But I do know something of being alive as a human being.
44 years of living. Sometimes awake, sometimes sleeping.
Often bruised in/with activity. “Alive” nonetheless, operative.
And that is that: there always seems to be a “you.”
An othering. For humans. Nature, world, self.
And that is that. Buber perhaps, correct: Being is relation,
(or vice-versa?) for anything (anyone – could we ever get down to that)
exists, stands-forth/out, becomes, in so far…insofar as – “it relates.”
The gist= A we. Wonder. More-than is constitutive.
We are, and are made of/from/with more than what we “are.”
Being/beings (something needs troubled here) Here.
If I characterized…TODAY = noise & speed.
“What calls for thinking?” “What calls thinking?” “What is called thinking?”
Slowness. Quiet. Almost silence. In praise of. Praise?
To? For? What?
Relation. A we. Equals.
And then…more than…= “become.”
Behold. Arrive. Appear. A we.
Hallie. Tristan. Aidan. Ida. Oliver.
World – air, plants, animals, motion…
how else do I know? How else do I know that I am?
in relation to