Everything is Revisable

1. Beginning.

-----Original Message-----

From: Me [mailto:]

Sent: Thursday, May 04, 2006 10:09 AM

To: My Father [mailto:]

Subject: latin lesson of the day

i learned last night, from someone who knows latin (apparently these people exist - and manage to find me), that the word 'amanda' is actually a linguistic/grammatical oddity called a gerundive. it's a kind of word that only exists in latin and one other language. it's a combination verb and adjective and translated means 'needs to be' or 'must be'. amanda, specifically, means not just loved, but 'must be loved' or 'needs to be loved'.

so i guess i'm not sure whether to blame you or thank you.

Regards,

Your Daughter

2. That's Grammar, For You.

In grammar, an infinitive is a form of a verb unencumbered by relational words; although often indicated by companionship to the word 'to'; i.e. 'to have'; 'to be'. It is not limited by number, person, or tense.

Some verbs don't have infinitive forms and are considered defective verbs.


3. A Letter Attempted Twice and Never Sent.

Dear Unfinished Business:

I have been advised against leaving things open ended.

I am told I am unable to recognize when things are over.

I am reminded that there is no way to stop time. There are ways to measure it. There are ways to synchronize it, if you are Einstein. There are theorems, hypotheses, three dimensional diagrams, philosophical studies. There are thought experiments.

Dear Unfinished Business:

Here it is, what I'm trying to tell you.

There's me. I'm standing not next to you, but nearby. There's you. You are directly in between A and B. A and B are two light-emitting entities.

Did you see it?

There was a flash in the corner of your eye. Maybe that was me. Did it come from B, or was it A? Or does it matter? Anyway, the point is this--there are too many variables, there are signals that you and me, that we are receiving constantly, without knowing ever with any certainty where they came from, when they left, and how long it took them to be received. Let alone what any of it means.

The truth is I'm bad at endings. If endings are beginnings and beginnings are endings, then I am bad at beginnings, too. You and me, me and you, here in between A and B, never ending and never beginning, I think, are just the way we should be. Receiving.


4. A Lesson in Revision.

The truth is I'm bad at beginnings. But I have to start somewhere. Which means, in many ways, I'm ending.

Luckily for me, everything is revisable. I've had some debate with myself lately about places and our relationship to them, and our position in time. What I've come to realize is that a place can be revised by time--skylines can be raised and reversed, populations increase and decline--and that people can be revised by where they are at. They can define themselves by where they have been. They can assess themselves by where they are at. They can redefine themselves by where they are going.

I thought I was leaving, and I think what I've discovered is that there are many senses of the word. Everything is revisable, and each revision is a departure, is a ticket counter, is an airplane gate, is a uniformed attendant waiting to scan your ticket, waiting to making sure you belong on this flight. Each revision is an end, is a beginning, is a jetway leading to a seat that may or may not take you to where you want to be. There's only one way to find out.

Take a step. Maybe you are where you were, where you have already been. Another second. Maybe it is a different place. Perhaps it is the same: step forward; pause; step back; maybe, it is you. Rest to find out. Stay.