What we become after the storm.

We are hosts to unimaginable truths. And imaginable wonders. These shape our greatest works.

The thing about change is that no one truly wants it. Even when we’re stuck in the most terrible situation. You only need to look at how systems convince us that change is possible. Does it ever arrive unless we have no choice?

Even those of us who’ve made it a fundamental part of our lives and work still don’t really want to endure the kind of change that rewrites all aspects of who we are.

This is a bitter and interesting truth.

All the insights, wisdom, experiences, and people I value in life can be traced back to a moment when I was forced to transform or underwent radical change due to whatever instigating force set it in motion. And even when this is voluntarily conjured forth through ritual or conscious life choices there must be an element of chaos, of fracture and loss of control.

Control exists only as a distant echo of all the choices that maintain and sustain.

Transformation fucking hurts. All you can hope to do is get better at moving through the process and lowering the state of panic as your broken shape is disassembled and rebuilt into… into what exactly?