I love to step outside.

I like walking, walking and reading, walking and thinking. I feel a necessity for walking. I walked the Camino Way last year. I walked for everyone I know and knew. I walked to regain control of what it means to be in my body, what it means to walk away from government, politics, religions, corporations, media and artificial intelligence. Resistant to ordinariness, counter-intuitive, becoming almost lifeless, almost sterile, almost empty. This was because precision and clean-cut methods might work perfectly and give a certain satisfaction on paper, a reassurance perhaps, but they do not fool anybody for a second in real life. I walked with awareness without skill, expressionless, near solitary, near-deprogrammed, but because I could still walk. I walked slowly, listening to my interior murmurings and fragmentations as they butted up against countless landscapes, each day, each new person I met. Top-soil thinking abated. Eccentricities in keeping with my character percolating, most likely stemming from an Englishness and all that reading of ancient books while I was walking about. I was resourceful in my walking, containing and expanding energies. In walking I set up rhythms, a continual meditation in gentle motion, walking the talk. I rejoiced in social engagement while walking, the little chats and the long discoveries. I walked as part of my art practice listening to my thought, my body, my soul. No beginning, no end. A sum of an infinity of points, moments of solitary contemplation, shared joys and hardships. And it went on and on and on..

I walked as a way of life, as a practice.