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Philosophy

Positive Philosophy

—7—

If we not stop and reconsider we will come to a wall of sorts – the character is obstruction and obstruction is what we feed on. The primary motion is watching in that there is a streaming. We note that our language embeds fixity in our every thought. In watching without concluding we open out against the world that already floats just beyond our reach. The need for a true religion becomes increasingly obvious – it does not need itself but we do. A system of objects and relationships will never satisfy our urge to reach out and be encompassed by all. The science of x is y can never fill the empty space for it is that which creates it. As a rule ratio must be substantially reduced until it is placed in a position so far below the standards of bounded openness and 'moving with' that the notion of expanding out endlessly to pull in what we don't have becomes only the exercise in futility it truly is. Taking across can only come about speaking the language of the born. The born are those who are carried, and exist only in this apparent tautology. Tautology, however, as nothing more than the ratio of self-definition, is not circular in any way but rather is the first step of any production of ratio – if a cannot be a then we can never proceed to discuss the relationship between a and b. So our concern here is with the born, and with bearing in general. Out of this we notice that that which is carried is also that which has been created, and so we find ourselves immersed directly in the very stream we thought we might want to cross. Because this stream carries us so completely the answers and methods must arise purely out of it – the usefulness of other streams must always be gauged by their a) congruence and b) technical identity with ours. Technical identity is an expression of tautology which is verifiable only in direct experience, which is to say that it not only could but has happened to you. Carrying across becomes bearing that which has been born, and only because it has already been born is there any need to carry it anywhere. The difference between actor and acted upon fades until there is only an outpouring which as such 'is' the stream itself. The object of appearance becomes the born, and as created and so given the born returns to carry out its only possible purpose.

Because we are so immersed we do not realize that the truth we seek is not a foreign element, and appears as such only because of a constant diversion of the stream – a diversion, however, that is so steeped in futility that there is a virtually laughable element to the whole process. The humor comes from believing that there is anything to turn from or towards. We translate this as hell and heaven, not realizing that translation is a carrying across itself – to truly translate is to return ourselves to this condition — it is as itself only an act of permission – translating the word is not changing it in any way but is the act of bearing over the fixed border. Looking back becomes the effort to recognize those that have so been born and that upon which we ourselves are sustained. We are, we recall, held under in this history whereas what truth invites us towards is a carrying over. All other invitations offered in this endeavor must inevitably lead us away from this first activity. The sense of obligation does not come as if from some outside place but is itself born by our motion – it is, that is, an intrinsic element of the movement of carrying over. The only reason to 'do' any of this is that there is simply no choice but to do so. Philosophy is the positioning of oneself as the receptacle that returns to this obligation. Because it is so closely connected to religion the differences begin to blur. Religion taken literally means a binding back or together, and so is concerned with holding back from opening, whereas philosophy is a love of wisdom. Wisdom is not knowledge, and love is union with full acceptance. Love and wisdom are in fact not at all separate, although both elements are so poorly understood that to speak of one or the other is merely to elicit knowing nods which bespeak an absolute lack of understanding. Perhaps the most secure route to take is to realize that binding back in togetherness is a not un-wise way to lead, although as held back it can never cross over. We have today come too far to step back in this way, although in not being willing or able to retreat we must likewise not mistake a stepping over as avoidance. If we speak of a descending series of rigidifications we might note that philosophy is the speaking of the fluid as non attached or fixing while this speaking crystallizes in religion then turns to stone in science. Each element is a necessary for existence and cannot hold itself as outside or above except in the manner outlined. Because science is the most rigid in that it attaches most firmly to object as subject it becomes for us the most visible and as such a dual subject and object begins to exert increasing domination over our world. As it advances religion retreats, while philosophy scatters around the ossified structures presented as QUESTIONS by a now truly religiously scientific understanding – which as such has grown completely unable to 'know itself' as itself. I would hold it safe to say that this is a constant movement away which as movement away from must by force of necessity return just as a river trying to not go downhill might stop itself for a moment only to find release in a wave bursting down the valley floor. Such a departure in its very essence means a return, and a return that grows increasingly necessary. Concern with departure becomes merely an observation with a judgement appended, which thus becomes an even more distant object. The holding that holds others as objects and so other than the holder creates the distance we name history. Figures living in history are held as holy, or great, or evil, and so kept out of our grasp. The very teachings that were to carry us over hold us back in their evolution into religion. Philosophy is the return to obligation to free ourselves from this holding back. Because knowledge belongs only to the most rigidified realms it is not a proper activity for philosophy. Because love is a self-less condition we are joined as un-bounded. Wisdom can only be grasped tautologically – wisdom is the exercising of the wise. As such it does not depend on some thing outside of itself – the love of wisdom is the return to what one is, which is why philosophy places the words 'know thyself' upon its portals. All that calls itself philosophy that does not enter here is only dilettantism , since to speak out of any other voice is to speak as one who does not know, but who thinks he does. To not know but to believe one does thus is the cardinal sin. Since knowledge always requires an object knowledge can never know itself as what it is.

A resorting occurs, a call comes, we listen – piercing the sound we would locate a source. Investigations form the notions [motions?] of examinations; by standing we hold but finally release must come about. And so the bonds are loosened. In loosening we relax our hold. As relaxed our vision comes in and out of focus. This is another way of saying that we step closer and further from home. Home comes to us as that place in which we can live. Life is the existence that brings to us the knowledge that nothing more is required. Home is as that which exists only as an adjunct to nothing at all, and in so doing forms a definition, albeit one of an un bounded type, into which we can immerse ourselves without drowning. As an operation we look to the side at this latter possibility, seeking by this means an avoidance, but an avoidance which neither draws away nor pulls towards. It comes more as an ignoring. Not so knowing means a not assembling, which refers us back to an in-action, that which does not pass. Because it does not pass it remains stationary, as fixed, and so ties us down. Religion calls as a refuge by the roadside. In this restricted position we throw ourselves as tied down outwards then engage a fixing onto this outward throwing. The result becomes observation of tied-downness as the general 'truth', or condition that enables and precedes all things, and so religion is allowed its first breath. Because it tells us how things are after the fact, we feel that it has opened us to the truth. The maintenance of such a condition becomes the grounds for the formation of a hierarchy of grounds-keepers, who by their nature must increasingly camouflage and distort the character of the ongoing operations. Out of this comes a form of stability, but a stability which can itself have no inherent stability – which is how religion in the end must fall. Entering into this cycle is a luxury which we are no longer permitted by force of our circumstances. The freeing which is an opening release does not as yet exist in a defined state, which at core describes its self-same condition.

Because this is how we believe things must be we want to return to the ways that have passed us by, not seeing that these are a thousand roads, each of which was a possible route at its own point, which came about when we crossed it. Avoidance now has turned to a stepping away from within the confines permitted by circumstances, which themselves stand around as if they were merely innocent bystanders in the game. But this particular standing grows into a rooted structure which throws out continuously in vain hope of catching something real. The real as that which has been caught beckons us on, inviting us as well to stick our heads in the noose. Because it senses our justifiable reluctance it veils itself in beautiful garments in hopes that we will not see its underlying character. Sucked into its dance we twist and turn through the winding motion until our very last breath would carry us the last step into its depths. As dead we find that the world takes on a cold reality, frozen in fire and ice the sending ceases and instead attempts now only to rely on its own voice. Because we do not know any better we think that within these crystalline caverns we have finally cornered the truth in its every manifestation, not realizing that what we are in fact left with is nothing but a withered corpse.

The delusion becomes even crueler as we unfold its finely jeweled exterior. Within shivers a cripple unable to move a step but who stares greedily back up at us as if to waken some sense of pity. Closing the box back up we step away, moving carefully in a backtracking sense that suggests no trail or alternate route. The final glimmer of the jeweled exterior shuts off and we turn back towards the unraveling truth of our own particular destiny — a truth which floats as so completely obscure that we will almost always miss its undying simplicity, for want of a better word. Returning here resembles a turn to a mass that does not reflect outwards but absorbs in all that is sent its way. Inside of this darkness we can with an ongoing determination pull out certain shapes that with extremely careful handling we one day come to call by the name of logistics, geometry, and finally mathematics, of which we understand the latter to be an instruction, or speaking, of the matter. The matter as formed and with form offers us a clue that goes unrecognized by its most ardent practitioners, proving once again that those who claim to know do not. Because of the extreme delicacy with which these forms are able to sustain themselves, but only within this dark current – or, more accurately, the delicate nature of these forms is sustainable only as held under the face of the all absorbing voidness towards which we as formed entities finally must eternally once again turn our heads. Eternity itself is nothing other than the particular turning within which we follow these forms into their source.

Wrong turns, as always, push us into a space which we have been holding back away from ourselves. Such a space reveals itself in hesitation; the moment we call doubt moves us back into its orbit. Reflection becomes the guideline – the image vanishes, we listen as the winds pick up their skirts – the time we had followed simply vanishes, the engagement clicks into place, the center does not reflect but merely draws in; perfect union no longer knows of itself, it sings a little song without any conscious flickering. The time that was required is no more, it fragments and collapses in upon itself without a sound; no flash of light brightens the night. Working becomes an activity with-out the sphere of movement, the early indications are of a sea that washes over the last sign of beginning. The patience comes out of a long cycle that has grown up twisted around its own roots – the offering that is made we think is never adequate – only the cost tells us that we paid far more than we thought we would. Saying goodbye is the last resort we come to as the night settles around us; the indications had promised something but then fluttered off into the crispening night air. Sacrifice becomes the ultimate aim, that towards which we direct ourselves now with unflagging attention. As the nothing that has arisen we take ourselves and place a ring through our nose; as what has this in mind we observe ourselves as ships on a sea; watching ceases to be a pastime and becomes the character that defines necessity. Sending out at an increasingly furious pace is the nature that would call itself back but does not know how. Smoothening out over the plains is the exact equivalent we have been searching for during the time we had chosen to observe. Under a hard gaze this time is unable to maintain itself – as simply not it no longer burns into the spaces that were reserved for it. Removal turns back and in so doing smoothes over and rounds off – nothing changes or disappears, although the latter construction if held in a purely technical sense might not indicate too badly.

Frozen and vaporized attacks in uneven waves – the questions that were held are so no longer. Revelation is the moment when we no longer believe. Because of the structure of matters we hold onto and thus back. In the extreme this holding turns to itself and breaks off a piece of death. Within the definable absurdity of such claims this breaking off is held as meaningful when in fact it is the moment in which meaning departs completely, leaving behind an absolute void.

We can take that as the beginning, the point to which we have finally arrived. Leaving that becomes a priority, as well, as raising a question. Having begun are we qualified to speak? Asking ourselves this becomes a ceremony of sorts: there is nothing to ask, and so we enter into this vacuum as a beginning. Existence is to step or stand forth. To be means to exist, and thus refers to motion – the act of stepping forth. There is no possibility involved – something must step out to define itself, and that something begins its existence in this stepping out. This is the final frontier, the space about which no-one will speak. Such a reticence show us something even within this vacuum. As an exploration nothing will be discovered, but as a revelation there comes a certain uninvited flash into which we might step. This extends us, even as a mere thought, and tightens our hold. In so tightening there is a flexing which pulls down and raises up. As a formula this construction is of little use – it is only the voice of reason suggesting that we can in fact put things together in this way. As assembled we must leave space behind; it recedes as we extend, only the invitation itself serves us. Forcing things becomes an act of will – only the most conservative estimates can even land us in any reasonable space. This point is so delicate that we have to completely restore the lost focus. All usage of the 'to be' construction involves us immediately in a creative act, the first or not we leave to the side. As named we hold the named out before us, it now has existence. Having existence it stands out from the field. The field exists as well. Element by element we draw forth existence, pulling back as it were the curtain we soon realize that the show has grown into all proportions; as grown it has left our hands, and as gone it seems unable to return. This seeming inability puts us in the awkward position of offering nothing at the moment we have sought for so long.

Restoring breath becomes a medical proposition; we do not wish to come in; this reluctance is detected easily and so no invitation is issued. As a lack we yearn for what is not there; as what was we hold out an extension within which the was is given life. In this sense of creation we weave in and around ourselves before placing the memory in the field of reason. As related we now know, and so complete the step away. Because the question had come up we had held out the possibility as a solution, but in the dissolution that ensued we came at matters with a new set of hands – the building had no doors or windows and so left us standing within a useless space. Because of our exact location we could not feel free to move even though this did seem to be indicated. As an event judgement has held on as long as it can; our collapse depends on it, as does the entire principle of closure. With only one possible outcome the force of rationality offers us a refuge that wraps its arms around us and squeezes with all its might. Extending outwards the motion absorbs with increasing vigor – there now is no time; only the remnants are held up for inspection. This grows so quickly that the question itself is already forgotten when we find that the room is unopened. The force required to solve the riddle becomes so great that there is some doubt as to the actual possibility of penetrating the walls, which themselves gleam smoothly, offering no sign whatsoever to our attempts at piercing inquiry.

This then is how the limit has been set – without seeing we have built and built and stand holding the trowel in our hands, wondering at the impenetrable character surrounding us. As an act of force there are few of greater consequence, while as a simple stepping out there are only a handful of subtleties about which to engage in inquiry.

As futility we empty, and as empty we stare silently at the walls. Because there is nowhere a visible seam we begin to wonder if we might not have situated ourselves within a spheroid of some type. The spaces before us are so perfectly formed that this particular entity must, we finally conclude, actually be a sphere, which means that there now is an unidirectional stepping forth that has within its rules of construction one and only one limit. Rather than worry about absence we redirect ourselves to this one rule out of which have grown this infinitude of points. As an extension to precisely this distance there must be an evolution within the allotted space, the nature of which so precisely defined as to leave exactly zero points outside of its orbit. As an act this pushes us towards a notion of perfection. Having now entered into the sphere in which perfection can for the first time step forwards we acquire a sense of magnificence – perfection brings us to greatness, and allows us to take a step towards the unattainable. Or at least so the argument goes.

And so we turn back again. Standing forth does not occur within a defined object sphere, but is the action that forms the object in the first place. Action is to do, to drive. To do is a final destination. To be in a sense is derivative since it can be broken down into the act of standing forth. To be guides us to fixity, which contradicts change. To say x is y is to ignore this fixing activity. Thus we cannot say 'existence is action' because we are supporting ourselves on the pivot of identity between objects. Identity is always a synthetic proposition but one which in the English language is virtually impossible to think through. The entire history of Anglo-American philosophy is the story of our inability to escape this binding – our language, that is, is serving in the capacity of a religion, and the substance of this religion is so profoundly fixed that it goes completely unquestioned. Mathematics in this sense occupies such a dignified position because it carries the voice of identity, x=y, or, more accurately, a=a.

Because our religion forms us we do not recognize it as such. In a way the story is the same as that of the medieval scholastics debating the nature of god and soul. To step out or away here, to actually exist that is, is to exist as action. We have to focus on where we are: the arena, that is, in which stepping out occurs must be grasped as the field of action, or, if you prefer, our situation. Abandoning the fixing literally means stripping away everything. Removing everything does not leave nothing. We by necessity come to a stop precisely here. Describing this position we use the term change. Change indicates a flowing relation. Energy further refines this point of cessation – energy as action, doing in a fundamental sense. In the first moment of energy we speak of relationship between bodies. In the second we dissolve the bodies and allow them to enter into non-differentiatedness. Relationship transforms more into a question of balance and harmony between forces. Here we find the music of the spheres. Sense comes as the directed motion in which what we have previously held as 'we' and 'I' immerses – a process we name as a standing under (verstehen, understanding). Standing under pulls away from the rising up and cutting away which we call 'self'. We describe understanding in this way in order to remove the process from the result. Understanding stands under the self, and as such steps away from selfhood. To achieve understanding moves towards our selves, in the sense of return to what we are. Judgment falls away as foundationless, since judgment always depends on the formulation first of x is y, then that this relation has z value. Beyond good and evil moves on this pivot. Thoughtfulness arises upon the realization of the latter condition.

A few notes: watching from a distance… the words are full – the time of course has spun around on its course. Waiting takes on a new character: there is only an indication — as a method there is not much to say. Matters are not left to themselves as better or worse, rather they turn from left to right, pointing here and withdrawing there.

Inside of a sign there is a pulse – we note this not as an improvement, or a knowing better, but rather in order to forget just enough to be able to see what is not there. As a result there obviously exists only enough to place our feet upon. All else falls into a sea of obscurity into which we dip our hands and with a careful motion bring up a taste, for which we always believe we will have to pay a lot – too much we tell ourselves, whispering into the wind.

Onwards – the motion beckons – as an agent there is only a smooth rippling affect. Without pausing where the first spring lands we take in our surroundings. Because we do not name this that or this we find a place to rest, a place, of course, in which what has given is exhausted and what returns moves carefully, as if along a suspended cord of uncertain dimensions. In the last moment before realization strikes the day turns over into a new branch of the coming times. As approach we withdraw into a web which serves to announce the comings and goings around us.

Putting ourselves first out – as if by extending we could somehow achieve value — we find that there is in a certain sense only a vagueness out of which something cuts into us with knifelike precision. Empty we drain out continuously over the landscape. Choice does not govern while ongoing belief in such a course reveals a deep if not fundamental confusion. Stepping away from choice takes us back to the absolutely necessary, that which as an agent forms us so certainly that there is never room to question. Inside of this 'there is' breathes a cloud in which form writhes as if waiting for birth. Pushing ourselves away separates then cuts as if the only place left to us had been dissolved before our eyes. Because somehow we know that we have been here before the familiarity grows unrecognized, which is simply a way of saying that we do not as a matter of definition know where we have been, although we might once have done so. In this might we lost where we were as a ship vanishing into the fog, while the memory we hold onto we support with an almost vicious insistence. As a past the remains flow on around us, and as the future we would like to put forth an even more powerful argument. Forcing quietness upon ourselves we finally arrive at the point in which the entire evolution had been born. Having now followed the explosion out to its limits, which by pure coincidence alone just happen to be ourselves as well, we perceive that the walls have collapsed and the rubble is already being cleared by a small army of workers. As collapse we avoided fright by means of an absence we believed real by which in fact had only nothingness in its heart. Possessed by this void we comforted ourselves by repeated assurances that everything was alright, or at least that appearances would be maintained. As a free standing force this might in fact have been the case; as it was, however, the reminder went unheeded.

Vanishing turns now in – the motion as such does not direct, the image we chase after is not there, the error that we repeat builds it up out of habit or worse. Standing becomes a condition in which our feet grow rooted. We breathe not in order to live but so as to not lose the fundamental. Where others continue on we stop, realizing that what was sought is not more. As an agent this attempt at existence falls flat – we have indicated while the point we call day revolves. Letting everything fall permits us a leveling below which we place ourselves. As a field we do not look up or down or around, preferring the bland over the colorful. As a flash the world collapses in upon itself, vanishing back into darkness. Because we are only able to construct ourselves in this particular way all other paths are blocked off as outside of definition. Getting ahead of ourselves puts us into a place that first attempts to float above then separate and drift away. The true impossibility of this eludes us so completely that we hold this ahead as real while the question of real is pushed to a side, for further study we tell ourselves in order to justify such a completely non-radical maneuver. We forget in this moment what we have done, and as done the doing devolves into triviality – a triviality which 'frees' us to force ahead as the norm. as we submerge ourselves in this thrust out, oblivion surrounds us as the purest forgetting, and the darkness now presents itself as light.

Perpetually blind within our outward thrust we define ourselves as those who see best. The character of such an out confuses in its apparent simplicity. Just as the ahead can never exist as more than a ripple so to the out has nowhere other to go. Attempting to impose structure we whip ourselves into a rabid mania of construction, placing brick upon brick, striving to believe that in this way the problem will finally be resolved. No such solution, of course, will ever really achieve its aim.

The moment ceases, the day fades, the voices say nothing. Because we must pull out there is no question. While we would like to see the field, if only to leave faith behind, there is nothing there to see. This fact is not something to accept or reject as within or out of hand. As the strictest, coldest logic we know it is not there. The question arises rather of why we need to go this way so badly. We are tempted to call it sin and leave it at that, while the more rigorous might look into the question with less relaxation. So we try to remember just what that original sin actually was. Too many prejudices flutter here to really know, or to enable such a long step back. Fortunately neither procedure is particularly necessary since as actual it is still here. Were it not so the words would fall away and there would be nothing to speak of. The line we follow here grows so delicate that the slightest wrong turn will snap it and leave us floundering helplessly.

As lost we drift away, but always lurking behind this is the suspicion that we do not see enough to say we have moved at all. Drifting away has no object, no center, no point of reference but rather acts as a guide. Drifting happens when direction is abandoned. Fading in the suspicions lies a slight alteration, too subtle to be noted, but flowing out as an affect it nevertheless forces a re-evaluation. As a topographical reference the plane alters, or rather the source alters, the defining axioms undergo an invisible transformation. This invisibility arises from the non-separation, and as the field redefines there exists no thing or way to stand back and create the judgement of change. This is why we will never know. In a sense the asking of what is is simply a wish to be informed of the nature of our topography. Because such an inquiry will always tempt us we give it descriptions carrying varying values. This granting further pulls us towards itself as a sick child draws in its mother. As illness we undergo further change, and as the change actualizes we see only our infirmity. As our condition worsens the warnings fade into the darkness out of which they spring and we forge ourselves into the hardness of steel and call out that now finally is the hour of man. As such, belief and disbelief balance on equivalent points, and despite the replication of form the actual question vanishes into the frozen depths. As an instinct the call to health takes on an odd disproportionality in that health now is broadcast as the other to sickness, and as such is a mirror image of the diseased organism. It is sickness that defines health and the 'proper' functioning of the topographical arena. Sickness however does not contain health, and the vision it produces are in essence always sick at heart. Re joining is never a polar activity – in fact, re-joining is never anything at all. As an activity rejoining does not know how it does so, nor does it follow any outline, for the obvious reason that any possible outline exists already as a coordinate system within a mapped horizon. Freedom forces itself out of this pattern but can by its nature never know how this can happen. The known never allows departure, just as the ruled blocks change.

Rejoining takes us without hesitation; the river is crossed in a moment of thoughtlessness. The invitation is never withdrawn because we doubt we find room to avoid our destinies. Without-a-thought carries us under the matter at hand, while the sidelong glances we give who we believe we were indicate a second opinion that reveals itself in its arising. As difficult there are certain indications, but in the actual moment of abandonment these indications simply wave us through.

Holding then pulling back: return as the indicated course – the moon floats as we listen. Within the moment arises a possibility, within the possibility stirs something that must absolutely go unspoken. As pulling out we act as one who would explicate, and in the course of the following explanation we no longer quite know where we are going. Holding our breath the world stops; as a release exhalation permits matters to roll on. Walking into the moment that was held we find nothing to push against – the possibility arises that the pushed has simply ceased to exist. Like a fading memory the moment dissolves into its parts, but these parts themselves cease as independent constituents. Pausing here to examine this event the thought that wanted matters to open hesitates as if afraid of itself. In this fear there hides a certain knowledge about which custom generally has nothing to say. It is not so much that it should go unsaid but that it goes unsaid. There is nothing gained by probing into the whys of this, although as temptations go this one stands strong. Because we stand accused of deceit if we push too far in this direction, we have to let go – the echoes fill us, "liar" whispers all around us although we see no-one. The best roads are all taken, although the only one that actually concerns us pulls at us only in its absence. This anxiety signals in a negative sense — to know can never resolve this dilemma, while a sense of urgency reveals a missed step. Calling left and right, dropping a word here and there: all signs we mutter under our breaths – the ancestors mill about – they would speak if we let them but we are too busy to hear and the days grind away with their own peculiar logic. Helpless before this artificially induced lethargy they can only sing quiet songs under their breaths, the edges of which work themselves around our furthest reaches and flash into uncertain terms in a time that has no fixed field. How and why grow until they do not wish us a thing that is not already there, while what might be called the point probes delicately into a crack, all the while leaving us to think it was all a dream. The events know nothing of themselves, the trees that bend with the wind rustle their leaves while we peer inwards in search of what is not there.

This then is the precise moment upon which balances the command to stop. Without further definitions we arrange ourselves to accommodate what has passed while what evolves pulls at us, as if there actually were points of resistance to stand against. As an indication the first word is that there is always time… beyond this of course there is not much to say except the oddly transparent invitations that cannot be grasped in any entirety. Because I have no words that could ever fix this so firmly as to guarantee its positioning for all time I am forced to reveal the actual void which governs these procedures. As nothing the promised world lacks any real gods, while we pour into this vacuum bits and pieces of yesterday in a manner reminiscent of the filling of a breached dike with the rubble of soon to be submerged town next to it. Release comes not as a promised reward but more like an option granted some indefinite time past. Exercising this falls away from matters of choice and reveals its naked form, shivering hand alone but at once absolutely and essentially necessary. Standing out in this manner takes in all of existence by uniting the process of standing under with the forward push that transforms this into a capacity to do, which at once suggests a capacity for. Being capable thus unravels itself into what invites, while what invites quite simply indicates that the path sought not only exists but actually pulls us towards itself.

Pausing now takes on new meaning: the pause as cessation, as no longer reaching out, gives the room, inside of which the space forms as undulations wrapping themselves around a defining element whose existence is inferred by the shape moving through its evolutions. The riddle becomes how we describe this without words, while the answer lies in the moment we realize that it not only can't but shouldn't be done. Discretion is a holding back that actually allows the form to grow. Finding the pivot describes the possible movement. Repetition appears to allow us space to think but actually is the creation of a new horizon beyond which we fear to extend ourselves.