In these times of upheaval my heart does not go wanting. My dreams oscillate between vibrant disturbance and gentle placation. I sink into these waterholes until waking finds me somewhere between dampness and refreshment. I lay staring at the ceiling, trying to remember how to float.
Some days I forget that I am surrounded by endless spinifex and red dust. That the landscape takes its time to transform from claypan to salt lake, from desert oak to desert itself. I forget that even physics itself must surrender to the paitent march of corrosion, that regardless of our posturing, the mountains will descend upon us, sweeping us aside.
This reassures me that every decision is inconsequential
and in this way, I begin to be freed.
