Published in  
January 17, 2015

Right in the middle of things…

Somewhere in the middle of things, there is no ‘you’ or ‘I’, no ‘this’ or ‘that’, no ‘here’ or ‘there’, no master and no servant.

The past is not fixed, but is reconfigured by the present; books write their authors, while children strain to give birth to their mothers; and, the world is pulled asunder again and again every time a conversation occurs – so that it is impossible to speak about origins or destinies.

In the middle of things, there is only a hysterical notion, a laughing drunkenness that bellows whenever we attempt to arrive at foundations, fixed points and formulas.

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Nothing survives alone. Nothing is final. This queer cosmos is grace in ecstasy, a river overflowing her banks. She will not yield to ‘you’. She will dance past your structures and despairing walls. And the people will learn to say: “The gates of Eden aren’t guarded by cherubs with flaming swords; there are no gates.”