Movement, Bare Feet & The Star
Cold ground. Wet grass. Creek water around my ankles. I'm writing at a stone table in the Park while the weather turns back toward winter for a few hours. Lately, I’ve been thinking about how many forms of intelligence are not abstract at all. Threshold intelligence. Weather intelligence. Spatial intelligence. Relational intelligence. The intelligence of knowing when to leave the house, even when tired. I found an old Pluto Retrograde notebook this week. And a partially filled Tarot journal from 2016–2017. Evidence of previous selves tracking inner weather systems long before I had names for some of them. Perhaps coherence is not linear. Perhaps some parts of life do not disappear. They wait in storage rooms, in notebooks, in parks, in the body, until circulation returns. For now: small movements, bare feet on wet ground, tangerines, rain, The Star, my most pulled Tarot card of over four years, appearing again and again, and the slow rebuilding of earthly foundation...
