The Graces of Time (an edewzealous {philosophically inclined} entry for the time series)

the graces of time

It becomes of richer spirit to inject humanity into science than science into humanity.

Somewhere in the hard wired recesses of a Deer must be transition expectations irreverently innate, essentially instinctive, coherently ingenerate and intuitive. And these hard wired recesses must hold little reference to time, its observations, and the cognitive implications of such because such are not transition states for cognition but for being.

Deer are fascinating creatures.

And I study them beyond the feminal spatial-temporal representations they capture in the science fiction novel, “ZERO SPACE”, mainly because they are genuinely graceful nature loving creatures.They are hard to sight in the raw against the wilder view but can be sighted dislodged against some tormentor’s edge life caved in for, paved cement, paved roads and other artifacts bridging natural forestry. There are those hard pressed moments when harshness present me with incalculable animation treasures and etiquette quite individuating, when disorientation and alienation take me directly to life on the natural plane.  

I first noticed a series of small black and rounded fecal matter scattered about on another type of natural waste, snow. It couldn’t belong to those big black birds whose breed I couldn’t quite place for a while could it? there were those distinctive holes dug deep into the trenches of the snow deposit near, the sharp tiny footsteps traceable backward and forward.

I studied the holes, footsteps, deeply embedded and spherical into the snow and followed the trail to a much bigger hole in the snow. This one was dug deep to touch the dead leaves underneath the snow which stopped me immediately as it became apparent they were neither footsteps nor fall-in-digs. They were carefully constructed architecture, beds—natural beds. Deer, not equipped with the intelligent quotient of 181, know intimately to bypass nature’s natural waste, the snow, to get to its natural warmth however the necrotic state of such. Experience? Intelligence? Coincidence? Synchrony? Asynchrony?

How vain is it to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live?

Henry David Thoreau

Every natural action is graceful.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

What graces may beset a stream where no water may be? What stance those green water shrubs accompanying its flow? I stretch Thoreau’s vanity to reflect a level of consciousness capable of capturing and retaining the traits of natural conditions without necessarily having the neural or natural ability to process it. That is, one capable of a stream of consciousness, time alongside it with pulses indistinguishable from one another as relay or receptor neurons not being distinguishable. And all dispositions of this pulsate disallowing any form of communication whatsoever, a stream without any procedural intuition always laying claims to traits obscure and distance while basking in the glory of absolute and abstract vanity, a state of delinquency projecting potency and movement.

Thoreau’s vanity catches disgrace rather than grace by the edge, at the end. It has no worth to move with, stand with, sit with, gives out porosity as speech as it begs the beggars to listen to its thoughts. It embodies the Hobbesian view of the state of nature which he terms as the “natural condition of mankind…nasty, brutish, and short,” a state without laws, order or governance to maintain such.

With Thoreau’s vanity, there is such a state of nature without any grace whatsoever but capable of having law and order, one for instance which would have never “stood up to live,” but “sits down to write”. In other words, the state of nature the opposite of the Hobbesian view is the state of nature the reality of the Hobbesian view. This vanity comes to itself as vanity and returns nothing true to itself; that is, it is a state of delinquency against itself.

If anything qualifies a graceful act, it is the very absence of this vanity, this delinquency call onto its own empty delinquency calling of something ill-gotten, small and unattainable.