The Good Work

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In the mornings the tide is so high you cannot see the rocks just beneath the surface, but you could not swim through nor sail over them even if you tried. They are most dangerous when hidden from view.

Someone tells me, what you disclude shapes your life just as much as what you include. That boundaries are not for keeping other people out but rather for reminding you what is actually yours to tend to. The queen of cups pays attention only to the ground beneath her feet, knowing that all she has control of is the seeds she plants and the water she gives them. Beyond this, nothing is hers.

I think it is easy for us to forget the singularity of our lives. To take in too much, and worry about those who are not ours to worry about. We think of each other more than we should, distracted by where the other goes, left speaking to one another in smoke signals and parallel language for our parallel lives.

My mother and I listen to a woman read tarot cards, and we eat salads of basil and grapefruit, and the baby is sleeping. Something about the afternoon is so common, and in that, it will stay with me forever. I hope someday I am the sort of mother who listens to a woman read tarot cards with my daughter while we eat salads of basil and grapefruit.

All I can do is get the words down. Fill my days with the good work that makes my life work. In the morning I walk down to the shoreline and in the afternoon I make pickles and the entire house smells like vinegar until the sun goes down. All I can do is plant the seeds, pray south, and sit back down to work.

photo: @inkaliston

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