Just found this in a notebook. No recollection

12.24.10

Having ventured back a time and again, I now exist in a time which was never mine, in a situation I always saw but never knew, never dared to question or seek a part of. I'm better off not knowing or understanding, better served when I'm forced to scavenge and seek.

So much changes in the instant of a year, in the particulars and absent transgressions. What we fight and quarrel, admire and detest, is fleeting in that non-human scope, in that everlasting life.

I'm content in recognizing my actions as rude, in pursuing vistas whose ominous proclivities would be certain to a child.

For we aren't here to explain our actions or justify kind omissions. Our journey had no date of departure nor possesses a projected arrival. Because we never truly leave.

Everything experienced saturates our self to some degree; recognized or not. And we similarly never arrive at our admired grace. All existence is in flux, a climb and descent with intermittent holds and ephemeral states of feeling grounded.

Rocks, ropes, limbs and grips are nothing but molecules in separate configurations. A bleating goat and screeching brake, but wavelengths of varied compressions. As we extrapolate ourselves, as we attempt to exempt the nature of our humanness, our true existence conversely diminishes; we become less with each attempt to elevate ourselves - that self promulgation rampantly raping our true humanity, that which is the inherent glue of our kind.

Can I continue assuming so? Assuming I exist and interact beyond the norm or am stronger than the delicate Madrone or more hearty than the Ashe juniper?

My bark is thin. I must tread lightly if I'm to never stop.