Today I plant onions and garlic. It is a sign that my sickness is passing. Each morning it takes all to align reality with dreams, to find something of the dream in that which I want to walk away from.
Love is the answer.
If I cannot have a job in which I can communicate about the writings of Carson Mc Cullors and Luce Irigaray, then I will work at distilling the essence of all I have learnt from their works. I will serve it up to the children as a potent dish. I will offer them a stripped back branch budding through me in the way I walk, or look, or talk to them about hay.