I don’t know if this is true, but it sounded cool.

The thought of my writing comforting me.

Soothing me.

Healing me.

And by doing that, healing you.

Us.

This.

The world.

The whole damn thing.

Coming from the realization that all of this IS really one, indivisible, happening, it makes sense that little fluctuations somewhere, will matter everywhere (even though there aren’t really somewheres and everywheres).

Of course you can also say that none of this even needs healing.

That it’s already perfect, perfectly perfect in ways we can never see.

It probably is.

But the ‘writing and healing’-thing just sounded cool.

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(Photo by @eliapelle, for Unsplash)