I’m wondering about those imaginal cells in the caterpillar’s dissolving body.

I’m wondering about those imaginal cells in the caterpillar’s dissolving body.
I’m wondering about the fiercely significant rituals of care that hold the world together.
I’m wondering about how to shape bottomless grief into postures that subsidize liberatory culture.
I’m wondering about the vast chasm between progressive solutionism and the decolonial journey. What wings could usher us over the cliff? What songs?
I’m wondering about what species of chthonic love it would take not to exile each other.
I’m wondering about the missed joys we accumulate from a poverty of imagination. A dearth that keeps us tethered to such shallow stories we mistake the scribbling on the page for a whole library.
I’m wondering about creating spaces for eucatastrophe, Tolkien’s word for a sudden joyous “turn” of miraculous grace.
I’m wondering about our first 100 days.
I’m wondering about our 500 year plan.
I’m wondering about this very moment.
This very dense, syrupy moment.
This barely-bearable-thick-with-peril-and-promise moment:
Can I be here first?

I’m wondering about imaginal cells in the caterpillar’s dissolving body