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A landscape that forms to my figure
 

Hi friends, 

I am writing this week's (news)letter from the plane on my way home to Canada. For the next 7 hours and 7 minutes, I won’t belong to any timezone even though I’ll hover over multiple ones on this journey. The time difference between Toronto and Glasgow is so close to my flight time that it almost feels like I get to live today twice.

There is an overwhelming feeling of silence as I approach this writing. I sometimes imagine myself carving my writing out of stone to remind myself of the permanence of words and how impressionable they are. (I’m envisioning myself facing a massive stone now more than ever).


Earlier this week, I spent a much needed day in nature with a close friend. Walking along the shore, we collected stones and I thought about how much I was going to miss while I’m away. But I was also filled with an immense feeling of peace, belonging, and acceptance both amongst the company of one of my closest people and in the company of the stones. I go back to nature when I feel myself fading and seeking familiarity. I’m most comforted by the company of trees and shorelines; exhaling completely around them. Nature breathes back and shares its space with me in a way that makes me feel cared for so deeply. As we walked along the shore, I could feel the stones giving way to me below my feet, slowly shifting at every step and allowing me to temporarily leave my mark amongst them. They felt malleable yet sturdy. My pockets are still filled with stones from this walk, and I’m clenching them in my fists as the plane takes off.

I’m sitting amongst the clouds right now, sun shining through them and into the tiny window on my left. I feel its warmth on my face and I somehow managed to get the whole row to myself so I slowly stretch out. I keep staring out the window, itching for a glimpse of the Canadian landscape that I’ve been missing even though it’s far too early in the journey. Resting my eyes on the clouds as their patterns slowly shift, I feel understood. 

This week, I chose to put my grounding forces at the forefront against all my natural instincts to succumb to my more conventional or standard responsibilities. I realised that I have begun to prioritise my priorities in a new way, and that realisation has been revelatory. It’s also been challenging to allow myself the space to feel and fall into new and established comforts, letting myself unapologetically be present, for better or for worse. I feel particularly synchronized with our earth this week. With my legs stretched along the extra seats beside mine, I feel connected with the horizon line as I stare out the window. I find myself thinking back to the shoreline some days ago, both stretching endlessly and existing so naturally along its non-linear path. Mother Earth’s lines remind me how to extend seamlessly and that maybe it’s not so bad to lean into the unknown. Maybe sometimes it’s okay to let ourselves feel and follow our instincts. And maybe sometimes, it’s most important to go back to what holds us best.

love and light, 
Juli

 


compress(ed memory foam) is a series of ongoing sharings and suggestions in relation to built environments, care, the practice of preserving and following through.

This weekly (news)letter will run from 1 November through 20 December and is hosted by Juliane Foronda as part of A Spoon is the Safest Vessel at Glasgow Women's Library.
Copyright © 2019 Juliane Foronda, All rights reserved.


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