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This is an important for me book because it is an act of dying. It concludes a long exploration of a particular way of writing and transmission. The new things I am working on are different. In tone, in content. In their clarity. Yesterday I took the train to Berkeley and began rehearsing with Chenelle for the book release. She asked me about writing the book, what was happening during the composition. And I found myself describing a state of confinement, how it feels to leave an obsession. When a new and desired way of being has already begun, but the old patterns haven’t yet been reworked. The itch of healing. The brief and confusing period when nothing is what it was and yet nothing could exactly be called anything else, either.
In many ways this is an awkward and uncomfortable book to share. When I lost the original text I didn’t think I was going to rewrite it. I didn’t feel as though I could access the same state. I didn’t want to access the same state. The idea of reconstruction was totally depressing, and I was already totally depressed about the loss. But when I began rewriting I was surprised to discover how fascinating it was to visit the psychic landscape as an observer, rather than an inhabitant. And to realize what a short period of time had actually transpired. How rapidly I leave my selves behind. How indebted I am to the people I have been.
It is so fleeting.
