And new beginnings are set on the horizon, waiting to dance like the siluettes of trees, like ducks, one after the other. After a day of not saying a word I fill my ears with plastic pieces that utter comforting noises. Walking, breathing, reading, I ponder on my productivity. Coming here to dive deep, to write letters to all of you that I hold so dear, and to work through it all, to see what happens. And I get scared the moment I am the executer, the moment something is known, the moment it loses its magic. I stop. Breathe, walk, do. Reminding myself of who I am, of becoming, returning to the balanced I. How awkward to be in the same space as others without communicating. Going into the wild, is what I do art? Is my search to discover who I am an artistic practice? Auto-ethnography. New Materialism. Discovering over and over the same patterns when drawing. Primordial waves or imprints that come out slowly if I wouldn’t always put them off as doodles. And how belonging gets me excited like a child that has just been praised for good behaviour. Shadow work. That’s next. But if I don’t dream. Will it work then. It’s 10:30 in the evening and I just set an alarm for 7:30 in the morning. At 8:00 is mediation time. Meditation time. Calm down. There is no need to compare yourself. We are all agents with different missions. And will she always be my shadow? Will we always be split by food, material, spirit, mind and culture… there was one more. I should not forget to simply ask, what would she do? My dear sidekick. And then there is her. She is a victim and wants to be saved. And then there is her who constantly tries to solve some assignments both in life and work, blind of her shadow, or so it seems. Being told what to do frustrates me. Having to adhere to rules or arrangements makes me anxious. What is contained in the rule and what lies outside of it? What is a silent day? What is allowed within its boundaries? I feel like I can so easily make a mistake and then be punished for it. Or rather expelled. All the new encounters and how they manifest. Some are locked into familiar joined experiences and probably will struggle becoming more than that, others, and I am grateful are based so it seems in some sort of lighter, more humorous understanding of simply liking one another. I am reminded of what Tanja said, of me being an adrenaline junkie… the first few days were full of it and I felt alive…and now slowly the days start settling and routine kicks in… the realisation that things are what they are… non-commitment, being unreliable, making big promises but unable to deliver, being good at presenting but lacking execution… probably another shadow side of mine… Or an insecurity. Am I prude? And my inner critic reminds me of my arrogance and self-importance. And the monkey mind. And how the long walk today was great. 7km or something I remember her saying last time. And how sensitivity is really a thing. And I’m in bed, under the top layer blanket which is grey and looks like the sort you would give to dogs to sleep on. It is now quarter past eleven and I’m almost at the end of the playlist. And I hear the heater click, I want to laugh as I expect it to burst into flames at any second, it has been heating for almost four days straight. Do I get pleasure out of destruction? Of forming or moulding, of forcing or doing something to something or someone? That’s my shadow I think. Because trusting the mystery, the not knowing, the unknown is scary but natural, even though I lock myself between my thoughts and first have to fight through layers and days of anxiety to come loose again. I work and work and then stop once I discovered a conclusion. Commitment-anxiety. The fear of owning my works. Of taking responsibility. But are they truly mine? And let’s end with the River Man, and other metaphorical characters that make up our psyche. And my resistance to having to believe it somehow, even though I know it feels true. Stupid ego, you, don’t be so cruel.