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Some things you carry have no name. Not in the apps. Not in the DSM. Not in the sermons. Not in the books. You know what they feel like. No one else does.

We make names here. One at a time. For the weight that has been eating you, for the grief that does not move, for the loneliness that will not answer to any word you have been given.

The Garden is where the making happens. These dispatches are from there. Come in when you are ready. There is no hurry, and there is no pretending.