Knowing not Doing

January is a time for knowing, not for doing. Yes we must wade amongst the demands to pretend we’re full of the vigours of a (false) new year and fresh goals. But we are not those people, at heart. We are still and slow and careful in midwinter. 

I learnt last night in a witch’s coven that the word “priority” existed in singular form for most of its life - only the chaos of the modern working life forced it to pluralise. We cannot hold multiple priorities at once, the very notion is white capitalist cognitive dissonance in action. A bare-faced lie. 

I’m also learning this moon cycle that January is not a highly creative month for me, personally, alongside the tithes I pay to Capitalism. I’m likely to be in a CFS/LC flare up and my tithes are 30 hours a week to perform Work. Slogging that out in bed, I’m hugely comforted that at present I have this luxury / possibility. So many, too many, do not. I send so much love to the ones who need to nest and rest, and cannot. (Maybe the real meaning of luxury is possibility?)

Grateful too that I can afford to have supermarket food delivered to me, from a shop that meets my sensory and nutritional needs and whose workers are not kept to a hurried clock. As a solo living spoonie with medium-low support needs and no carer, these are not luxuries for me - but I know too that many people are denied access to food.

When I leave the Big Light off in the room I’m in, I start to fold into a burrow under blankets and cushions and pillows, entering Brambly Hedge. The white insta-fluencers are calling it BURROWCORE. I’m calling it indigineity.