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food as a feeling

I have been shaped and formed by so many experiences there can be no other result than to be me. Life molds me again and again into myself. It kneads me like dough, turning me over between periods of rest: I rise, I fall, I am still always bread.


Lately I feel how my strength and light stands like a lighthouse amongst others. I have earned this joy. I can sweetly taste the harvest now and reap what I’ve sown. My sweat and tears and lemons turned into lemonade were always just a summer picnic. Now I savor the fruits of my labor, spread it like jam on toast and close my eyes while I tear off bite sized pieces.


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