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William Blake: The Pastorals of Virgil, Eclogue I:
The Blasted Tree (1821)

" … There never could have been one best way …"

I began this Reconning Series by declaring myself a Begineer, a skilled purveyor of starts rather than of finishes. I never feel very certain where my beginnings might be heading and I'm almost always absolutely clueless about the ending. When it comes time to draw conclusions, I typically lose my crayon and go still and silent, for I must not be in the transformation business. I might be more an evolutionist, and a slow one at that. I head off in a direction without really knowing where that compass heading might be leading me and with little more than a vague notion in my mind of what kind of an ending might result. Unsurprisingly, then, nearing the end, I sense no great understanding emerging from this particular wandering. The enquiry, rather than any specific conclusion, might have been the purpose of this enquiry, too.

The typical metric measures "Shift," often in something like tectonic units.
How much Shift did that enquiry manifest, as if Shift were quite naturally the purpose? With Reconning, though, it might have always been that Shift could not have served as a useful purpose. Do I now hold a better orientation to the trajectory I'm taking? I suppose I might, for I seem to have come to accept a few of the new conditions under whose rule I find myself living. That and a nickel might buy me something, but not much, I garner.

A dear friend suggested that I might want to write
about something for a change. He proposed that I might have one or two great books within the twenty I'm just now finishing, if only I'd focus and cherry-pick and choose. The arc of my typical narrative does not attempt to move the reader from naivety to wisdom, innocence to experience, but merely into consideration, which never really intended to draw conclusions. Conclusions seem preliminary or moot. I always seem to be inhabiting the middle of every story whether Reconning or FindingHome. The Shift I engineer might be more subtle than clear. The Shift stays rooted within the expectations. I will most likely continue Reconning forever, having lost my innocent belief in the permanence of any measure. I Recon in perpetuity. Recognizing this might most likely be all the Shift this series manages to muster in me, which might be plenty. Plenty or not, it's all I've got, or all I'm giving it.

I always struggled to make my point, to distill whatever I'd imagined into the one most salient learning. I've proven myself largely ignorant of any mosts, and salients securely stand solely in the eye of the observer and little further afield. Much depends upon much. More, perhaps, than readily gives up its gist, let alone its sole salient. About the best I can say as I approach the ending of this Reconning Story is a heartfelt hmmmm, a right and proper conclusion for any concerted consideration. I could, if goosed, produce The Ten Best Methods For Reconning or, better, The Hidden Secrets Of Effective Reconning, but why bother? There never could have been one best way to Recon, and my meager one pass through a process (that was a process?) most likely wouldn't have stumbled upon the optimal path. How many repetitions of any single instance action might be required to draw a comprehensive conclusion? Just wondering.


Enquiry As Answer
My Reconning Stories only have a few more chapters due them. This summary will be the final one comprised of only Reconning Stories. Of course, I have not yet chosen next quarter's focus, if only because I cannot yet quite see out of this quarter and into the next one. I can only know what comes next once I'm entering next. Preliminary anticipation buys nobody nuthin' in this business, just about as much as drawing conclusions ever does. These limits effectively frame my work's latitude. Beginning's as easy as any departure. Ending's harder. The space between these seems widely misunderstood as process, as if it's supposed to be heading somewhere or else irrelevant. It seems that space stands as somewhere even if it leads to nowhere in particular. The enquiry might subtly so also serve as the answer.

I began my writing week with a dawning recognition in
Drizzling. "I have shown myself to take my commitments too seriously sometimes, and in need of some Drizzling to remind me what I was trying to accomplish before that fierce summer sun caught up to my efforts."

I caught myself starting to settle into ending this series with
Aaaah. "Whatever the hassles encountered along the journey, dragons or bugaboos, each return reminds us who we always were."

The most popular posting this period featured my cats and their adventures in
Boyk. "I think it endearing how, even the most dour human, starts speaking in squeaky tongues whenever a cat or kitten comes near."

I next stumbled into that space between past and present I enter whenever visiting where I used to live in
Ghosted. "I left and never returned. I left but never learned how to live anywhere else, always the somebody else, the anonymous stranger on the bus, the fellow scanning the nonfiction shelves down at Powell's, even to myself."

I declared myself a representative of the past, haunting the present, in
Haunter. "The Haunter stands sentinel, part of the security detail for the already vanquished status quo."

I considered Ill At Ease by proposing its opposite in
WellAtEase. "Letting stuff flow at their own viscosity seems a superior philosophy."

I ended this writing week by making a
HomeRun. "I remember how it was before that flooding, when the HomeRun was two lane highway all the way to Portland and back again, a time just after pioneer times when only a train ran through that gorge."

Another writing week concluded without drawing many conclusions, just as if enquiry was the answer rather than merely a means by which enquiry ceases. Thank you for joining me on this apparently infinite investigation!

©2022 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

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