Equinox: Nosing out trails
A tree is a grey kangaroo is a tree again.
Equinox: day and night fill equal measures of time. The between-us is more accessible, inhabitable (the veil is thin, some say).
In the dawn landscape, shapeshifting is afoot. A tree is a grey kangaroo is a tree again, and a fairy wren is a tiny rabbit, darting out from under the leaves of a lomandra, so quick that the edge between 0 and 1 blurs. Categories of being intermingle, become active and muscular.
The more attention we give to categories, the more …look! -the tiniest, golden yellow pea flower.
Words, in a way, are categories - boundaried fields of meaning gesturing toward ‘this and not that’. They lead us through landscapes, pointing out the colour and scale of a pea flower as distinct from the synergetic meshwork of other possibilities. Words are always moving, coming and going, often unsolicited.
Letting words be wild - warm, snuffly, territorial, wet around the jaw - is a sort of collaboration.
The more attention we give to categories, the more they assert themselves in our cognitive scripts. At the same time, the more they lose rigidity, become permeable and elastic - more like the world itself.
Sometimes we see more than is concretely here. At that point, we are reasoning, extrapolating, trying out the fit of a pattern or schema in our worldview. Language can turbo-charge this activity, and so can the running crouching stopping backtracking fixing finding breaking pulsing multiplying body.
Our bodies are adept in discerning patterns. A trail appears, and another: lines that separate things out. We make maps even as the trail becomes lost in the tangle of our visual field, an imprint of something that darts ahead of our desire to move collaboratively with the world.
That flash of fur - was it real? Equinox recedes, and we have new stories.
Niki <3