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Suzuki Harunobu: Young Man Reading over a Young Woman’s Shoulder (1765 - 1770)

"Reconning resolves back into itself …"

As I approach the fifth anniversary of the start of my daily writing practice, I also see another impending ending. This series, this Reconning Series, seems to be heading in the very same direction its nineteen siblings met. I began each series on a solstice or equinox and wrote as if attempting to discover something. Each a Hero's Journey, in the full Joseph Campbell sense of that term. I'd depart reluctantly, still attached to the recently completed but not then feeling as though I'd achieved closure. I'd persist, meeting the usual collection of dragons and bugaboos, more or less vanquishing each in turn, before finding myself at the always surprising end of yet another writing season, attempting to celebrate a homecoming of sorts. Each felt more like a combination homecoming and departure again, because each was both, or at least I experienced them as both. Before the carcass of the old series had even cooled, I was off in some new direction.

As I mentioned in yesterday's story, I sustain myself as if a bird of the field, taking advantage of the natural abundance surrounding me.
Not that this lifestyle doesn't require requisite faith, for sustenance is not every day evident. I admit to a fair amount of stumbling into and upon, perhaps more of that than planned trajectory. I came to feel that planning ahead amounted to a sort of cheating. Not even the traditionally omniscient author was supposed to know what was coming next, for mine was a voyage of discovery; maybe not necessarily BIG D discovery, but discovery nonetheless. I sought some deeper understanding with each new series. I wanted to better comprehend even if I could not have possibly yet understood what I needed deeper insight into. I was stumbling into stories as well as into purpose.

I'd choose some theme, as if that necessarily limited anything. My Authoring Series, which immediately preceded this Reconning Series, sought to investigate what it might take for me to become a published author again. I entered into writing that series, understanding that I was authoring a series on authoring, a second-order and slightly paradoxical premise. Whatever I chose to include would necessarily exude Authoring. What would such an investigation uncover other than the obvious? It did, indeed, ultimately reveal the obvious, that I was not necessarily all that interested in doing what was necessary to get published again, but that what I had been doing while investigating Authoring had, indeed, been Authoring at perhaps its finest. What started as aspiration resolved as acceptance and renewed appreciation. The resulting homecoming proved very reassuring.

I'm reflecting now as I swear that I can almost see the end of this Reconning Series that it appears from here that it's very likely to end as all the previous series have ended. I might have departed hoping to discover an ah-ha experience out there, out here, but so far, the best I've managed to find are Aaaah endings, rather quiet and unassuming resolutions most heroes might never aspire to discover. It's not precisely that each of my adventures so far have ended with a whimper, but there have been no fireworks or big brass bands welcoming this hero home, just another quiet understanding, nothing terribly demanding, more Earth-affirming than Earth-shattering. I never once stumbled upon the secret knowledge some scribblers seem to find. I head off in some fresh direction before returning back home like some far-ranging salmon, more experienced, sure, but perhaps none the wiser.

And I think it perhaps perfectly appropriate that each of my little literary adventures resolves back into itself at the end. Each might better serve as reinforcement more than as enlightenment. This world, constantly changing, ain't as a result much different. Change, as popularly represented, seems largely deep down superficial. We come back home at the end, different but hardly changed. We were changing before we departed and would have been changing regardless. It might be that all life shares some common eigenvalue. To even engage with it might seem ultimately fruitless, but fruit's produced. It's also consumed on the journey to sustain the body. The gyrations of the journey might just represent benevolent intent. To leave, a blessing. To return again, a blessing also. Whatever the hassles encountered along the journey, dragons or bugaboos, each return reminds us who we always were. Reconning resolves back into itself, too.

©2022 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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