On Symbols

Symbols return with more consistency than people expect, and it is far stranger and more particular than a spirit animal on a vision board. Sometimes it's a creature — the kind that crosses your path three times in one week until it stops feeling like chance and starts feeling like correspondence. Sometimes it's a landscape you've never stood in and somehow ache for. Sometimes it's the same dream, gently rewritten each time it returns, as if it's still choosing its final words. Older cultures held this as fact long before psychology arrived to explain, slowly and at great expense, what a grandmother already knew by instinct. I don't decide what a symbol means. I simply notice which ones refuse to leave quietly.

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