dear friends,
I tripped and fell during a morning run today, on the side of a busy road in Istanbul, during rush hour. I experienced the fall as if in slow motion, in chapters, as my body rearranged itself to try and prevent the collision, and failed.
by the time I was facedown on the ground, my first thought was: did any of these cars or people see me? how embarrassing. I got up as quickly as possible, and then my body tried to keep running. it took me a few seconds to realize there was blood on my elbows and knees, and that I was in pain. I turned around. I walked home.
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it was the first time I fell in Istanbul. before this, I fell once, in 2022, while getting out of the shower, in winter. I fell three times when I lived in Berlin — twice slipping on ice while walking at night by the Spree, and once from a bike, in a lush, green summer. ten years ago, I fell while on lunch break from my day job in Manhattan, on the corner of Lafayette and Grand St. a guy across the street shouted at me and said he caught it on video and would post it to Youtube, then tried to soften it by calling it a swan dive.
after each fall, my body’s instinct was to get up as quickly as possible, and to pretend that it didn’t happen, no matter how much it hurt. we will keep moving. falling is like having a secret with the world. no, you never saw me horizontal on the pavement, my body victim to its own physics. and maybe I’d like to stay horizontal for a bit longer, but the ground is dirty, and admitting weakness in public felt terribly unsafe — it would attract only danger, or pity, or disdain.
*
this is the opposite of how I feel in the digital world. here, if I fall, the work is to stay present. to not ghost myself, but to cushion myself with imaginary cloud pillows. the physical world has hard limits, but the digital world is amorphously cocooning. or, it can be.
I am thinking about falling, because I am thinking about where it is that we seek and find safety — in motion, and in stillness. when overwhelmed, I’ll freeze. but when angry, I’ll run. when something hard happens, what is the immediate care that I can give myself? what stillness or motion do I need to feel safe? I think the answer changes every hour, if not every fifteen minutes.
this morning, after falling, my body felt like paper origami. I could still feel the jaggedness of the sidewalk; I walked as if tripping over stairs, even as my feet were slow and steady. with a passing car, I could imagine their sudden impact on my body, the taste of metal and blood in my mouth. I felt like the wind could blow me away, now, any moment. it made me feel very mortal. and that was okay.
~
clarity is a bird i follow home
I’m resuming my podcast with a series on uncertainty, in celebration of my new seasonal community, labyrinth library. we’ll start with the star of the show, the one and only thing we all want — clarity.
clarity is a bird I follow home — kening zhu
on being in fluid conversation with your clarity
zone of the creative promise - libra II
on creative work as a promise to myself, and creating sacred zones for devotion
initiation of the artist warrior monk - libra I
the artist as warrior and monk, wielding two swords in meditation and power.
initiation of the artist warrior monk, libra I — kening zhu
symbolism of sword, moon, blindfold
psychological prison time
an animated inner world diary from an emotionally extreme day
psychological prison time — kening zhu
trapped in solitary confinement
making a zine for the UN — process notes
process notes, and reflections on visibility, artist, institution
making a zine for the UN — kening zhu
on visibility, artist, institution
🔮 CURATIONS FROM THE ARCHIVES
this week’s curations are themed around how the body wants to move, in space.
rituals vs. sprints
working with energy — thinking in terms of projects vs. practice (2024)
rituals vs. sprints: working with creative energy — kening zhu
tending to a garden vs. riding energy waves
ways of falling
falling into person, place, self (2020)
ways of falling — kening zhu
on falling into a place, a person -- or into yourself
2018: a year falling off axis
my voice from 7 (!) years ago… (2018)
2018: a year falling off-axis — kening zhu
lessons I learned from a year feeling uncentered, and how i’m finding strength for 2019
the body remembers how to center
a reminder that your body is the one that does the work first (2020)
the body remembers how to center — kening zhu
on embodied knowing
🌊 NOTES & MISC. THINGS
I’m in week 3 of Labyrinth Library with the most magical, inspiring group of beings as we navigate our practice/projects in a 10 day trek challenge, with daily check-ins and gentle accountability. given my hermit work style, I’ve been hesitant to start a community for many years, but Labyrinth might be one of my favorite things ever (and yes, I know I say that about every new container I create, but this time it’s extra true). it’s transformed how I work and teach, and has kept me grounded, soft, and inspired. If you’re interested in joining next season, you can write your name here.
I’ve started to watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and was shocked at how much I loved it, in spite of the fluroescent lighting. when it comes to TV, I normally refer dark murder mysteries.
yesterday I spent all afternoon in Turkish rug shops, practiced my haggling skills, and did not feel like a sacrifical lamb, or like a fly wrapped in sticky spider’s web. I count my four years here a success.
I’ve started dreaming of the next course I’m teaching, planned for early 2026, which will be about business, abundance, and money — through the lens of energetic reciprocity and deep, creative channeling. more on this very soon.
————
thank you for reading.
until scorpio season, take care.
🪼
kening
❄️ join the winter season of labyrinth library
🍃 podcast: botanical studies of internet magic
🏔️ courses: house on the webs | creative systems | sharing space camp
🪷 work with me 1:1 in liminal leap, or intensive sessions
🌔 otherworldly: a web alchemy studio
💧 send me a gift: water my world