Thursday, August 02, 2007

As I sit here before the window, tapping out these words, and glancing out at Harris Creek, I cannot remember when it was that I began. I don't remember coming out of my mother's womb, let alone being inside her. And I don't remember those first few years except as certain snapshots that could as well be from a dream. The "I" that I am referring to, began with words, and I cannot say what the first word was; the world and myself began with words first heard and then later read. It is at this second beginning, that my rememberance of myself emerges.

I am the reader/writer; this "tapping out" is the rememberance. The origin of the writer is in the writing. Remberance is an active process, a periodic reconstruction of myself. I always begin with an awakening from the dream. There is no single awakening that I can point to as the first; there have only been a series of awakenings seperated by dreams; from womb to tomb, and back again.