Motion

Motion. It takes many, many forms. It is, in many ways, akin to a royal lineage, moving from the singular to the many, or the many to the singular. An individual’s motion can be a complicated thing to analyse, as there are invariably very many individual motions making up an individual’s motion.

For starters, it’s as well to differentiate between the primary and secondary motions, paying attention to the fact that what appears to be the primary motion may turn out to be anything but, merely a catalyst of some sort, or a sort of diversionary motion, distracting the casual observer from what is truly undergoing flux.

Secondly, the motions identified ought to be split into two categories, motions towards, and motions from. Typically, individual motions are more than capable of being motions towards and motions from simultaneously. That and the same motion can appear to be in different directions to different observers.

Take one ginger cat. This move, for him, is a move from a familiar place to one unfamiliar. His resistance with regards the cat basket was minimal, because he knows that not only is is capture inevitable but actually desirable. The sudden lack of furniture tells him that a new patch is imminent. I suspect that he is under the bed as I type. This is his default position in times of trauma.

For me, the motion is simultaneously towards and from, retrograde and progressive. From renovating my own three bed house to rooming in a shared house as a sort of concierge. Every move sees me moving further away from what once I was. Every domicile introduces a layer of insulation from ground zero. And yet I still retain links to my past that irritate me in astonishing measure. The past is not another country. We are pioneer, adventurer, traveller, tourist and tour guide in our own unique destination. And our destination is both where we are and where we aspire to be, while providing our own slide show of where we have been.

We are also our own boarder police, and sometimes are obliged to take us aside and grill us with regards our reason for visiting.

We lie to ourselves as we lie to them.

We spend our time wishing we were anywhere but where we are. Ginger cats concentrate their geographical discomfort into a few short but irritating days. Then they are masters of all they survey.

If only we could say the same for ourselves.

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