i can't really see my way through all of this, i think i have a sense of things but the things themselves keep turning into other things. there are always the people who turn into trees when you get closer, and there's no question that i'm surrounded (this is not a bad thing). i'm not attached, that's probably important, i'm really not attached to anything that i was attached to, and it's easier to breathe, but my nerves are all on the surface and everything is electric. the moon like it is, rung around like it is, makes it hard to tell if this is just me or if it is just the oceans in my blood coming up to the skin to be closer to the sky. i like to think that we all get the chance to wake up, but i'm afraid we don't, not everyone needs it, and if you don't need it, it's easier to just stay sleeping. i keep meeting people who are in the process of becoming the thing they've always criticized, and i'd love to say i'm detached from that, but it hurts to watch. there are always very few really brave souls who can pass in front of your path in any given time, and this time has already extended itself so that it's misshapen and impossible to recognize as anything but a figment of what it once was. and maybe that's what happens to people when they are caught somewhere between becoming and resigning, and it's enough sometimes to recognize that i haven't resigned, and see what might happen to me if i do. if this were anything less than trying to find the next identity, it would be much easier, but the old skins don't fit me anymore, and visiting them does not bring me any joy. but i know what orpheus felt like when he lost eurydice, and i know what that prince felt like when the witch cut the hair off of rapunzel's head, but i also know there's something about odysseus that i still haven't gotten to live yet. and i know there's something that happens in the forest in the hour before day turns into night, when we all get to meet each other in our real forms. i'm guided by a very excited band of ghosts these days, who saw something in me dissolve for the last time, and they can't wait for me to find the things i find when i keep walking. but these moments are too loaded, and i can't find the trick to making the intersections of time and space, people come and people go, and it happens too fast for us to tell each other the secret things that might help us find the map. and i suspect that the maps i had written on my heart got erased at the edges of the sea, and none of my spirits had the heart to tell me they were gone, they could only wait until i admitted that i was lost and the things that i had planned no longer served me. but i hear music that i've never heard before, and the rings around the moon are a promise rather than an illusion, and there's a coolness behind the blazing heat of the day that tells me my skin is changing with the seasons. and lately, when the nights get long, there are very few things that i miss from the old skins, because the new layers are too busy in their painful birth. i would be a goddam fool if i thought for a moment there was no magic in this, it's all magic, and nothing that i could have planned, no secret desire that i woke up in the lotus blossoms of the world, only a trail of certain endings that preceded this, endings that i didn't think of as endings until long after they were already over.