That January wish for spring/ banging around the house

The sun is fading from the sky here at five o'clock. It's the beginning of the signs of spring returning. Soon, daphne. I've been sick. And tired. Separate, but equally true. And today is the first day I've been out of the house during daylight hours in several days. I found myself blinking under the bright sky as I emerged. (If there is anything that humbles...)

I've been doing a lot of writing, a lot of thinking, a lot of talking, a lot of organizing internal space—the internal spaces of my mind. A lot seems to be about to change in my world, but I'm not sure, at the moment, which way it's all going to bend. I'm about to start the final term of my MFA program, and what I've come to understand about art, about what I mean when I talk about art, about who I am in relation to it has changed so much over the past year, that I don't quite know how to orient myself. I'm pleased to have found myself making lists again over the past few weeks—lists of the trajectories of my artistic aims, lists of ways to make visible the things I want to say, the things I care about.

Days have been passing in a fog, as the undercurrent rushes below. I feel its beginnings of bubbling up in the bursts of pressure, the crystalized moments that seem, for a nanosecond, to exist outside of time. Right before my thesis year of undergrad I felt it too. I knew that the threads I'd been pursuing were starting to weave together; I just didn't know how yet. It is the same here. Human rights, intimate and international relations, socio-politics, the persistance of making, these things are family. I just haven't fully traced their genealogy. I don't yet fully understand the foundation upon which these things lie, the soil from which they all grow. I know it has something to do with consciousness, something to do with awareness and making meaning. It is, somewhere at its root, about interconnection, and about unveiling the ways in which we are all entangled.

As winter begins its leaving, I'm beginning to feel that old familiar tug, that itchiness in my limbs, the spark of excitement as streams approach convergence. Yes, I'm beginning to feel it; it's time to wake up.