Published in  
November 23, 2013

Far, far away

It seems society conspires to make us live in the distant ‘tomorrow’.

Religion speaks about ‘destiny’ and sanctifies gratification delayed; science groans for a ‘technological utopia’; schools tell us to learn so we can live in the future; and the nation-state is run by politicians who trade in sound bites about getting better. All the while, we forget to live in the moment, to slowly relish a meal’s gift to our senses, to enjoy a companion, to get dirty with wild play, to reflect on the salvific power of sorrow, to run into the teenage angst of a voluptuous rain storm. We live big and stretched, when we can live small and intensely. But not for long.

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Our grandiose quests for scale at the expense of intimacy are losing their driving force; it is now becoming more commonplace for people to walk out of the job world, to assert the magnificence of their lives beyond the dictates of a culture addicted to achievement, to explore the rhapsodies of being in experimental communes. Everywhere I visit around the world, everywhere I am gracefully invited to share my gifts, I discover that this – this quiet revolution of sorts – is what our hearts pant for. The future has never looked more promising or more queer.