April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47311/the-waste-land

“memory and desire, stirring“ hit the sentiments of the presence.

i have found that i have been diluting my senses. the world is a sensorial experience. when you are alone, it becomes even more so because it is just you and your five senses experiencing stimuli. 

there is so much i do that dilutes. sometimes the dilution is necessary. for the majority of my trip, i have felt immense pain. it is necessary to feel

“The colours of Christmas have been exterminated and New Year resolutions are seeping away in to grey and hopeless damp. No colour anywhere. Then to the sound of trumpets in thrusts March. Triumphant. Purple fields, the trees still black and naked, the green shoots of life piercing and rising-up through the earth. It is sexy, this surge of sap.

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know

what despair is; then

winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,

earth suppressing me. I didn't expect

to waken again, to feel

in damp earth my body

able to respond again, remembering

after so long how to open again

in the cold light

of earliest spring—

afraid, yes, but among you again

crying