4.24.2012

The strange thing is...it's hard to explain...how the outside and inside worlds suddenly overlap...or maybe it's synchronicity that allows one metaphor to function in both ordinary and non-ordinary ways...

Okay, forget that crap. This is what happened:

For no reason other than it was messy and overgrown, I started clearing brush from the area behind the studio. I raked away the leaves and dead branches, making it easier to walk down and visit the little stream that's back there. Then I gathered some of those square pieces of shale, the shattered remains of young Appalachian mountains, you know, the flat, gray rocks scattered everywhere. I got a bunch of them and lined the newly raked out path; putting the bigger pieces next to the water for standing on while not getting your shoes muddy.

I find real joy in this kind of work, especially on an unseasonably warm spring days following a very mild winter. The repetitive physical activity frees the mind. Today I used the extra mental bandwidth to mull over my newest piece of software, the first algorithm that has fascinated me in years. What I realized was, quite apart from the computer and quite possibly because I was outdoors, if I just ran the algorithm in my head, the thought pattern it induced was a quick way for me to reach a deep meditative state; a quicker way than if I was just sitting and keeping my thoughts clear.

Here is where the metaphors start to overlap. While I was clearing away dead branches and leaves, opening up the forest ground for new growth, new growth sprung up in my mind. Outside I was making it easier to get to the stream, removing sticker bushes and dead branches, and inside I had found an equally convenient way to get to the stream, to meditative flow. Did my actions influence my thought patterns, spurring on the new understanding? I don't know.

I know that while making a new path, I found a new path; while clearing a path, a path was cleared. And I don't think I can say it any more directly than that.

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