anothersesoteria

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I’m having fun with my newsletter, November is the 3rd month of doing it. if you want to sign up to get a newsletter with journal prompts, book recs, intuitive messages, a playlist & more each month you can sign up here! it’s been such a lovely thing to commit to creating for people. 🫶

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Microdosing on a true experience of beauty by living a single human life from beginning to end

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Int: What are you now? Baldwin: I’m trying to become a human being. Int: And when does one know when one’s reached that stage? Baldwin: I don’t think you ever do. You work at it, you know. You take it as it comes. You try not to tell too many lies. You try to love other people and hope that you’ll be loved.

— James Baldwin, from an interview featured in Conversations with James Baldwin

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sometimes I miss god. do you know what I mean?

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Kim Addonizio, “The Singing”, Tell Me

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Clarice Lispector, A Breath of Life

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from Virginia Woolf’s diaries, February 27th, 1926

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My mom passed away two months ago. We were all with her. The grief feels different every day and I have no idea how to explain it or convey it through any form of communication or medium. How do you explain love and terror and ache and shifting hope? I feel so lost.

I am so deeply sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how you must be feeling. I have always had a hard time explaining what comes with grief. I don't think most of us know how to talk about it or feel it all the way or ask for what we may need during it. I had my own meeting with grief a few months back and I had a hard time sitting with it. I had a hard time feeling it while still needing to go to work and celebrate things and live my full life. It was hard to make time to get to know it, hard to let it come up and make me feel when it wanted to. So I took out my journal one day and I imagined that grief had a physical form and it came into my home to have a conversation. I wrote it all out as I felt it, as I imagined it would be. Grief took its time sitting next to me. We sat on the couch together. It was quiet, and it respected me. I think it loved me, too. It wasn't mean. Just heavy. It appeared to me in the shape of a person, but it was a dark endless pool of water. I looked into it and saw a deep blue forever. I tried to write out what we would say to each other. I expressed my pain, my anger, asked my questions to it. But it didn't say anything back. It didn't have anything to say. But it was compassionate in its silence. It seemed patient. I don't think much was said on my part either, because what is there to say to grief? The deepest silent feeling. I still don't know how to explain any of it. The bubbling up of love that comes with grief. The intense need to touch something that you can't touch again. The everything that comes with it. Someone once said grief is love in a heavy coat. I don't know who said it but they were right. I'm sorry for the heavy coat you have to wear. I hope you may find the words, at least some of them. <3

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Evening: to walk into my house is to walk into dawn, into color, into music, into perfume, into magic, into harmony.

Anaïs Nin, from a diary entry featured in The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. III: 1939-1944

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i'm in the prime of my life (the eternal present)

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by Burçin Esin

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Garlic 2 (Stone sculpture), Mary Eiland

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“Healing Grotto” by Cindy Baedman

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Anne Carson, from H of H Playbook

[Text ID: Hello dusk! // Why is light emotional?]

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51 Small Chamsas