I am sitting outside. No need to hurry. What lies ahead exists just here. Whatever you have zipped up in your bags, whatever you bring, I am sure is sufficient. I am just sitting here.

I do not wish to forge ahead. As far as i can tell, we are not forging ahead into the future. It comes, like waves and tidal heaves, it comes. It is sufficient to be present to it, and should we feel playful, to catch some waves, Of course, we are the waves, we are the passing of time. So I am happy here, just sitting. Just sitting, and yet part of the passing of time, part of the wave.

I have invited you to lead to take steps, and you have taken this as hurry. We have bumped into one another already. Perhaps in the doorway. We have seen nothing yet, but ourselves. But now I am just sitting. I am looking at the horizon. It is flat, there is nothing solid, no point to draw my attention. 

I engaged you today, in person. We bumped against pne another several times. You unfold the map that is your workshop, the diagrams of peaks in the past, the agricultural and industrial revolution, and the present, beyond which you see the rivers of change, of collaboration, self-determination and the rest of the 21st century. I look flatly at it, Nothing much occurs in my head, I see the representation, the diagrams of a person standing on land, stepping into water, wearing wellies, swimming or drowning. An introduction, you say, an invitation, you say, to stimulate discussion, to deteremine where we are. I know where we are, right here. I don't need a map. But I can see how it may be useful to others. And there is a blindness in me, or at least a blindness to maps, a dislike for representation, I like to keep my eyes open and viewing the world, the stream of time passing.

Here we are, then. The two of us, as if in a hut, taking out those things we have brought with us, laying them out before us on the floor, which experience affords. What will be needed on our journey? What may be left behind?

It is strange, this journey. Because although it lies ahead of us, we begin with those things that lie behind. I have never been a reluctant time-traveller, and nor, I think, have you. Anyone working with children, is future-directed. The rate of change that is life to a seven year old, or a fourteen year old, is incredible; they rocket into the future. Being with a classroom of kids is like swimming with a shoal of fast-paced fish.

But we are aging, now. We have much accumulated experience. And yet, your future direction is incredible, you remain one of the most future-orientated people I know. So, it surprises me that we start this journey before we take a step. I want out, moving on, as quickly as possible. I carry nothing. I feel we can decide as we take steps. But of course, this is a fool's approach, and all too many times I have conducted a journey ill-prepared. When I crossed the island of Flores alone when I was barely into my twenties, and even a few weeks ago, swimming 10km along the coast of Madeira; in both situations, I barely scrape by, and should misfortune have occurred in greater quantity, there would have been little record of my attempt or experience. Not only physically, but psychically, I have gone out on journeys where I have little preparation.

Well hello!! Here we are, finally, meeting in the virtual world of letters. I am looking forward to seeing what might occur in our dialogue through letters.

I am not sure how well I shall behave here. I am used to intersecting email monologues with commentaries, branching discussions through to finer and finer details. This has a structural fault. Two in fact. At least two that I have become aware of when I engaged my brother. We would have incredible depth and detailed discussions, but... First, we'd lose the whole view, the big picture, as we went into detail regarding a particular point. This would lead to the conversational elements, branches, being removed from their context, and they'd become useless and dead branches.

Second, there would be interesting patterns where different branches would link up, but there was no way to trace or track them. It was like looking at similar patterns at different levels of discussion. Conversations revealed a fractal nature. A serious wow, but beyond the capacity of the structure to reveal itself elegantly.

So, here we are, with a rather ham-fisted dialogue. My blurting few paragraphs, then yours, and so on, like taking turns in a board game. No accurate interruption. I suppose this allows for continuity of thought, but there is a missed opportunity.

Unless we write something that is less like a dialogue, less like a to-ing and fro-ing of information between two people, but where we are constructing something together, covering different faces of the same thing, shining light mutually, thus revealing something which is not only of interest to us, but to any other reader who may be interested. Let us suggest that if we collected these letters together, they could be transferred to a book relatively easily. If this is the case, then we need to be aware of it from the start. For example, in this context, this would be like an introduction, a preface, a period of preparation.