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09 October 2018 @ 11:29 pm
were we too sure of the sun?  
we each and every all of us sit in the uncertain part of those expanses between certainties: thousands upon thousand of them, in any single moment, neither here nor there, anywhere that can that should that might be defined within reason or outside of it:

listen. there’s a gradient. we are never on one end or the other, even if it seems that way, even if we want to believe that’s where we are, at one end or the next. we are not. we are always somewhere in between. to find oneself in certainty is to find oneself at the end of one’s life. i think. life is uncertainty. i think. life is that place in between birth and death: that’s one certainty. i think. either you are or you are not. so are you? what are you? what purpose do you serve?

do you serve a purpose, or your own interests?

do you have a thought on the matter, on the spectrum, one way or another? because there isn’t just one gradient, one scale in two dimensions. the matter weaves and buckles, buoying over and under itself in space and time, twisting and tangling into a matter as relentless and infernal as our very own. it is no mystery, how we stumble in the dark. it is no surprise, how one of our first lessons after taking our first breath is learning not to breathe. what is breathing? an activity over which the body has ceded a degree of will. it is a necessary function, but we are offered the opportunity to decide how to best perform the task.

so perform the task.

draw air in.
hold it inside of you.
let it go.
dwell in that state of release:
dwell in that state of release:
dwell in it: until necessity again becomes a factor, or perhaps just before:
then start the cycle over again.

breath as a matter of balance. balancing as a matter for the breath. when i write fast, i often stop breathing. it is a means of clinging to the thought i am trying to translate from that indeterminate stuff of my thinking: some of it narrated out of the package, some of it ready-made verbal, some of it potentially verbalized, but only just enough to build up a false confidence about thought’s potential realization in language. most of it is, instead: molten, frozen, vaporous, licking with consuming flame, consuming itself with itself, ouroboros, ouroboros, back to the beginning again. much of it in shapes and colors, atmospheres, subtle formations of perception and mood that becomes a sort of awareness unto itself.

thought that fits itself to the space it’s in. thought as perfumed smoke, fragranced with its fuel. thought as steam, bursting through any minuscule opening. thought as colored light, projected in ripples on the bedroom ceiling. thought as the great mother, darkness, pressing in her boundaries, bringing the light into form.

there is no light without darkness. there is no breath without darkness inside of us, generating us into being, birthing us into visible perception. there is no visibility without light: but do we always need to be visible? must we, as a civilization, perhaps as a species, stray so carelessly into bright sunny attention-seeking visibility that we punish our need for cloaking darkness? for what is not visible? for that unacknowledged choice at the turn of every breath to turn another breath?

maybe we think there’s a better answer than never knowing what could happen at any moment, maybe we figure we can resolve this problem by commodifying it, insuring it, vetting liability waivers, holding the thought, holding our breath, not letting it in, not letting it happen, never letting it go. maybe we think we can buy ourselves a better answer, take a workshop, apply to a master’s program, go into debt for it, erase the uncertainty, bury it, bury it, lock it up and bury it deep

in my spiritual practice i was recently told to stop clinging to that which would be healing for me to recognize is cradling me. in my spiritual practice i have recently been examining those tensions of will and gravity. that which i am deciding to be, that which i am. where i ambition to be, where i am. these are not dissimilar ideas, and there are both their own manners of balance. where i’m going, how i’m getting there. where i am now, where i will be, later.

am i choosing to breathe?
am i holding my breath?
do i think clinging to each breath, holding it inside me, not letting breath in, do i think this will hold my thought in place until i have completed it?

because there is no complete thought. summarize a week’s rumination in a diamond-cut phrase of twenty words or less and a lifetime of inspired thoughts will rush the gate, angry to get in. to be thought through. to find themselves embodied in a pithy phrase all their own. thoughts inspire more thoughts and that is the way of it, the way it need to be. we are never done thinking. there is no end to thought. our thoughts are what survive our bodies: remember the thoughts one thought seeds in its wake. maybe not even just in other human minds: maybe in plants, in animals, perhaps in the very spaces we leave behind.

who are we but the balance of what we take in and what we release? who are we but a worrying balance of seen and unseen? embodied in this moment, what does that mean to you? embodied in this time, in this place, in this uncertainty, what does it mean?

music: tor lundvall - moon worship