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sophrologie diaries


I. The movement, the pumping of the fists, stirs a sense of anger but I cannot seem to identify the anger’s target. Am I angry at society and the constructs that I perceive as “unjust” or am I angry at myself for being too weak in the face of these injustices? Does anger need a target?  When I attempt to let the anger go with my exhalation, I don’t how to package it or where to send it.

The movement agitates the water.

II.  After jumping off the cliff and momentarily flirting with the abyss, these things that felt like mountains are now molehills. Why do I have to run myself through the wringer, poke myself with a burning stick, or make myself suffer in order to reconnect with my inner sense of wisdom? 

III. I am exhausted. By 6pm when it’s pitch dark, all I want to do is drink a beer and eat a chocolate bar: this cannot be good for me. 

IV. “ I’m not telling you to make the world better, because I don’t think that progress is necessarily part of the package. I’m just telling you to live in it. Not just to endure it, not just to suffer it, not just to pass through it, but to live in it. To look at it. To try to get the picture. To live recklessly. To take chances. To make your own work and take pride in it. To seize the moment. And if you ask me why you should bother to do that, I could tell you that the grave’s a fine and private place, but none I think do there embrace. Nor do they sing there, or write, or argue, or see the tidal bore on the Amazon, or touch their children. And that’s what there is to do and get it while you can and good luck at it.”  
—Joan Didion © 2023
(there are other sarah rose’s, but this is the new one)