What have you locked away? What have you stolen from yourself and hidden so that you wouldn’t long for anything wild, anything unknowable from the safety of the shore?
What do you know and what have you always wanted without explanation? It’s there– very close. Waiting for you to breathe air into its lungs. Waiting for you to run into the water and swim down, down, down without worrying about how you’ll get back to the surface.
You know what you know.
You don’t have to “show your work.” Plants don’t show their roots, and the ocean keeps her creatures below the horizon line.
You don’t have to explain anything to anybody– not even yourself.
Explanation and Story are not Proof. They are vehicles for Knowing– viewfinders that create a frame, a beginning, middle, and end. But they aren’t the Knowing.
What do you Know? What do you already know? What have you always known?
Open the locked box, lift that Truth out, and slip it on.
See how it fits, perfectly.