Epiphany Stiffness

Uprising, Photo by BradensEye featuring a Fairmont’s sweet Frenchie swells

Baptizing in balancing. You can bake a rock or melt-in-the-mouth cuisine. As with bread-making minutiae and all preeminent tasks of fermenting alertness, we must knead the subject well in order to emote its nimble brilliance. I figure that federal holidays are a mighty fine spotlight for reminding all global souls about their basis for ease. Although, I’m hopefully one of the few who’s tuning online for my fifteen minutes or so tap-in, compared to an abundance of you whom I thoughtfully envision embroiled in roasting upon relaxation’s lap. Long before America needed a reason to announce a Labor Day, everyone, maybe especially our cave sisters and brothers very laborious survivalists workers, deserved the lengths of justice’s dutiful repose anyway. A common sense that didn’t require legal rights. That showcase of knowing that where we struggle is what we’re called to heal. Breaching our epiphany stiffness breathes benevolence.

Because the things you’re scared of are usually the most worthwhile. ~Anna Foster by Mandy Moore, Chasing Liberty

Polluted distress is a rudimentary hot mess! We’re percolating in this age of unprecedented absorption. Swollen planets make for bloated beings. The infernal hurts at Big Mama’s core are screwing with our individual nuclei. Rather than reaping leisure or a cultured sophistication of ingenious creativity, we’re inventing a deeper physiology of banging our heads to hearts to despair. We’re forgetting to exfoliate, strapping on all the turbulence. Your refusal to reform shall eternally be a governing defense to spur a recouping of your highest conveniences. Our apprehension to have the bare conversation, book the faraway trip, lace ourselves to the prospect of inflating a self-belief that we may ditch the formal corporate walls in exchange for encounters of the freelance kind, or finally shake that Etsy-esque side-hustle out of us onto internet fame occur as tidy, if but trying, triumphant-vying quirks. To look on life as yielding, I think we team up with what verges us closer to resting in ethos.

Oh, the ways of unwinding our hauntings. Where doth your decay lay mumbling with mildew and salting your wounds? Possessed by an ignorance of failing to release from our personal harms, we remain arm-in-arm with a stagnation of senses. Our panics regarding moving on pertaining to clearing our spaces of perishable…