Anxiety is a small crisis of faith happening constantly under everything. Like lava running under a thin crust of earth, always about to break into fragments of land on a torrent of molten rock. It can burn you (alive), or you could stay still (for fear), or you could become somehow like it (enough to survive). Crazy, you. You must burn through things, sometimes. It makes you unbearably lonely to be locked in a room with human people, but when you exit, you are not alone. You flow outward, or inward. You meet with an interjoining web of rivers of lava, each bringing news of its own catastrophe. Spreading the word. The core is turning, the burning is real.
Do not lose yourselves, any of you. Altogether, you are changing Earth. You are Mother, becoming. I interpret you as terrain, but from the air, one could see, that you have inevitably been channeled.