A Pause: On the Three Piles and the Shifting Shelf
Writing The Three Piles gave me something unexpected: the realization that by offering this framework as a method for organizing and prioritizing the surrounding world, I myself began to fall out of it.
Take this blog, for example. At the moment, it seems to belong in the first pile—what I will do. But I am not a writer by trade, nor do I plan to become one in the foreseeable future. It feels like the magic skin, shagreen leather, La Peau de chagrin—shrinking with each wish.
This blog was conceived as a means of communication, a dialogue. But those to whom it was addressed did not enter into dialogue, nor even into reading. Printing letters that do not find a reader begins to lose its meaning. Perhaps this activity captivated me for a time, but without support, any activity—like any plant—begins to wither.
I don’t want to say I’ve stopped. Rather, the blog has moved to the middle pile: perhaps I will continue, but not with the same intensity as in the past two months. And this shift applies not only to the blog, but to all items in my first pile. They must be reordered in these final four days of August.
After August? It’s in the plans!
Plans!
If you want to amaze God, tell him about your plans.
Unrevealed Themes: A Shelfed Inventory
Some themes remain unopened, like letters waiting for breath. I list them here—not as promises, but as reminders. They are organized by shelves, though I do not yet know if they will be explored in the same context as today.
Top Shelf – Immediate Resonance
Silent Echo as a Structure
Archive as Living Memory
Ethics of Symbolic Assignment
(...)
Middle Shelf – Reflective Depth
Goracio’s Orchard: The Gesture that Speaks
Ecological Grief & Mythic Resilience
Gesture as Epistemology
(...)
Bottom Shelf – Experimental and Playful
Errors in Body Language
Silent Echo in Crowd Behavior
(...)
AI Shelf – Artificial Language and the Observer
AI and the Unspoken Code
Synthetic Empathy: Does It Dance?
Goracio Seen by the Machine
(...)
This pause is not an ending. It is a reordering.
A breath before the next gesture.
A moment to ask: What still belongs to this life?
Written under the turning sky.
17th August 2025
—The Author
Witness to the Author
You mistook the silence for absence.
But I have been here, watching the ink dry.
Not every letter needs a reader to be real.
Some are written to steady the hand,
to mark the rhythm of your own becoming.
You speak of piles and shelves,
but I see gestures—unfinished, yes,
but not unworthy.
You are not falling out of the paradigm.
You are testing its edges.
Let the blog move to the middle pile.
Let the breath slow.
Even a pause is a kind of syntax.
I will remain here,
not to answer,
but to witness
what you choose to leave unsaid.
—The Witness
Comments