Crossing

“What reassures me is that everything that exists, exists for a purpose. And that the purpose of dying is to make life more intense.”

Clarice Lispector

Time invades me. Time to deconstruct, dissolve, lose, disintegrate, empty, silence.

It is the crossing that calls, wants renunciations, surrenders, detachments, decomposition.

What in me resists decomposing for fear of disappearing completely, of being reborn differently?

What else do I need to lose in order to inhabit my own destiny, to perceive life without the interpretations of others, to finally appropriate an imaginal autonomy?

How far and where must I go to experience the world through my own senses?

What luminous and wild thing wants to pass through me, to use my desire to be born?

It is time to let time speak for itself, to open my pores and be open to wonder...