The Cloister: Within & Without
“Tell me how this story ends if one just stay within, the cloister and the cell wall.”
—Woodheavy Brown, The Cloister & The Cell Wall
We are all programmers, coding with every word we generate. And it’s not just output. It’s the crisp petals blooming in our minds for no other to know. Right? Every thought. The ones you know, and the underlying ones that run the show.
Our sprawling, lovely green cemeteries are deleted files folders. The ground underneath a tree is the tree. It’s the program: it’s the fodder, it’s the code, it’s the tree — coding green. It’s the eating of the deleted files; it’s the coming free. Remainder. The needles, twigs, and leaves produced, pushed off, and falling, reconnect with the ground. They begin at one point, and then return to the same point, place, position in the future.
A string twisted up is a spiral, a spring, a ball — the bouncing did/does the the twisting; the twisting does/did the spiral, the spring, the ball … bouncing. It returns to Earth, exchanges the energy, bounces.
We are all programmers, coding with every impulse, every discharge a future of ourselves. Whether you die and are (re)stored in a ROM stack vault, loaded into a flash/flesh drive coffin, or reduced to FireWire ash bits, you return to (and remain in) the Earth(en) vessel that grew the tree from itself.
From itself the story ends in its beginnings. From inside the populated cell wall to inside the populated cloister we swim for new horizons from safe harbors, only to create new safe harbors from which to swim. The ground underneath the tree is the tree.
K. Shawn Edgar | Coconut Codpiece | Wafer Thin | Code Monk
Pole Vaulting on the Sun 