Jun 29, 2025
When an octopus swims, its main heart—the one that feeds the rest of its body—stops beating.
It has three hearts: two for the gills, one for everything else. And that third one? It only works when the octopus is still. So when it moves too fast, when it escapes, when it surges through the water. It does so on borrowed rhythm.
That’s why they prefer to crawl.
They drag themselves across the ocean floor, not out of weakness, but because stillness is what keeps them alive. They feel more when they slow down. They survive longer when they don’t flee.
And that? That’s me. That’s us. That’s sacred.
Movement costs me something. Stillness restores my heart. And no one ever taught me that was okay. Until now.