FullMoon Archive: 七月滿月：裂開 July: Crack
12:54 AM @ Zürich
正好呼應了最近的感受。
在歐洲，親身感受到極端氣候帶來的熱浪。乾燥的空氣讓土地失去水分，彷彿下一刻就要龜裂；也看見德國街道上一道道被修補過的裂痕，提醒著人們，所有完整，都曾經歷過破碎。
或許，裂開，本就是一種需要呼吸的徵兆。
當壓力累積到某個臨界點，裂縫便無可避免地出現。而裂縫之後的修補，也從來不是回到過去，而是在傷痕之上，重新找到新的平衡。
新生萬物，都在學著適應新的裂縫；而裂縫，也往往成為新生命開始的入口。
原來，真正的修復，不是讓一切恢復原樣，而是帶著裂痕，繼續生長。
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1:52 PM. NSW, Australia
What is my trace? The ideas, thoughts, practice I share when I land
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10:43 PM Taipei
Fragment
so we head on to now here
Fractures
After putting altogether it’s still in the shape of wholeness.
Cracks became the marks of life.
As in shape of heart
Of why we’re here. *Listen to Recording for Crack
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10:21 AM Taipei
You have to crack your heart open to show him across the ocean and then watch it slowly shatter.
You have to piece it back together. In the wood, under the sun, between the concrete, with the moonlight.
You have to let it break and crash again at the hospital and then every single day, forever.
You have to live with that crack in your understanding, honest and full of love.
You have to allow light into the gaps.
You have to allow energy out.
You have to keep flying, making, connecting and finding your truth.
You have to accept that half of you has never been, and will never be, anyone else’s.
Crack after crack, only then are you complete.
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高雄
持續性的無力感充斥生活，以低耗能的姿態維持日常。
睡覺、喝水、吃飯、低度工作⋯⋯尋光與海洋。
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23:00 Hong Kong
In the crack of time, I entered. With a moment of quietness, I stood in the 23rd-floor room of a small hotel that fits three, a shoebox with a floor-to-ceiling window, on the land where I was born, raised, and left.
Everything appeared so small, roads folded into lines, B-buildings into surfaces. People into movements almost too distant to recognise.
The city that once filled the scale of my childhood now fits within a panel of windows, like a wall and also like an illusion of border. Perhaps distance does not only separate. It also creates another way of seeing. Returning has never been the opposite of leaving.
Each return reveals another distance that did not exist before. The place has moved. I have moved. We no longer meet where we once did.
Standing before the window at night, I looked toward the moon. The glass answered first...
My own reflection floated over the city, and the moon appeared only through it. I could not see one without the other. My birthplace and the person returning to it occupied the same surface, never fully touching, never completely separate.
Perhaps belonging is like that.
Not a place waiting to receive us.
Not an identity we come to recover.
But a continual negotiation across a crack where memory, distance, and the present keep adjusting to one another without ever settling into a single image.
