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2002-05-24 The more it seems I look for myself in things the more I become aware that the self is lacking. That I can't look outside myself to find myself or inside for that manner. I think of Heidegger pushing aside the trees to see what's in the forest, but he blackens the corners with his shadows to actually still obscure instead of reveal. And it isn't this grave stubbing your toe kind of revelation. It's just that. With neutrality to all other things and this vessel that only cries in resistance to being pulled and pushed in 6/8 time when I'm still hearing a beat extended from the first vector push that I can't escape the womb that is. And the next one: in death. Everything still after everything maintains a calm after I uproot myself from the silly little cyclic systems that pull down in smiley upsweeping undertoe. You, push yourself, outside whatever nesting set of sets you need to until you can see or no longer see what it is that has you boxed in. |