In imagining a more metabolic writing practice in which one steers clear from the egology of pure autobiography towards a more expansive cosmological re-positioning of one's subjectivity, I have been honing a more radical form of listening. This involves a demanding attentiveness. In order to hear what is not necessarily spoken; what isn't necessarily disseminated from human mouths; what is being vocalised by life forms not characterised by bloodlines — to soil, mud, colour, patina, surfaces, leaves, bees, birds, cloud, water — one must embrace a bodily stillness. One must be careful not to interfere with the transmission and thus disrupt the heft of the message by projecting meaning onto the speaker. We must allow meaning to emerge.

Sometimes you have to sit with the sign to make sense of why and how it made its way to you. To commit to such a line of investigation, you must labour to evolve a trail of incidences and incidents, a series of successive movements that led to what is currently unfolding. Practising this form of enquiry involves an acceptance of one's position within a vast framework of happenings.