Every time someone asks me what I’m doing with my life, it’s hard for me to respond. I feel like this book character from The Night Circus named Prospero the Enchanter. Retired from stage tricks that woo the masses, to complete seclusion, faking his own death so he could experiment with immortality in peace.
I’m here in the present, soaking up the sun and the sounds of birds and the smell of fresh brewed coffee, but I’m mainly existing in the metaphysical. Tweaking the codes of reality. Tinkering with the placebo effect. Rewriting the past and watching it change the future.
I came to the desert to set aside my fomo, to sit in my immortality, to dance with creation and time and resolution. In peace.
People ask me what I’ve been up to lately, and I tell them “reading and writing and stuff” but all I really want to say is, “concentrating.”