A Manifesto for the Moving

There are two types of people in the world - those who divide the world into two types and those who don't. No, seriously... there are.... two types...

Those who move their selves, and those who, like babies unable yet to walk, are carried.

In our overly-spoiled western societies, most of us are of the latter: spoiled children who do not even know they are spoiled, and who rely on being carried everywhere, whether by transport or cars, or by second-hand thoughts, conventional 'wisdom', and super-imposed subroutines. Indeed, the whole conscious configuration of the western mind is in a state of being carried. The paradigm that we labour under, in the affluent and wasteful West: education, job, family, car, mortgage, status, success... is a carrying device. There are few of us that can get beyond this conditioning, into a space where one can see how dangerous and delusional it is for the planet as a whole. But we are so self-contracted as a species that seeing the whole is nigh on impossible for most. It's a crying shame what we have done to ourselves through 'progress', an even bigger shame what we have done to others, the land, the seas, the rivers, the animals...

But of course, those 'others' are us, as our undifferentiated and de-configured selves. What happens to 'them' also happens to 'us'.

Which is why self-moving is so vitally important. Because it helps us see.

When the body moves, the mind moves too, but no just any old moving, preferably moving, solitarily,  in wild and remote places where there are no distractions and plenty of phenomena with which you can 'find a way in' and learn to identify your own self through them. It is also, paradoxically, through self-propulsion and the ignition of one's own engines that one will enter into stillness. It is through this stillness that one will then come into contact with one's Self, that inner oracle that is mostly, though not entirely, kept down by the din and dust of the noisy city.

It's all about the self-moving, and the auto-mobile. Not the devious perversion of it as in the motor-car, but as in ones own heart.

We, Earth,

of the non-carred and the non-prammed,

of bodies that body, and engines that engine;

we, the localized locomotives, whose oil is blood, 

whose legs are roots, 

whose mind a wheel that encircles us, 

that releases us

into the Origin, into that great Engine

the genius within:

We do solemnly vow

along with the animals that have not been tamed,

saddled and bridled,

never to allow ourselves

to be prammed like an infant,

to have our soil spoiled, to be ridden and sat upon

like a beached pony,

so that our blood becomes contaminated,

leeches into the earth, creates machines that move for us,

creates machines that create death...