You went out pretty far,
forgot about what you are.
Found it again in the car,
driving out.

Reach out to touch a formless shape,
a lost place from where you came,
a body attached to your name,
a meaning that will always change

as soon as you grasp it,
watch as it
slips.

I am not moving on a line, I am not moving towards a singular, static state of fateful Truth. We cling to consistency because we fear the unknown, we fear ourselves, who and what we might become. What boredom to live in fear, at least in this sort of fear. A banal fear, cowering toothless, a limitation. Often, I am paralyzed by it. I see maps. I see forked roads, consequences, I see potential, and in my deterministic state become petrified. Each decision marks a road and blocks another, one I may well regret not turning onto. This road I follow may spin me out of control, into a ditch or oblivion, I should have chosen differently. I should have been someone else, something better, at least different. Even if I feel strongly, every decision is made with a twinge of some speculative regret. But the road is not forked, I do not destroy possibilities with decision. The road is a hydra. One head is lopped off and another springs back up in its place. But it is even more shapeless and decentralized than a hydra. When the path is chosen, another does not so much disappear as it is reconstituted: seen through fresh eyes, the eyes of the Not-I, the me in the next-me, it becomes something new. I do not cut off a head at all, I grow others, sometimes not even heads but limbs, genitals, other extremities, something inhuman, extra-human, but human nonetheless. It’s impossible to live without regret, but at least it is possible to reframe the process of decision. There isn’t an option of return, but there are options of reflection, reorientation. In the process of decision, with every choice, I become something new. I am expanding. I reinterpret, revisit, reimagine. I am the All we all are.