Precarious knows the Beginning and the End
Gonna stay on the path for a while longer, thank you, On the Trail this one life, thank you very much. Onward, you see. Forward so to say a trail through the woods, back to the trailhead, keep walking away from that shit know what I mean. When we continue, away from that other place, away from the dirt the hole the end. Think I’ll avoid the easy way to the cemetery right now on this day.
And yet. The trail leads to the cemetery or its equivalent in nature or outer space anyway. The Grand Cemetery of All Things. Dopeness of the All Way! And so, sigh for sure, might as well turn left immediately and stroll to that final rest. The road leads straight. You might think it’s winding, appears so, but it’s an unbroken line. Ain’t going to miss it, ignore it, run from it, deny it, outsmart it, delay it, even as you face forward and commit. We’ll keep going, if that’s okay with you.
Or/and, can we separate this sameness? Better, where does the same thing separate? Where, even in identical twins, does sameness diverge, where’s the point of uniqueness, of non-sameness? Can you tell where sameness ends, find that juncture? Can you describe it and define it? Where the duplicate actually isn’t and the world exists there. This similarity between identical, the space between words and ideas. Gaps between one thing and the next, expressing infinity.
Classifications help us ignore the abyss, the emptiness between things. We explore the definition of the word, its meaning, can explain the difference between two concepts, and talk about those differences. But, in a sentence, or list, or conversation, can we reveal the precise moment of rupture, where words differ in absolute terms, and there exists the perpetual abyss? The gulf between ideas. The chasm between understanding, isolated Words as divine. They remain separated forever.
Alternatively, can we identify the sameness between the differential and the separated? We avoid insanity by naming everything. We evade confusion by markers, these signs. Signposts in a life lived, our ancestors our inheritors. Signals from birth to death, way stations on the journey from here to there, touch them, hold them, caress them, share with others. Hello, our sanity. The recognition we demand. I recognize myself and you within the unrecognizable. Our words are prayers and symbols of hope. Our words beacons in absolute darkness. We find our way, we are found. Signposts on a mortal adventure we cultivate.