cosmic claws of predestination

In the beginning, there was the word beside me. And that word became mess—or rather an organized chaos—that only I can crack open with my fingers, eyes, but mostly with a heart and mind that bathe in the tear-soaked blood of my aching—not just wounded but battered—body.

This body was once small, then it grew, and in growing, it made mistakes it now wants to scrape off with a Swiss army knife.

But what if the body needed those mistakes? The need for error became key to surviving a life that only gives. It takes nothing, really nothing.

That life is still taking shape. I don’t know if you want to shape it yourself or let it flow freely through the tiny people who move every cell of your body.

Imagine it like this: we too are tiny people moving cells. Some of us are bigger, some smaller. But every tiny gesture is like a single loop of yarn wrapping around a ball. Until the ball becomes a globe, spinning still, a favorite toy of a cosmic cat.

The cat plays with your feelings and you tell her: stop squezzing me so much.

You’re all creased by the black fingerprints of expectations the world has slapped onto you. You shine like coal, not even sure if you can be cleaned.

Do you really want to be written by other people’s mouths? A pen could do a better job consulting who you are than their cracked lips sipping coffee brewed from horror at you not being who they want.

And what do you want to be? Wait—should that even bother you? No. But it does.

It bothers you that the tall tiny people don’t light up their cigarette and relax at the thought of you and your grand yet hollowed-out spirit spills.

Who are you when no one’s looking?

But what if someone is?

They’re not!

But what if?

What if someone sees you and already forms a judgment, a weird sensation in their gut?

Do you care more about those pathetic stomach twists than your own honest wakefulness and being?

But honesty is only achieved if someone can look at it and say, “Yes, that’s it. That’s how it should be. That’s how we imagined her in the ball of yarn and prepared her for this world.”

Breaking out of the loop is hard. It was hard. And it will undeniably stay hard—unless you really think it through. So let’s go!

Your next deep cosmic prompt is this:

How do you break free from (not so) honest looks of alienation and the galactic cat’s claws of predestination?

Because even a miniature human like you can create something gigantic—

Even if it ends up sitting in a dusty corner, far away from the eyes of tall, smoky speculators.