Why I Love The City
Inside, I often feel homeless.
I once had a vision about it on psychedelics. In the vision, I was a very old homeless woman huddled against the side of a building in the city. I had nothing to my name, just a cup with a few coins in it, which I treasured. At night I drew myself closer to the brick wall.
I tried to make my body as small as possible, wrapping myself in the clothes I had on my back as the winds blew around me. It started to rain. Then, one of the raindrops turned into a knife, aimed directly at my forehead. Right before it was about to stab me I woke up. That knife symbolized a traumatic event in my life, which I wrote about here (but trigger warning):
Why do I love the city if that’s how I feel sometimes?
Because in the city, everyone is equal. We all share the same street. Everyone is wandering, trying to navigate the busy streets and…
