Hello, Sky

urs fischer exhibit . moca grand . photo by stacy elaine dacheux
urs fischer exhibit . moca grand . photo by stacy elaine dacheux

“You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.” – Pema Chodron

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how I cultivate weather inside my body.

“Is it biological? Chemical? Cultural? Hereditary?”

My rainmaking is not intentional. It’s torrential: sloshing around in my stomach, collecting in a moat– aimed to isolate or protect something.

This ‘something’ rests inside of me: a soft shell.

When too much rain fills up my chest, the softness soaks. I feel heavy. It takes every bit of attention and energy not to stay in this state.

I must ask my chest to curl inward with compassion, warming this wetness into steam. If I am lucky, my chest complies and expands. I lean back. Open my mouth. Weather rises and escapes, evaporating into the atmosphere.

The soft something inside is indefinite, yet when the rain is gone, I can see it clearer.

All blue and open.


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