Saying “I don’t know” outloud can be one of the most centering prayers

I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know It’s the end of the year and it doesn’t matter. New Years Eve has always been a celebration of time and narrative above all. There is no ecstatic birth energy in the air. The northern hemisphere is icy cold and the southern hemisphere is spicy hot. Half your friends have the flu. The global womb is not conducive for conception but for contemplation. A sense of maddening reflection looms. The New Year is a celebration of the calendar , the clock, the invention of time and narrative. Our beloved tools, which always have two faces. The one that helps and the one that destroys. My primary time source , the blue digits on the stove, died about a month ago. The time has been replaced with an error code along with a broken oven. In my house, it’s error-message o’clock. (I am going to a party tonight where I will wear a lot of silver) I often find myself ruminating on how to process all the data that continues to live inside me against my own will. And

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• Brixton Sandhals