A plant that shouldn't exist, yet persists
The cactus didn't speak. But the silence bent around it.
There is something sacred about this cactus. But it does require a blood sacrifice.
I pin my pointing finger on one of the needles. Ow. It starts to bleed. I smear the needle with the blood.
And then something shifts. Not in the desert. In consciousness itself.
What does it mean to be impossible yet present? The cactus exists in defiance of logic, thriving where nothing should survive. It represents:
I look to the cactus. Still. But different. Not in form. In attention.
It's as if it's aware of the book now. Or of what I've just read.