Where am I, what am I doing?

“We might say that zero can allow for sixteen directions, points that we could mark out on its circumference and note as potential directions for movement.  It is as though we had found sixteen different “here’s” with the “here”.  SDTS 24

Jack referred to SDTS 17-24 as an aid to further exploration of how the graphic images of “16” might be understood.

After outlining the way that an “I” can be turned on its side to provide a baseline connecting “I am here” to a “there” (which then requires its own connections), the text drops that image and proceeds to the more familiar X-Y axis as a way for the “I” to define positions and inter-relationships.  Then the text moves on to a description of how 16 points can also be directly arrayed around a central “zero” point (as in the quote above).

It’s as if the “I am here” baseline did its job in depicting how the “I” is obliged to reach out in search of a world; then sixteen points spreading out from an XY intersection (organized as four endpoints anchored by their own four endpoints) provided the “I” with a tapestry of connecting threads in which it could be present.

Then the “I” (which has been anchored and linked in several ways with several ‘there’s’) is envisioned as occupying a central zero point that radiates outward in 16 directions.

Perhaps these represent three stages: 1/ at birth we reach out blindly in a single direction (“there”); 2/ as we grow, we orient ourselves within a “world” whose environments of interest are understood to have their own centres of engagement; and 3/ in our daily lives we simply feel ourselves at the centre of a host of competing obligations, responsibilities and interests, each calling out to us like carpet sellers in a market (“Persian, hand-woven, natural dies–take home to wife, honoured Sir!”)

Such sixteen competing opportunities (all scrupulously enumerated on my daily To Do List), are sometimes intimidating (requiring that I tackle technical challenges) sometimes frightening (when I am helplessly worried about a family member’s well-being); and sometimes they allow me to engage the flying moment in a spirit of enjoyment.  All require time and space to appear and knowledge to answer the call.

Is it possible to allow time and knowledge the space to unfurl–instead of the tension and stress that sees undone things demanding attention?  How refreshing it would be to allow knowledge to enter the field before me so that I can follow along: a willing student appreciating an opportunity to learn.  Perhaps I don’t need to push aside obstacles, beat the clock to the punch, or discover hidden methods before I can set out on today’s journey.  Perhaps time will bring the knowledge I need if I just unfurl the sail—so that a breeze out past the end of the jetty can presently fill the sails.

Or as Franz Kafka puts it: “There is a point when the current sweeps you away.  That is the point that must be reached.”