You know when you know it


Two days after a major rain event, the river speaks not of fishing but for observing.







Muddy waters, blue skies…


A sycamore shedding its bark for winter…


Renewal ad infinitum…


…a river is an illusion, a centuries-old catch basin, a gravity conduit of potential, kinetic energy connecting us to ourselves, our cocoon, this birth planet.

Are we more interested in terraforming our way across the cosmos or reaching higher transformational potential?

What makes us us?

Do fish stress out during/after a big rain storm?  What goes through the central nervous system of the two-inch fish darting around detritus in water along the river’s edge?  What and how much does it eat today?  Will it be eaten?

How many sols until we’re safely spread across the solar system, taking whichever/whatever form works best.

From natural phenomena we anthropologically call disasters (tsunamis, floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, sirocco, earthquakes), life renews itself, reinvents itself, recombinant DNA boosted with or without us.

Who am I, really?

When I peel off the labels, what makes me, this temporary confluence of states of energy in motion, me?

It is not a matter of intelligence, per se, but what is it that gives not meaning or purpose but something else entirely wanting to explore beyond the comfortable environs of one’s upbringing?

What of my past, of my Wandervogel tendencies?

Which parts of every subculture are worth revisiting, reusing, recycling?



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