I write with nothing to lose

First it must be said that I, a mere pamphleteer, an eager humanist, write with nothing to lose.

Lookout first imageI am by choice a provincial – ever attentive to the deep of the cultural stream – but a provincial nonetheless.  Hence I am left alone to ponder and mull, except by those whose ideas I pursue, and this mostly through the screen door of the printed or digitized word.

As a writer I realize now, a woman at late middle age, I have sought neglect over and over again in contradiction to what I may have, especially when young, been telling myself.  As a consequence no one, nothing depends on my writing in any way familial, institutional or metaphoric.

This lack of investment, this invisibility now seems an advantage.  Belonging to no one abates my good daughter’s worry about casting a dark light on any one by my behavior.  Belonging nowhere gives little chance for pursuing endorsement, fatal for a thinker, or for my seduction by this or that idea or group out of a sense of loyalty or gratitude which, despite the reputation of these qualities, can work as much against as for a woman possessed of them.

My refusal to fight for cultural place has left me unsubstantiated by inclusion in any larger network of support or naming (such as academia, a gathering for which I have much fondness) and with only the slimmest of answers to the inevitable question of my legitimacy, “Who are you to speak?”  Sometimes I say I am responding to a calling.  This puts me, I know, in the same clamorous bin as all the other nuts with a vision.  But what’s to be done?Lookout final image

There is one investment, one attachment that I cannot shake: my yearning to believe that to be human is to evolve, a trait rooted in our biology but in no way limited to our bodies.  And this trait’s much to do with the evolution of our great gift and burden of consciousness – although I understand consciousness is a product of the mind which is a part of the body and not to be severed from it.  I yearn especially for the growth of our capacity to perceive our brief being here with clarity, with as little illusion, as little deception as possible.

Of all in the animal kingdom, the subcatagorical work of evolving emotional consciousness is especially ours to do.  This is more arduous than we can yet generally admit.  The promise of our ever erupting search for truthfulness in definition and perception, that itch in us to keep getting at what we are, truly, at heart constitutes, I think, the great exploratory endeavor and adventure of narrative.

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