crowings

It takes a certain determination to chase a feeling. It's not quite stubbornness, as stubbornness implies a constant rebuffing of failure, a blindsided demeanor beset upon a goal. Neither is it as a dream; a satyr's pursuit of a nymph supinely played out for the benefit of an unwatching flower, an inevitability that needs no invitation. Instead, chasing a feeling is like following a wispy tendril sent alight by a moth's wingflap, or a beating heart. Chase and you'll scare it off, linger and it will drift away. To keep with it you must follow it in its dance, let its evanescent motions become a senseless guide for your thoughts, render its phenomenal flight into your own experience. Take heart in a feeling and it will soon follow you.

It's hard to keep the right kinds of feelings with you - undetectable stirrings, spikes of dread, floods of joy and unsinkable maelstroms coming at you with their infinite retinue of guises, manifold gesticulations and often ineffable history. The heart is a canvas constantly washed over by these fleeting figuratives and so becomes its own landscape, complete with sinkholes and explosive eruptions, an ecosystem balanced precariously on a patchwork influx of desires and impulses. Not the easiest of territories to chart out or sink a foundation into, but one that offers the most promising and beautiful views imaginable.

I think that's what I meant to say.