it's still the time for clearing, though the first thing is clearing the pressure that may have built up with the dust. and there's time, there's still time while there's life. life is indeed time until you die, then there's no time, but then you're free of time, if you are essentially a soul in a body, and i'm sure you are even though you often doubt. i'm not trying to not feel down, honestly. and reading the poems of alberto caeiro is helping. i'm sitting by the window in the blue swivel chair. my friend jasper, the white cat, is laying on r.'s soft t-shirts in a nest with her warming scent. we've made a beginning of clearing, and not an end.