My brain, my life, my existence has been unraveled, scrambled, and muted.
Where words used to flow a dry river bed now exists.
The gravity of what has happened to the world, our economies, the hopes and dreams of billions, finally hit home.
Just days ago the weight of it all lay heavy on my spirit. The thought of dashed dreams and the pandemic pit we must all now climb out of left me deflated, disheartened and floundering on the inside like a thousand threads flapping in the wind.
Showering later that morning the tears choked out of me, like a sputtering faucet, releasing and refilling. An overwhelming feeling of helplessness engulfed me.
Then, next morning I realized something.
No matter the turn of events in the world, nothing has really changed. The Earth still spins and orbits the sun, our days still turn into nights, the stars still shine, the trees bloom, the birds sing. The world continues as it always has.
We, the noise on the surface, are what's altered.
The stillness beneath us, within us, is still there.
The rhythm of my breath, my natural vibrations that blend my edges with all that surrounds me, connecting me with the earth, every living creature, plant, and grain of dirt.
So long as my heart still beats, nothing has changed.
I can choose to listen to the words of others, the media, the politicians. Or I can choose not too.
Dreams are only as distant as I let them be.