The Singer
Beginning can seem impossible. The beginning lies in utter indistinctness fraught as it is with every endless possibility. The difficulty of beginning is not that one has nothing to say but that there are endless things to say and they cannot all be said at once.
To begin, you need not postulate the stars, the galaxies, the electrons and quarks — you need not rebuild or recreate the world in words — you cannot begin with everything-that-has-come-before in mind. You cannot begin with everything-that-has-yet-to-be.
You cannot afford to wait to begin until you have completely explored every nook and crevice of the universe or of human culture. You cannot even begin as though the beginning is a sort of solid foundation from which you will build upward and upon which the all-encompassing-rest-that-is-yet-to-come will comfortably and securely sit.
To begin is to act, whether artfully or as if by pure accident, by forging a way ahead and where this decisive — perhaps even impulsive — act functions as an introductory carving out of some particular portion of the Everything, an illuminating spotlight shone into the infinite black vastness choosing certain items of interest and such that certain limitations emerge of their own accord in the process.
To begin is to forge a heretofore untraveled pathway into untamed Cimmerian mists — it is to create the unique artifact that you and only you could ever have possibly discovered/invented, and it is to move forward, whether hesitantly or full steam ahead, into exciting and unpredictable and dangerous territory where the goal is not even known beforehand and where it is anticipated that there might not be one at all save for the act itself.
To begin honestly is to say, “I am beginning this now,” and wherein this now necessarily invokes the adored, revered, ignored and forgotten monuments that came before this beginning from their equalizing sepulchres — and it says, “I am doing something different now.”
To begin is to open some new line of communication with this already overwhelming cemetery of the unborn by shining light upon some not-yet-existent part of the Everything for the world to see.
To begin is to decide to make an addendum to creations and communications of the past, to carve out some new obscure piece from the oblivion of pre-existence.
It is to say: “I am beginning . . . and I will begin in this manner . . . “
The Flood
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