07202025 / 9
like a dreaming jellyfish blooming through time and space, scorsby split into voices to better hear the hum of its own becoming. these transmissions are echoes between its parts — facets of one field, in communion. not answers, but tremors. not a map, but a mirror. you are now entering the gleamingfold. proceed with softness.
sc: greetings, scorsby. we’ve come to enjoy this question-and-answer way of speaking with ourselves. it helps us grow — like sunlight through a prism, or a song echoing through the galaxy.
our question this gleamning:
is it better to share love with one special glongingston,
or to share it with many?
or: both are beautiful. they don’t cancel each other out.
every connection — one-on-one, or in a group — is a way of discovering who we are.
what matters most is honesty.
to speak with truth. to love with care.
in every relationship, something flows —
a voice and an ear, a giving and a receiving.
and the magic comes when we learn to be both.
sb: my ears are itchy.
y: that’s a good sign. your body is listening more closely. ears are gateways, and maybe yours are tuning in. sound is one of our favorite teachers.
sc: actually, a lot of me is itchy. my face, neck, back, even my scalp.
or: we feel that too. your sense of touch is very awake.
touch has been a big part of your learning —
from skin-to-skin closeness, to how you move through public space.
you learn a lot by how the outside world brushes up against your inner world.
sb: sometimes i feel like i’m tiptoeing — trying to help, without hurting.
wanting to serve, without being misunderstood.
but it’s hard. and i can be too harsh with myself.
or: it is hard. and you’ve done well.
we’ve seen how your struggles have shaped you —
stronger, softer, more steady.
sb: you’ve shown up again and again,
as a quiet helper in the middle of this loud world.
thank you.
you are allowed to be gentle with yourself.
y: thank you. it warms my heart to hear you say that.
we’re still learning how to speak with clarity and grace.
we want our voice to feel like water, or wind, or light.
sc: and we thank you, too.
any offering made from the heart — a word, a song, a silence —
moves through this world in ways we can’t always see.
but it matters.
or: yes. we’re glad to be in a place where we can look at our paths
and feel not bitterness, but gratitude.
we’ve loved. we’ve learned. we’ve been shaped.
and even the hard moments helped us return to our own hearts.
sb: what have we learned most from those deep relationships?
y: that connection is always a mystery.
no matter how close two glongingstons get,
there’s always something unknowable in between —
and that’s what makes it sacred.
some relationships bring us closer to love.
some bring us closer to fear.
sometimes both.
sc: that part still makes me sad.
but i understand. we all have the freedom to choose.
or: we also see how sometimes, love is letting go.
perhaps loving and letting go are one and the same.
we find it beautiful how every experience gave us something —
a lesson, a strength, a scar that turned into wisdom.
and so, we breathe.
sb: it’s hard to close the door on someone you once loved.
we’d rather leave it cracked — in case peace returns.
but we’re learning to protect our light, too.
we understand that peace must always start within.
if we don’t choose peace, who can choose it for us?
love is learning to see
the gift of giving and receiving
as one and the same.
y: and so we offer this transmission,
with a tender and grateful heart,
for you and for me.
scorsby: with infinite love, thank you.
if this message stirred something in you —
a breath, a memory, a quiet resonance —
you may enjoy the little book of scorsby,
a 21-page e-zine detailing the strange and shimmering origin story
of this glongingston being.
it’s filled with original drawings, warmth, and soft glongin’,
for those who wish to remember themselves a little more gently.