dispatches from the wild interior: September 26, 2020

The Emperor: Everything unnecessary is melting and you in the red center of it. A mind of fire, a throne that will not burn, and at your waist everything that blooms from the dust and ash without you telling it to. There are three ways to be in charge of chaos: be chaos, be incredibly still knowing all things cohere in their own moment, or both. Somebody thinks you are at rest but they are wrong. Universes collide and split off where you sit, seemingly unmoving, undoing. Galaxies are birthed and die every minute, but because we can’t see it we call space empty and go on making war and eating nectarines. Let those who would harm you believe what you are doing is nothing, or sleep. The stone outlives the river and the chisel, the fire and the mountain without end.