Where there is love there is life.

We are taught to hold a shape. To repeat, to conform, to control. Over time the repetition becomes us - rigid, fearful, grasping for power, emptied of feeling. We live without living. The mechanical overtakes the organic. We lose ourselves, and in losing ourselves we lose our connection to everything.
This is the psychosis we call normal.
Yet something remains underneath. A flicker. A recognition. The long effort of reopening begins with glimpsing what we have become.