While I am not "very" pregnant as is in time elapsed, I am am very pregnant as in 100%.
Roller coaster moodiness. I brought it to the keyboard with a welling chest, fragments of feelings turning into disconnected words.
And I want to connect the words, blog, people, I want to. But another wave is moving in me and it is actually late. I am trying to set a better example of responsibility to one's work.
I am thinking, if I may just rap here now, of BSG and this speech about the fact that the man who destroyed human kind was made. And that he was loved. I'm thinking about how that speech echos what I wrote on the bathroom mirror tonight. You are loved. It made me pine for Burning Man. And recall my earlier pining for something solid. And oh, it made me feel that glowing expansion in my chest that happens when I know, I know, I know, I am loved. Not by the other humans I keep talking about only, but by the existence that made me.
The existence, it has all these names. Life, I can't not believe in it. It's the expansion in my chest, maybe that's all that I love and call existence. It doesn't matter. I feel so beautiful, so good, so rich, vibrant, energetic and open when I feel that expansion. That light, open door, in my chest.
That light went out, and another door closed in my throat, just now. That's what happens when
I'm nostalgic for it, but not really feeling it. That closing door takes my breath away. It often makes me cry.
Oh baby, but, here's a cool secret about this being pregnant thing. Listen. I am loved. The, woah, other human being, growing in my abdomen is loved. Why is it? Why are we? Why am I?
Why not believe we are loved, and that is why? We are loved. We make the show that existence loves to watch.