Outside

When we love someone, we are attached to his or her surface colors, forms, warmth, movements. We avoid envisioning the inner organs and contents of his or her body. The external colors and patterns of other species are snares for our eyes.

We can see nothing of what is behind our skin. We move, we act by not seeing, by not watching how we move. Nothing is more alien to us than the transparent bodies of box jellyfish.

Our sensibility is turned outward. Our feet are long and set parallel; they are made to move on ahead. Nature is revealed to us through movement into it and movement with it. Our minds no longer grasp, appropriate, collect, legislate; they become rushes and rhythms and flows. They join the birds in the sky.