Though we try, we cannot flee our entanglements. The symphonies of howling disguise themselves as itching until we listen & accept them, offering refuge in our body-hearts. There’s no going back. We’ve relinquished mastery in favor of aspirational imaginaries beyond empire.
The Era of I-Over is over. Deep We is calling. Saying compost the dead & dying body of the Over-culture, decolonize our hearts, & dismantle identity-prisons that have us all by the throats.
It is not a matter of whether or not you are caught in a web. We are all en-webbed. It is a matter of knowing which webs you are in, of knowing which webs you want to be and don’t want to be in.
May the sun behind veils and grief behind masks be invitations to new intimacies and wild remembrances. May we smuggle in contraband questions under cover of haze.
Could we weave our grief, unknowingness, sacred rage, and delicate unthwartable longings into previously undared and shared possibilities?