go to Four Corners and you can stand there and see it, feel it as you look to the north-west, the north-east, the south-west, the south-east... there's something about the land, the hills and the stones -- as they relate to people -- that speak differently. maybe it's a limitation of the stuckness of our perception, that our eyes invest the images they let in with our nature, and what we are seeing isn't the landscape, but the image on the inside surface of our retina -- and because of that we can only see the results of the linemaking of our race.

and when we're gone, i suspect the rocks and mountains will breathe easier and become one again..

we are line-makers and name-givers. we do this on the landscape, we do it to the distant stars -- what is a sign of the zodiac but line-making and name-giving? -- and we make edges in time in the same way, we cut and divide it and we pretend the edges are crisp. this is a convenient fiction.

look at what you are reading -- it's name-giving and line-making -- language and writing.

of course, perhaps we make our demarkations along edges that were already in existence, that the universe, or history, or geography as already delineated. perhaps so, sometimes.

is the border the thing that keeps two things apart, or does a border keep them together?