This winter has taken such a toll on me, and those around me. My dry skin & hair, my musty-smelling coat, the sluggishness of my body: I am ready for the sun.
I have been working to get my website organized and available for the past few months, and through the process have felt subsumed in technology: click, click, click... worshipping at the altar of the screen. It's got me thinking about the sacred-ness of what is not tracked, what is experienced, endured, felt beyond the reach of the screen.
I take solace in the fact that there are still many things that are untraceable.
eye contact & a laugh
fingers grazing fingers of a loved one
my decision making: half of a banana (the season-less, pervasive fruit) or a slice of provolone or buttered toast before bed? my stomach growling.
the flux of my weight throughout the month, the tiny changes in the rubbing of my clothes as the water in my tissues levels itself out with the shifts of progesterone from day to day.
the smell of my sister's hair, so familiar
the things that happen under the surface and carve out the present : how available I am to the world
documentation is no longer sacred, but it is celebration: our desperate hearts capturing as time slips between our fingers. that which goes unphotographed: Sacred or merely lived?