The Self-Interest of Motion

Jump stepstone to stepstone in the raging river,
advance from perception to perception, and call
this progress yours. You must know, somewhere deep inside,
your thoughts, propietary leaps, are ephemeral gifts of a wild river,
that where you stood a moment before will be nothing
but the willful erasure of water risen to a new level.
You can’t even follow your own steps backwards
any distance at all. Just try to figure out how you got
today’s moods from yesterday’s. Or try to walk a single day
physically backward. Good luck. It’s one direction
all your life. The wild river, some say, becomes our savage friend.
Neither thought, nor the stream that surrounds it, can stop
the earthly push to be somewhere else, can stop that mysterious
command come from who-knows-where to kill or carry us
anywhere, to kill or carry, and really no difference
which one, as far as these free agents, these hired guns,
are concerned.


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