Being Ourselves – an active ontology


an active ontology


            To be, so they tell me, at least mostly fluid.  How to be that, too, in the other kind of way?  Beyond “fact”?

Water (or blood), being good for that, because it can be inside and outside at once, leaving and filling a vessel.  That is, it can be spilling out while going in.

As if ‘the other kind of way’ were metaphor.  But it’s unlike.  In fact, for us, it’s exactly the same, just different.

Therefore, rigid as I might “seem,” this is not actual-factual, I am mostly liminal.

Which could (factually) explain the constancy of change, or, how we identify effects of wind, e.g. fluctuation; i.e. the rippling of emotions or mood.

My faith in these “facts” alters, like my beliefs about most everything else, including my self.

That would be “natural” then, if by “natural” we meant “according to widely accepted notions of facts.”  (For example.)

Be that as it may, I’ve heard talk about a collusion between professed “facts” and perpetually mystifying “reality” as some instance of joinder (called, perhaps “knowledge”? or “wisdom”? – an alignment of facts with reality – a “truth”?).  What some might describe “accord” or “harmony”?  A sort of “peace.”  Akin to the “angle of repose”?

Would that be being in multiple ways?  At once, of course.


To synthesize:  the purveyors of fact inform me that I am mostly fluid (even as my knee pops when I rise, and I’ve a hard time rotating my neck).  If, in fact, I am fluid (mostly) I am asking how it is that I am being fluid in another way (from another perspective, i.e. do humans multiply being?).


A viscous question.


“And how is the riddle of thinking to be solved? – Like that of flame?”

-Ludwig Wittgenstein-

            In other words.


Find a liquid view.  For instance – rolling in a bathtub or sharktank in heavy rain.  Feel water, see through watery eyes, taste saliva, breathe liquid in (mostly).  What else do you think you are?  Grab a bone, a lock of hair and some of your own flesh.  Hold.  If you’ve a mind or soul, thoughts or theories – liquefy them, put them through a juicer until they’re at least 70% fluid – pour them in.


What does he mean “the mind is the great slayer of the real” (Benjamin Lee Whorf)?

Or the poet – “there is nothing in life except what one thinks of it”… and “I am what is around me” (Wallace Stevens)?


So, mostly fluid, with watery eyes, drenched or submerged – logically, like a porpoise or whale – we would be bringing “fact” and our “reality” to a closer accord in the “actual.”  60-80% fluid inside, 60-80% immersed outside, working our imaginations and thoughts, self-perceptions and beliefs toward a more indivisible, continuous flow…

What sorts of things do we wring from such “harmony”?  “That reality is continuous, not separable, and unable to be objectified.  We cannot stand aside to see it” (Robert Creeley).  We cannot be submerged in water and watching ourselves swim at the same time, we would (presumably) have to exit the flow and look at a still or moving picture of ourselves (doubling time?) while “reality” and “facts” kept flowing, moving, going on (including the “unreal” activity of watching ourselves swim).

The trees blur into the sky as if they share a surface, as road to carlights, to earthen shoulder, grass, flower, again to tree: “reality is something transitory, it is flow, an eternal continuation without beginning or end; it is denied authentic conclusiveness and consequently lacks an essence as well…it is not evaluable” (Mikhail Bakhtin).  Abstracting and division put us in the realm of the unreal, while the activity (of abstracting and perceiving difference) is, in fact, really occurring.

Submerged, blurry, inseparable and flowing…constantly and continuously…

to be and not to Be…







and finally…to drown…dissolve…


N Filbert 2012

another one – why not keep ’em together?


I, for Instants, You


Where is the ode to distance?

How it tendrils to desire?

Oh yellow light expanding,

clear from here to there,

beyond mountains.

And both are in it.

There’s the rub.

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I, for Instants, You

I, for Instants, You


“Simply to name it is to con-

fuse it, altogether:

here now you

is a form you will not fill”

-Ron Loewinsohn-


“artists very often forget that their work holds the secret of true time:

not empty eternity but the life of the instant”

-Octavio Paz-


The children are reading Basho.

It was raining.

There’s a bright diamond

there where the legs in your jeans

come joined together

Is there a name for that small absence?

Where nothing blocks the light?


Where your flesh fuses together

Con-fused, seamlessly?


In this case, I am eye

For instants, and then you move.

The children still reading Basho.

(they “get” it)

Rain coming again

this time not from cloudy skies

but wind shaking trees