“Why did you come out of your place in the woods?” I was asked.
“I guess so,” I replied.
This I find I cannot answer. It is irrational. Perhaps to stir and sense? Dis- or un-cover? “Strife” (from Ancient conceptions of the term). Turbulence. That something rather than nothing? Not to have one’s hands folded on one’s lap? (Dostoevsky). How should I know? It’s irrational.
Unreasonably, I’ve begun.
Of course beginning will destroy things: my stasis, comfort, stillness. Family roles, relationships, profession. Any beginning changes everything before (prior) to it. Friendships, rituals, schedules, habits.
To START (anything) means to RUIN.
In other words, if I (one) reach out – lash, swipe, caress, call, correspond, text, touch, encounter or engage – an Other (one)… all will be disturbed… it’s the nature of contact between living beings: landscapes, art, humans, animals, spaces, times, words, events. Everything alters at encounter. Period.
If I (or we) are available (or needy) and therefore present ourselves (vulnerably) to a reality (actuality, happenstance, opportunity, occurrence) everything changes.
Past. History. Future. Meaning. Understanding.
So “Why did you come out of your place in the woods?”
What was my ‘place in the woods’?
Repetition. Familiarity. Habitue.
Security? Comfort? Compatibility with my environs?
I must have desired DIFFERENCE.
And how to account for that?
This is something we just do.
Clothes, taste, touch, belief, surroundings, movement – variance, dissimilitude, change – this signals in some way to our mechanistic (apparently) methodology of ‘survival’ – that we’ve ‘still go it,’ still HAPPEN, to-be… we live. Are a-live. Existence. (See how the noun – the naming/defining – kills it? Stills and destroys it?). Existing.
Out of the woods I desire – not to be “existing”, not to crave “existence.” I do not want any THING. SOMEthing. I am simply wanting to be-ing… indefinable, indescribable, occurring, happening, all-live – not staid enough, locatable or timed enough to be characterized, apportioned, described and named. No! I (for one) am wanting to be happenING, impossible to capture, occur-ING, become-ING, vital not repeatable, unique not typified, tabulated, calculated or classified.
And thus, and so, I change (again). Again.
Again I come out of the woods.
I be-come. Out from the woods.
I say, I write, I speak, I act.
3 thoughts on “Out of the Woods”
Having been in the woods
One may never come out.
A whisper breath will still
remain, like the memory
Of mulch in the nostril,
The coolness of the skin,
The crack of twig, a cobwed brush.
We become inhabited-
The same as we ghost
Yes, Simonhlilly! So true.
I drove through farmland’s mists this morning. The sun, richly orange and full of spunk, played hide and seek among the tree tops. My sons laughed, called to it. I paused at the top of a hill, saw all the celestial strands of water cast down from on high, saw them catch the violets and pinks of heaven, and felt the tears within me yearn to come out, join the air, and in the air find the light.
Your words bring me back to this.