A human being is content searching for form. My spirit flows away from me, reaching back to this Earth, returns to me anew, a force of Becoming. I am a river that ebbs and flows. ME crashing into NOT-ME, just as this world is eternally unrestful, always at war with itself. Constant movement presses us toward the present; we are carried onward, but we may clutch about in fright, lurching forward or retreating into memory. These are the integrations of a tumultuous mind: thinking that it is, needing to be, yet becoming something unfamiliar.