"It's not what you look at that matters, it's what you see."
Henry David Thoreau
In a lot of ways, I feel like I've recently woken up (or am waking up) from a long, maybe two-decades long, waking sleep.
It was my winter. A time of dormancy.
Even in winter, the seeds hidden beneath the layers of snow and frozen ground are no shorter on potential, patiently waiting for their due time. Perfect, perfect due time. And everything's a paradox anyways, isn't it, when we consider the illusory nature of a linear experience. Nothing is liner. The seed and the grown tree take up the same space. Enlightenment and ignorance. Love and hate. Break it down: sameness.
I can sense the sun coming; but, it's always been here.
Today, I can feel it's warmth. Like, in a girly drink with an umbrella kinda way.
