There is a state of mind I dream in.

It is quite scary to know the physical-status quo world, just does not fascinate me. Just maybe might I not be scared of the world as I thought I was, just maybe had I unwillingly confirmed myself in a position of discomfort in this world.

When the thousands of individuals are all worked out, travelling home from slave jobs to catch-up on shows and are to digitize their progress - I want to take walks. I want to converse meaningfully. I want to read and listen to people sing their truths and cry on their flaws.

In this state of mind I am seated amongst writer friends who do not mediate, or mend and fix but listen and inspire. Altogether we silently rage about issues but fence strong mindful communities.
In this state of mind, I do not hear the phone. I do not hear the commercialised tone of the TV. The wind blows into my room, creating for a Celine Dion music video.

The crackle of the stove and the hardware mashing vegetables work all together, picked and washed from my garden. Weekday evenings are filled with essay writing and experimental paint flooding a corner of my room experiencing the heartbreak that I am having with myself. Weekends are filled with dining experiences with candle lit tables, home cooked food and creative idea-sharing conversations.

In this state of mind, my sensitivities are embedded in my hair texture and the color of my outfit motivating for my creative process. And who understand this, but not because their obliged rather for they own theirs too.

Hand-letters are written, embellishing in their curves and poetry is found in their spacing. I want to smell the sincerity in the letter whilst paying homage to the tree that had forfeited its lungs so you and I could write conversations. Where we walk and not talk but converse with family, and friends - and their friends too.

Where dialogue is not made by automated likes, retweets and emojis. But is rather filled with empathy and energy. And in this state of mind chills are familiar and wanted, always, but never grow tire.

The physical world kills my sensitivity. These trends, loudness and objectification of human societies stir my soul from my inner peace. And they keep me locked in and these spaces I dream of this particular state of mind.