Motion and form

I've posted on this blog for about seven years now, a tumultuous seven years, both personally and otherwise. During that time, I've changed my opinion about a variety of topics, and expect that I will continue to change my mind in other ways I can't even imagine at this point. I nonetheless leave up old posts that I now find somewhere between sad and awful. There is no shame in changing your mind.

I also don't plan to hand-wring or advertise new ideas. I am part of no one's ideology anymore. I have nothing to proselytize, nothing to promise. I have done my best to repair what needed mending.

I will say, though, that it's both jarring and a tremendous relief to step out of the idea of progress--constant motion forward. Moving in a particular direction--back, forward, right, left--requires an awareness of form at the end of that direction. When I paused my reflexive march forward, I didn't know what that form was. Was I moving for motion's sake? When do I stop moving? Can I stop moving? (I also don't want to be a rubber band.) I've written about these questions a bit here. You can also read about the books that have led me to this point here, and explore the poetry that has been part of this evolution, particularly this one.

So, what replaces direction then? 

For me, it's dusting away whatever obscures truth, however inconvenient. It's a rooting down into truth so I can flow into/with/as beauty and goodness, those eternal flows and points of resistance. Flow is not direction; it just is. 

Maybe I'll develop a different answer over the next seven years (or a different question). Who knows? This blog will document whatever happens.