waterwheels weathering

The entanglement of things. Eros and ides. I recently read a friend's piece of writing that deals with the idea of extension and uncoiling, how other people, engagements, and commitments can cause you to recoil (either into yourself or away from yourself), and therefore, hinder your own extension, propulsion into the world.

As for us, we are like plants that have the one choice of being in or out of the light. - Simone Weil

These are drifts of concepts that I think about almost every day. I myself undulate between a circling around the epistemological self: solitude, intense emotional tallying, a census of what being means, evening dasein. And then a wheel that spins among many people and along multiple trajectories, the spokes reaching further the more curious I am about a person, or perhaps the more I love them. There are some people that I love very much, that never see the spinning. Love is locked in a mirage of distance. And there are others I draw closer to because they appeal to my curiosity, they compose a necessary anthropology. I know many people, and they all mean something specific to me, even if they no longer talk to me, or if my feelings go unmatched. It is the bewilderment of this meaning-seeking that is often most interesting in human interaction. The compass of intent, the gesture of silence. As if all life were documentable.

Today was very cold. I leapfrogged from my semi-weekly Saturday morning coffee date with Derrick, then onto Bethany, who has an exciting (possible) name change in store (which rekindled my interest in shedding my absentee father's last name for something less dry, English), then over to two hours of sauna and girl talk with lovely Theda, who is a dove, pampering me with Guatemalan hot chocolate and thieved candies and listening, above all. Until the weather turns, I am happy spending my Saturday nights sheathed within my pleasure dome.

~a.