One theory is that you know you have arrived when you can get yourself good and lost without worry over getting home. This assumes no one is waiting for your arrival, or the meal you would make, or the rent––difficult to pull off in a given day, and yet in the suspended space of making what we make, I suppose it happens all the time. But just as I am starting to think, here is something, I am back to thinking of the birds falling from the sky, whole flocks of them discovered in the aftermath––but also once a snowy owl, living, in a tree near the local library, and the punk defiance of the tiny nest that once appeared on the electrical box, and the lizard that looked back as we crouched to see him beneath the cabinet, the cat and I, and maybe the point is only to lose the trepidation over being fatally human––into a wider web, woven of strands this limited sight is still unable to detect.
On what is good and lost.
3 thoughts on “The Unmapped”
This linked over to your earlier post “From Ashes”, there certainly do seem to be a lot of woven strands in the wider web(s)… both as individuals and the greater whole. All of it — just a’flowing.
Thank you for telling me this, Chris! I sometimes notice these patterns in retrospect. This daily practice has certainly helped to teach me what my latent obsessions are : )