Taken with a feeling of grandeur: a premonitory greatness arising with convergence. There are uncertainty principles and the bafflings of mathematics as one ranges across scales. Relationships over time and fictional emissions, philosophies, transpositions of experience…and sometimes, somehow, they inextricably and irreducibly link up, reciprocally foster…and generate moments of novelty. Perhaps this is indicated with the term emergence. There is music, too, and emotion.
A sense of sense. Of universal process in which one plays a micro-part, participation. For the time – being and becoming seem joined. There may be love, generation, sometimes even intuition of revelation. Simply processes – ongoing self-organization – of “selves,” and smaller and larger collective, complex, and dynamic systems.
Something like “meaning,” I suggest. Nobody gets what I mean.
Which represents entropy. Things falling apart even as they arise, conjoin…together.
Things I do not mind. Emergence / entropy … it’s all dynamic – which is what I’m thankful for in the now. “Alive” perhaps we’d call it, un-“dead,” – a state I’m thrilled to avoid.
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Of course there’s a “Her,” and a “Them,” or “they,” – my spouse/partner/girlfriend/significance-of-Other … and the offspring numbering 1-4 – the “matterings that matter” in me… my hand and body, pen and paper, & the complicated processes between that emit some strange result.
Physics tells me “strange attractors” (at that relational scale), I suppose it’s literature’s “muse,” romance’s “one,” the what-fors and what-nots equaling “It,” equaling “unknown,” equaling “that to which things tend.” Optimization, in a sense (if only a fantastical one).
Depending on the color of the glasses. What hole is peered through, by whom, from what angle. Perspective. Outlook. Relation. Some mean free path I’m on. Perhaps now a ‘we.’
“I” feels uncomfortable, unnatural. The idea there might be a group-of-me consoles. If only one (other, more). If only a “you — too?!”
– Emily Dickinson
something like that.
Dancing like cancer survivors…
At least grateful we’re experiencing
That’s a sort of Spring-Forward, is it not?
Polysemic Stupor 
Hello Nathan, I just read through page after page of trying to find you. The you you localize around person is hard to nail down. Our type grappling would require a face to face, maybe a drink between us or not, but space to ride out certain thoughts that could not be enjoined otherwise the two of us would speak, excluding all else save what is said.
I like it when I see that you are not too far from what I have written. At this point, you know I am out for myself; maybe that i am narcissistic but nonetheless you seem not to care.
Tocksin: Thank you for writing. It is true – even others outside of us have pointed out to me the odd occasional synchronicity of our pathways and inquiries. I am grateful for it/them. I have been compelled lately to search for dialogue. Convinced (or very nearly) that a life of attempting relationship primarily with myself and the scattered dead of literature is not dialogue in the transformative potency of face-to-face, the risk of the living, the potency. No doubt I’ll keep working all this over. And would be so glad for one day to jabber freely over drinks.
Always thank you for your works and your persistance