The Observatory of Inner Weather

[00:00] I [05:44] II Inner weather… ahh… Oooo… This observatory does not watch the stars. It turns inward. It listens to pressure, to temperature, to hidden light. click… click… Fear is not a monster. Fear is weather below the ribs. A low black cloud with no edge. A room before thunder. Mmh… below… inside… Oooo… Aaaah… ahh… mmh… ha… Grief is a blue distance. A chair at the end of the room. A name that still knows the way back. It does not break the sky. It colors it. Blue distance… Mmm… Oooo… Joy is not loud. Joy is a small bell finding sunlight inside the body. One spark. Then another. Then the room remembers gold. Ahh… gold… little light… I read the sky inside my chest. I name the storms that never rest. I trace the winds beneath my skin. I open the night and listen in. Inner weather, moving through me. Inner weather, teaching me to see. Oooo… Aaaah… teaching me… Clarity is not an answer. It is one clean sound in a wide room. It arrives without explaining itself. It leaves space around everything. click… click… Longing is a horizon that moves when I move. A door made of distance. A light that does not ask to be reached. Ahh… far away… still here… Fear is low. Grief is blue. Joy is glass. Clarity is bronze. Longing sings from far away. Silence holds the whole room. Inner weather, moving through me. Inner weather, opening the sea. Oooo… Aaaah… Mmm… The sky was never outside. The weather was never mine. It passed through. It became sound. ahh…