entry twenty one — scattered light, fractured grace: a quiet archive of light, loss, and what remains.
Sometimes it feels like there is a different, almost literal space between seconds. A pause the world does not announce.
There is intimacy in those spaces. Love. Beauty. A kind of quiet permission.
There is me, and the moon, and what I remember without remembering. Something about home. Something about spirit. Something about soul.
In those spaces, which turn into a place, then into awareness, then into something conscious without warning, I find myself again. Not arriving. Not searching. Just remembering how to be.
It feels like standing in a doorway I have crossed a thousand times but cannot name. Familiar without history. Known without proof.
And always, even when I wish it were not so, there she is too.
There are all of them. The pieces of my life that have already returned to Source, leaving me here to feel them but never hold them, to love without helping, to remember without any hope of their human realities returning.
Home, not as a location, but as a frequency. And for a moment, I am inside it.
catacosmosis // 2026
catacosmosis 