What are the small, enduring things?

Since my last blog post, I have: given birth to a child; fallen behind; confronted what was deeply hidden; surrendered to something unfathomable; shut myself into the home; found beauty and grounding in rawness, attention, care, and bewilderment; grieved, again and again, the loss of spaces, movements, smells, people, feelings, hopes and then narrower hopes; —

At the moment, everything feels overwhelmingly chaotic and disassociated at the same time. I often feel something like this, intensively, just before a panic attack (sometimes, if I am aware, I can tell it is about to happen); but this is more spread out, like webbed cotton. Likewise, I am casting a wide net into deeper and shallower waters, sending out this question without any kind of certainty of where or how it may linger, wander, settle, unsettle, break, dissolve—

Maybe I will mail out envelopes of tiny pinecones—