Language is what eases the pain of living with other people, language is what makes the wounds come open again.
We are slaves to the gods. Whatever gods are.
Then the edge asserts itself. You are not a god. You are not that enlarged self. Indeed, you are not even a whole self, as you now see. Your new knowledge of possibilities is also a knowledge of what is lacking in the actual.
Some conversations are not about what they’re about.
I prayed and fasted. I read the mystics. I studied the martyrs. I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.
XXIV. And kneeling at the edge of the transparent sea I shall shape for myself a new heart from salt and mud.
You are a person in love with the impossible.
I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.
And for a moment the frailest leaves of life contained him in a widening happiness.
Humans in love are terrible. You see them come hungering at one another like prehistoric wolves, you see something struggling for life in between them like a root or a soul and it flares for a moment, then they smash it. The difference between them smashes the bones out. So delicate the bones.
Who knows what will happen if I’m alone with my grief.
Note that the word ‘mute’ is regarded by linguists as an onomatopoeic formation referring not to silence but to a certain fundamental opacity of human being, which likes to show the truth by allowing to be seen hiding.
This was when Geryon liked to plan his autobiography; in that blurred state, between awake and asleep. When too many intake values are open in the soul, like the terrestrial crust of the earth.
Although a monster Geryon could be charming in company.
Repent means “the pain again.
Now I think it is true to say of the road, and also of God, that it does not move. At the same time, it is everywhere. It has a language, but not one I know. It has a story, but I am in it. So are you. And to realize this is a moment of some sadness. When we are denied a story, a light goes off. I am asking you to study the dark.
In myth, women’s boundaries are pliant, porous, mutable. Her power to control them is inadequate, her concern for them unreliable. Deformation attends her. She swells, she shrinks, she leaks, she is penetrated, she suffers metamorphoses. The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity.
We live by waters breaking out of the heart.
The presence of want awakens in him nostalgia for wholeness. His thoughts turn toward questions.
I will never know how you see red and you will never know how I see it.