Dislocation

   Tonight, I was reflecting on the role of dislocation in research. By dislocation, I refer to the sense of disorientation: being in a place where one's theories are completely non-existent and there is nothing to grasp or hold onto that is tangible. It also refers to the sense of having many possibilities of topics to explore, yet not having any clear direction in terms of how to develop any of these possibilities as of yet. While this state of things is quite fertile and somewhat valuable, there is a sense that this dislocation needs to be written into existence, at least using some kind of vocabulary or language. It is only when these dislocations are written down that one can start to piece together clues on how to go forward.
   Writing is a pedagogic tool for mapping one's dislocations in life, in the sense that it carves tracks even when there are no known maps or compasses nearby. Tracks are essential in helping writers to know where they have gone so far, even if they haven't yet formed a clear sense of what they are creating or toward where they are moving. I would have to suggest that both writing and theorizing about the writing process itself are equally interesting exercises in being able to evolve or solidify the uncertainty, even to trace when the dislocations in our lives transform into locations, or clearly demarcated spaces where one has traveled.
   I have a sense that for the past two years or so, writing this blog has been the way in which I carve the cloud chamber tracks into the vacuum of uncertainty. It is a way to give voice to the meditative states where there really isn't supposed to be a voice, yet, that voice comes out quite starkly in contrast to the silence. When our voices are constantly turned on and are clashing with other voices, we hardly have the space to know that voice itself is an ongoing creation. It can go in any number of directions, and that is subject to the imagination. Isn't it marvelous, to reflect that we are writing our lives into existence?