I frequently find these types of chairs in lawns, not so far removed physically from where they first were (in my grandparents' old home, this was a shower chair), but in a completely different universe contextually, symbolically, spiritually.

The lawn instead of the bathroom. Absence instead of presence. Actual death (a missing-ness) as opposed to holding on (a sign of life, clinging). Every time, the chair gets pulled out onto the lawn, for longer and longer periods of time.

Core beliefs are always a question, always under investigation: you take in your influences and strive to Be. Then feelings fall in the road like trees, struck by lightning events.

There is a shape, and some portion of it is shaded with the color of your conclusions. The other portion is filled in by the present moment. This isn't even a spectrum, but a two-tone blob that mixes. I wouldn't call it a balancing act either, because there is no agency in melding or keeping the two in proportion.

When I was younger, I railed against mourning death. It should be anti-severe; it should be a celebration, yes. Grief felt self-serving. I don't dare deny the empirics of emotion, but I do think about what we do and what happens in relation to all the doings and happenings that co-appear. This frequently has me actively seeking out ways to bruise ego.

We've been talking a lot about sufferers this week, @io and I, @salief and I. Many times, I've been eager to be knocked down a peg. That jealousy brewing? That envy? This is a me problem. I'm feeling this because I haven't prepared myself for what the world was going to bring, even though I studied it, could have predicted it, hell, probably even asked for it outright in some dream or morning rant.

This is truest when it comes to relationships. The ego never stops being bruised. You might hope for some callous to form, but thank god it doesn't.