April 15, 2004

I know now that at least one person and maybe another read this blog regularly. (In at least one case, what I write here may have thrown an e-mail exchange into confusion: in my equally "real" life habit of suddenly continuing a conversation, however much later, as though there had been no break at all.) The conceit of writing to the air is ended. I will still occasionally address "you" because that is my way of writing (as it is of speaking), but it is spoken, as it were out loud, as a generic testing, a way of looking at myself from outside. Although I could wish that this piece of blog software allowed an option for posting comments: if only for that I don't write anything with any intention of having the final word on the subject! (How would I dare?)

Increasingly, for myself, I feel that I don't write -- indeed cannot say -- anything new. All I say has been said before, by myself and by others: different clothes, but the substance is the same. More often than not, questions by others seem to tread pathways I had at some point already glanced at and incorporated unknowing: I may not have realised it at whatever point it happened, but an incidental question in the here and now increasingly frequently seems to work as an index card to link all manner of awareness I never realised I had but which is nonetheless there, immediately accessible, as though I had stepped into the relevant set of eyes and perspective and Weltanschauung. In the case of the creations of others, it is something I have actively to rein back: lest I inadvertently mould it into my own image and so taint the chance for something I could not have imagined to come into being.

I have taken all human possibility to be my province. I am very slowly learning to accept that others do not seek the same. It is so much easier to stop with the simple analysis, the basic criticism -- and never take another step toward the cliff edge.

Can it really come as so much of a surprise that nothing surprises me very much at all anymore? Is it the temporal or the divine in me that nonetheless desperately seeks that surprise? that single bolt-of-lightning seeking question from outside that will hurl me into something genuinely new?

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