Discover more from Love Letter Day X
au fur et à mesure
So little language of measure makes obvious sense. What appears to be science still requires a narrative interpretation. Otherwise there’s confusion around the different standards—temperature, distance, volume. There’s an etymology to numbers. Why is 80 “four twenties” in French and why is 60 “three twenties” in Danish? Why do Asians measure against tens of thousands instead of thousands? Why are seconds in a minute named by clerical order? Why is it Herz if there are so many we refer to them as Mega?
I’m not actually asking for the answers. I know there are answers. My point is that I am in the node of quantum reality and you enumerate me won’t matter soon. I am the number zero.
A friend taught me a simple meditation activity knowing I don’t (can’t bring myself to) meditate. The exercise is: breathe in for four counts and out for four counts, only counting numbers and thinking of nothing else but the numbers. Add two numbers to your cycle if you can manage to focus on just the numbers. Keep adding numbers. Go back to a 4-count if you find your thoughts getting swayed.
I’d lately found my blood pressure skyrocketing so I tried some breathing exercises on top of seeing my doctor and getting proper help, of course.
I couldn’t get to four. I couldn’t get to four without thinking of me. I couldn’t get to four without thinking of you. I couldn’t get to four without thinking of them. I couldn’t get to four without betraying my breath and I couldn’t get to four without introducing a simultaneous rhythm of nine, six, five. I start marching on one, with my left foot, with my right hand, leaning back to suggest a trust fall. I am breathless with measure.