Our conscious is yelling and grasping to define existence through religion, violence, stereotypes, gender roles, and a cascade of isms. We long to fit into a space that explains away the ambiguity of being human. But this dream-state is constantly shattered by a gentle tap from an unruly subconscious that whispers tales of our collective discomfort and points to the growing list of undefined emotions carefully kept away, neatly tucked under the pillow.
I used to think that my own biology served as a map good enough to define the next steps in my life. Having always been stubborn about religion, this felt like a good replacement. A law bigger and older and truer than anything I could argue against. For example, my biology (a woman's biology) demands blood. Literally and inevitably. This physical reality along with various emotional layers connects me through deep velvet (A term I read somewhere to describe vaginas that always stuck with me) and vibing on that same femme frequency. I systematically and consciously drew other conclusions from this logic: I have a uterus therefore I must birth. I have a pretty smile therefore I must smile, and so on. But soon the gentle tapping returns, taking my attention and the safety of my rules with it. Turns out this law isn't final, or even necessary. And what is real, or true are concepts constantly bending and proving the depth of a mystery we cant access. A paradox, strong enough to pull me out of yet another box.
With gentle lips the truth repeated like kisses: entropy, entropy, entropy.