Ginny Battson © 2017
Like Heraclitus, I learn from rivers. In all things, I perceive flow.
I am not writing of Eastern notions of being present in the zone. Instead, I write of the interconnectedness of all, in the flows of the elements, of water, geology, relationships, true love, time, tides, place, trophic cascades, air, dynamism, weather, music, biodiversity, universes, entropy and enthalpy…
Like circles, like breath.
genitive plural of flūmen ~ fluminum
genitive case is one that expresses possession or relation, equivalent to the English ‘of’
Of the merging of subterranean mycelium. Of rivers and riverlike confluences (riversmeets).
I introduce the word Fluminism: the interconnected narrative of universe, there is flow to and from all dimensions, including ones we are yet to understand. The complexity is endless, the minutiae beautiful.
I am a Fluminist.
11 thoughts on “Fluminism”
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Thank you for this wonderful word which I will now use to describe my own flowing-and-connectedness with the universe. Not sure I can compete as it’s a phenomenal word. But I did come up with a definition for kindfulness a few years back:
and also the concept of a midlife catharsis: http://www.kali-shining.org/index.php/2017/01/30/midlife_catharsis/
Both of these require fluminism. I feel inspired by you to blog again…
Jaya! I am so grateful for this comment and the links you’ve sent. Connection! And I am so glad you feel inspired to write again. The world needs your wisdom. Ginny x
Your perspctive belongs with those who are Great in my life: Bateson, Abrams, Dark Mountain, et al. Thank you. I have my ear to your heart
Many thanks, indeed.
Thank you for this! Fluminism. It provides me space for knowing and not knowing. For continual unfolding and re-cycling. For mystery. It offers me purpose and direct action: following the path of renewal and integration. Here’s a short reflection I wrote after reading your chapter on fluminism in Planet, Vol. 1 in the Kinship Series, which led me to your blog:
Feeling homesick for a place I’ve never been or called my own. That place of eternal belonging. Where each season is exactly the one I’m looking forward to. Memories in the crook of each tree. A place of rest, where I walk, knowing I am fully welcome, fully known. It’s people yes, and a building yes, but not quite one of any humanmaking: it’s held by the structures of my most cherished moments. It’s a place of stories and togetherness. A place to call home. One that has been passed down through generations and began long before.
Where is this place? It is deep in the cycle of my inhale and exhale, of the roaring in my ears, the sun on my skin. It is water running between my fingers and toes. Smooth and rough stone. It is the dawn redwood. It is much older and wiser than my consciousness. Reaching deep into time. It is the end and the beginning. The core of the question why? And the answers: because and why not.
Oh Katie, thank you! I can’t tell you just how lovely this is. My words, your words, words before, and after – going with the flow of it all.
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