sagan and rumi on the same shelf and it shouldn't feel like such a revelation but it does, like some kind of key i've been fumbling for, a feeling of... recognition? the universe whispering back that it's ALL connected, not in some new-agey platitude way, but in the literal everything-made-of-stardust kind of way and the warmth of the clay mug in my hands, how something so simple can hold such profound... well, not answers, but maybe better questions? feels like a truth trying to surface and the universe is giving you breadcrumbs, the library is a forest, and you just have to follow them to find the heart of it all or maybe it's not a heart, maybe it's just a different kind of question, an echo of a question across…everything, still i do feel like that question is getting closer to the surface as the spring air does, i am beginning to understand, to perhaps trust that this is an act of faith, this surrender to the static. this belief in beauty.