I can’t see where I’m going. I don’t know what it’ll be like to arrive there. It’ll probably be a lot like this, because when I arrive there, there won’t be there anymore. It’ll be here. Maybe there is here, which would mean I’m going nowhere. Maybe I’m just going, now, here. Where is here, anyway? What is it? I can only ever try to know, because here – where I am, and who I am in that where – is never still. It won’t ever arrive once and for all, at last, to stay exactly like this. It’s always leaving, so I can never take a good long look at it. Or, it’s always arriving, so I have to meet it new over and over again, a stranger ever-knocking at my door. How can I know something like this, something that is always changing? How can I see it? What can I see about where I am if where I am is moving? What can I know about who I am if who I am is movement?

I can see that I don’t need to see, I suppose. I can know that I don’t need to know. I never really have, have I? If all my chains were, in fact, reins, would I be able to let them go?

*I Swear, This is Going Somewhere by SamDakota


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