Re-searching: Hope Questions

skeleton at desk

I archive.

– Edouard Leve –

At some point in the future this will be very important to someone: that I wrote.  Will be significant.  To someone.  That I disciplined my “self” determinedly, conspicuously to experience; to experience experience.  That I asked questions of as much as I could, and as many, and then held on to each question in a kind of world’s-largest-ball-of-twine or world’s-largest-bundle-of-wire or inter-cranial-neuronal-tangle, or… that each little curiosity that cropped up as I “came up against”, each discomfort, each discomfiting sensation, I translated – and when I rendered it, became something different, something new in the world (even though agelessly repetitious) and that new thing was another questioning animal – and those questions disappeared into the world’s-largest-body-of-water – doubt – oceans and underground marshes, or, in actual everyday life, simply a “questioning spirit,” an “inquiring mind,” a “researcher” (to search again) – a human that keeps turning round and around observing things, seeking, searching, asking, in other words, I feel like it will be important – to some other existent thing/individual/organism/ being – that I quizzed and catechized (and that, mostly genuinely, compunctionally) whatever discomposing-affective-awareness-alert occurred for me (thereafter losing them all, after their fashion, in the generalized posture or aspect of querying) followed it in accord with its continuance of interest and then released, lost, offered it to a larger sign:

question mark

Someday it will matter that every little thing, moment, perception (i.e. “experience”) that I noticed, felt, underwent – was aware of becoming-encountering – I interrogated, I archived, I disoriented, mislaid, lost track of in some larger point-of-view, mien or cast: I had reservations, I chronicled, I forgot.  And inscribed.  Addressed and assigned in whatever way I was capable of.  Marked and then faded, cancelled by the mere activity of demarcating.

Translating manifestations and intimations into gestures and cues delimited and distinguished (de-scribed) the perturbation and disconcertment into ambiguous and indeterminate denotations…opaque obfuscations or auguries that bore little substance or portent.

My questioning, rather than resulting in poignant prognostications or revealing adumbrations simply fed the murky mass of life’s analysis – a scrupulous and turbid scrutiny.

I beggared the question and then repented.  Metanoia.  I aimed and turned, aimed and swerved, and turned again.

When the engagement perturbed, I transliterated, diverted, and sacrificed it to a chaotic deity … discovering … language.

 

 

 

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8 thoughts on “Re-searching: Hope Questions

  1. Between certain lines that train of thought rocks us rhythmically to an uncertain, certain end. End of the line.Terminus.Drawing, withdrawing maps. Sojourn, journal, journey.

  2. tocksin

    I could imagine that my written voice is like yours in that we don’t stray too far, we wear our thoughts on our sleeves so to speak and yours loop back onto themselves before morphing off into untold tangents. I think our fault is that we are poets wanting so bad to write prose. Listen to me ramble, take no heed.

  3. You may very well be right about that – we do seem to seek the unsayable and riddle around the core. Good to hear from you – thanks for commenting!

"A word is a bridge thrown between myself and an other - a territory shared by both" - M. Bakhtin

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