And so it begins, as it so often does, begun long ago.
With the tone of a quest – an inception, a conflict, a cure. Anxieties of disillusionment and fear, inadequacy and doubt, peppering the path. But hopes too, and promise – what seem like successes or substance occur ascend along the way. Perhaps desire with approximations of love, and frustrations translated to passion or anger. Always there is grief and loss, what marks out time, and makes our days memorable. Why we attend at all, the keeping track and transformations, insistent process of our undoing.
For once arrived in the scene, what else is there but the variegated haul to a destined demise? Is it, then, always the “same ol’” fresh story? A posited entity, a series of markings – accruals and deletions – to the closure of cessation? What else might be told? To what purpose?
There are moments, you say, moments of pause or release, elation or tragedy that form knots in the threads. These might be dislocated to some profit, no? At least for the living?
Midstream, and in motion you might trace it, you say, inscribing what’s open, what opens…emergence itself. The clutter that punctuates being – its in-forming and injury?
Perhaps. To guide others along possible pitfalls or options; to preserve instants and subjects; to fuel or to warn. Perhaps. Or simply to dream, to escape the inevitable awhile – what’s wrong with that? That we in the glory and grind take a break, imagined or not, and drift or pursue, engage or elope to some alternate, parallel course?
What is: possible.
All of it is. The values are relative, individuated. Personal. There’s no accounting for taste or of preference to dwell. The matter hardly matters, after all, can be apparently “explained” (see also – epigenetics, chaos, theory and the like). How we journey or survive, become or desist is an isolate concern. Effecting all.
And there’s the rub, this sense of pattern, of system, of interconnectivity. The impression that all might belong. It won’t be long. Insufficient gravity and incommensurate propulsion. And so we move, arrange, derange, seeking for forms like the banks, or directions like currents. We flow. And it begins again, beginning within, as it always does, begun so long ago…