1/6/2025
dear reader,
as one of three,
so that happened.
yeah. uh. it did. and even though it may never need to happen again, i'm so pleased it happened. i'm so pleased by my response to it. a response being one of finding the humility, not humiliation, within an act. relishing in this idea that-
it's okay to be embarrassed.
it's a state of being.
the emotion is applied.
a response that reaffirms trying something new.
and if it comes back to bite you in the ass?
well. i did have fun.
let me read to you now,
about how people
turn into
other things-
from Humphries'
translation of ovid's
metamorphosis:
And Cupid answered:
"Your bow shoots everything, Apollo- maybe-
But mine will fix you! You are far above
All creatures living, and by just that distance
Your glory less than mine." He shook his wings,
Soared high, came down to the shadows of Parnassus,
Drew from his quiver different kinds of arrows,
one causing love, golden and sharp and gleaming,
The other blunt, and tipped with lead, and serving
To drive all love away, and this blunt arrow
He used on Daphne, but he fired the other,
The sharp and golden shaft, piercing Apollo
Through bones, through marrow, and at once he loved
And she at once fled from the name of lover
Rejoicing in the woodland hiding places
---
He would have said
Much more than this, but Daphne, frightened, left him
With many words unsaid, and she was lovely
Even in flight, her limbs bare in the wind,
Her garments fluttering, and her soft hair streaming,
More beautiful than ever. But Apollo,
Too young a god to waste his time in coaxing,
Came following fast. When a hound starts a rabbit
In an open field, one runs for game, one safety,
He has her, or thinks he has, and she is doubtful
Whether she's caught or not, so close the margin,
So ran the god and girl, one swift in hope
The other in terror, but he ran more swiftly,
Borne of the wings of love, gave her no rest,
Shadowed her shoulder, breathed on her streaming hair.
Her strength was gone, worn out by the long effort
Of the long flight; she was deathly pale, and seeing
The river of her father, cried "O help me,
If there is any power in the rivers,
Change and destroy the body which has given
Too much delight!" And hardly had she finished,
When her limbs grew numb and heavy, her soft breasts
Were closed with delicate bark, her hair was leaves,
Her arms were branches, and her speedy feet
Rooted and held, and her head became a treetop,
Everything gone except her grace, her shining.
Apollo loved her still."
---
it's the progressive
evolsifying*
wind
between
being an Elizabeth Bennet,
and becoming
an Anne Elliot
*it's evolving
due to finding
recognizing
allowing
and nurturing
the molecular binding during emulsification
to metamorphosize
to put it to use**
we are one story.
we are one universal narrative.
with hope,
as Io,
**more on this alongside some of the mysteries i've found in chicago
