You could be thinking about your physical placement, what can be a continuum and what is
chance. You place yourself innately on a mesa. There are blue hills at each horizon, the light
falls copiously onto your open space, the path of the sun and the planets are proportioned around
The source of the balance is a sense perception. Your perception of your location is not
contingent, but accords with an idea of location inside you, that turns in you like a gyroscope, as
you are moving.
I believe in this sense perception of place, because I experience it.
It may be a sense of the shape of a space, or of the balance of features of the space, or it may be a
sense of a point on the earth in relation to forces in the earth, which may be affected by stars and
planets. Or, it may be in relation to stars and planets.
So that the place would sit in me, its wide space with sun, as what it would be in my memory of
this time. And how it would be perceived is a matrix of how you were with some people around
you, not agents but catalyst or fuel for the perception of light on a wide space, so free as to be
impersonal in the company, implacable and impersonal.
She would remember that it was a place of the wind. She would think that she would remember
the site of sun, and light without sound or without value, but her body is pushed and drawn on by
the force of wind on the ridge, every day, so that someday she would remember that she had
lived in wind.
The wind can be in the future, a direction, as if there were time, because it comes from
somewhere. Because it draws you somewhere, it is the time or space that is the next thing
somewhere among the materials of a space or at a time. Because it might be seen as an expression of the forces making it, which push on you or draw from you, it is an expression to
everything it is not, and you are reminded you are what it is not, and this expression deters you or
abstains from you as a space, when the wind is pushing all night or on a sunny day against the
windows and walls of your house.
Then, this expression of being what something is not, joins you with a piece of leaning yellow
grass in low sun, or it abstains you from the expression, as if you are more becoming in your
mind what you are looking at than what you are feeling.
You would be able to see the meaning or whole of the space between the objects on the table,
which before had been random space between the fork and the salt crystal.
Now you can see the meaning or the whole of the space between rods of illuminated streaks of
clouds at sunset, zooming this way and that, and the volume and vector between them. From you
to the horizon gains a meaning. Something happens to you, it is time moving, and you can see
them as a whole thing and not the space between one cloud and another that appear on the same
plane because of the same color of light on them.
We walked in the dry riverbed. Water had left the sand in sweeps of lines and currents, fronds of
tamarack drifted in. I want to call it pollen of tamarack drifting into patterns of sand made by
currents of water, lift drifts of events in time. But it is more like the bits of tamarack frond,
broken by the current and drifting into patterns or record was the time, because of there being
something besides a pattern to perceive time by means of.
A skin of tufts of yellow grasses on a hillside threw off the lateral light, and threw down their
delicate shadows. The flank of a hill suggesting a living creature.
You can see the complexity of autumn plants and trees in the canyon below you. It is late autumn.
The yellow and brown jumble of the foliage. Most of the leaves have fallen from the trees and
bushes into heaps and drifts on either side of the stream. We are accustomed to think of
disorganization and of increasing disorganization as a vector toward entropy. The pleasurable
complexity of matter in the canyon would seem to be entropic, except for its beauty. It looks like
death. It seems entropic, but it is not entropic, as biological death may not be. And I wonder if the
beauty is an innate apprehension of the ongoingness, or "other" than entropy, of that
I see the honey moon rise from a bare horizon, after the sunset behind a mountain. I was waiting
for the moon. It was a test and not a knowledge of the movement of the risings, by which I am try-
ing to judge where I am on this plain. We are trying to understand if the moon sets in a different
place than the sun, the sun which is moving and moving down the horizon. Soon, its colored glow
will silhouette a mountain called The Wave.