Dream of a frisbee criss-crossing the street. My I Ching readings, all about the spring, tell me to keep working, to stay on the path of gentleness and innocence. To remain blameless. I am doing this for myself. No one else. The transformed hexagram is often two, the Receptive, which until the final line resolves may be twenty-three, Splitting Apart. I write a gentle message in the book on my kitchen table and a friend messages me to tell me that she has had champagne and that she greatly appreciates my friendship. It feels like something is turning and I need to keep turning it. There is no rest—my mistake in the past, to think that once something has been achieved there is rest. I am working for myself. The I Ching advises this—there are times of recovery but there is not rest. Somehow everything seems like a dream, even a pleasant one. Didn’t I dream it all, long ago? As I am running someone shouts after me—but I am wearing headphones and realize only halfway down the street. I don’t wish to turn around, don’t know who shouted. Imagine myself in their eyes, running into the dark. 

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