What needs to be said:

This letter is written in the morning, on my way to work, on a small portable electronic device. Even though all that seems highly alienating & impersonal, I nonetheless consider these words to be a highly idiosyncratic extension of my accumulated thoughts since our last meeting, so that perhaps this form could be considered a media of heightened awareness & increased consideration, rather than not.

We all spend too much time in-doors. Doors: thresholds, passages to others rooms. Continuous movements deters detailed descriptions, of our surroundings, & especially how our own forms shift in relation to the compartments we place ourselves within. I'm always trying to slow down, speak less, look & listen to the neglected details & accents of the room - here taken literally & metaphorically - which causes dissonance, tension, "friction" with others sharing the space, seemingly an impediment to their continued full throttle acceleration into an oblivion of uncertainty. I no longer believe there is anywhere else to go, not from existential angst or despair, but indeed from optimism, that I have everything I need, & so perhaps others do also. I can calmly put all the pieces down & leave them behind, though I still do carry a few along with me, to keep turning over in the hand, to feel through the contours, to "see" where "feeling" might "guide" me. Put all the words in quotes I suppose: not to lift from reality but bury them deeper in associative transparency.

We spend too much time indoors, inside, literally & metaphorically. Too far inside ourselves, a self imagined as a building, a container of some essence in addition to the thoughts thinking themselves thinking or body feeling itself touching, & so we are sick. It seems to me like we require a new model, not a new idea or ideology or body or way of moving, but a new way of conceptualizing & embodying the whole thing, the whole non-thing. It seems like it requires a language to describe all the states of being & becoming, a useful language so that we can share our experiences with each other, a technical language that strives for increasing the fidelity of our experience, an embodied language that allows the speaker to maintain awareness of how what is said is said as much as what is being said through the saying. It seems to me that this language cannot be imagined in a void, by a man or a woman or any other, even a they/them, but always through them also, in relation, a series of relations relating to each other, an emergent relation unfolded like a series of nodes along a lattice, with a model to image it & a language to populate it & a body to enact it, all unfurling through motion along a path which always circles but never flows backwards. It seems like we should share in a focus upon the seams, conduct a dialogue at the periphery of being, to get outdoors & go for a stroll to continue the telling of a becoming-other than what we currently are without forgetting that we can never be anything other than what we describe our being as, or how we choose to describe it, to ourselves & others also.

It seems we all spend too much time indoors. We are spending, some "thing" called time, the quintessential non-thing if there ever was one. All those economics aside - far too boring for this early hour of the day, it's incredible how much changes just in stepping outside - literally, to walk outdoors, out of the architectures of the home, of business, of the city, of humanity. When is the last time you stepped foot in such a place? When I go for a short drive to access a greener zone, to tree a path carved out among the oaks & eucalyptus, on the hills or in the valleys, I am thankful for the opportunity to commune with the rich diversity of botanical beings & try to heed their lessons, believing they might have something to teach me, or at least remind me of, some non-thing that is slowly slipping away the more I walk along cement cinderblocks & metallic alloys & all the other molded or protruded materials of civilization. While I walk & gaze & remember & daydream, I also become aware of the artificiality of that environment; although plants abound & all appears wild, I witness the nonnative species, just as much strangers & invaders as I am, & I wonder about nature. Is it - nature - only an idea, a collective remembering of a place or time that no longer exists, or perhaps a state of mind, a way of seeing, a way of walking? Is it a place or a time or a state of being? Is it something inside or outside? Surely it must be the outside itself, yet it is discussed as being within all things, or perhaps all beings is more accurate, synonymous with life itself, yet also greater than, antagonistic to, or should I say agonistic with - sharing in the joys & deaths of infinite myriad beings living & unliving themselves alongside every other. I enjoy returning to these places, even if I struggle to consider it nature. I enjoy the conversations that take place out there, like the one I had with you, even if "out there" is not completely out side, just a side of a shimmering facet Rolodex of sides.

I wonder about the forest you are currently immersed in, how it feels, what it looks like, the smells & the varietals of ferns & the war of ants & fungus & the abundance of life-death lingering in the air & dew. I wonder how you would describe its feels, how you would say it feels to feel there, how you could relate it to me from abroad, through distance, of spaces & language & shared - though displaced - relating. I'll make you a pact: I'll keep describing here if you maintain observation from your vantage, for no reason other than the joy of comparing notes, & maybe articulating a little further what is ill with this world, & identify what it is exactly that "needs healing" as you were so adamant in proposing that day in the forest. I hope this letter finds you well, & full, & natural. Be well.