsters never named. Monsters who are so tame and lovely in the dark.

This much I could say with the cacophony of a mad mad screaming, toddler, and the 5 year old fighting over me, before the third one comes begging for cuddles.

1, 2, 3

Our time is up, darkness. Receiving the light now.