I am republishing this because Tanya Lau couldn’t bring it up. She found it in my other blog, but I am republishing anyway. Lord knows why.
My wife and I often take field walks on Sunday to assess the state of the pasture, the grass, the woods, the water–in other words the full catastrophe that has been this winter. And, of course, we wanted to hear the peepers at the Gates of Dawn.
In the wetlands by Bacon Creek we muck about in our boots, drawn toward the keening of the peepers.
Yet…you cannot see a single one even though you hear them all about. You cannot see a peep. Hence the quote above from James Carse.
Here is the paradox. Most of the time online, I feel both utterly alone and surrounded just like I do when I visit the peepers in the spring. I cannot see my ‘peeps’ yet I can hear them singing. But it is confounding. I want to hold both in my heart simultaneously, but can’t. I cycle between desolation and habitation much like the move from winter to spring. I understand this in the natural world. I do not understand this online.
Can I have faith that the peepers are there and lifting me up even though I cannot see them ? Is Carse right in saying that “we cannot relate to anyone who is not also relating to us” ? Are my peeps relating to me and I know it not?
This is not a trivial matter. It applies to all communities. It just seems particularly apt to my digital ones right now. If I hear them keening, is that enough to be in communion. Sometimes yes, other times no. I am alternating current seeking the ground of community be that natural or home-made.
Right now, I ain’t feelin’ it. But not to worry. The infinite game abounds. Keening and caring and connected even though I cannot see it. The peepers at the Gates of Dawn abide with me.
Screw it, let’s go on another feldgang