There is no rationality, only that which my mind creates. Or rather, the rationality of eternal, sovereign God is inconceivable to finite, fallen me, but, being in His image and being fallen, my mind will attempt to seek a wholeness, to create closure. It is necessary to touch impossibility in order to come out of the dream world. There is no impossibility in dreams – only impotence (p. 95). The links that we cannot forge are evidence of the transcendent (p. 95). Monsters, monsters, monsters. It cannot, it is a false closure, a false rationality, one that refuses extremes and miracles for the sake of continuity. It is Gödel. But surreal “operating at each moment the synthesis of the rational and the real. Without fearing to place in the word “real” everything irrational it can contain until further notice.”
“It is in the surprise created by a new image or by a new association of images, that we have to see the most important element of progress in the physical sciences, because astonishment excites logic, always rather cold, obliging it to establish new coordinates.”
So everything is strange and being that you are unique (p.81) you are always expanding, unfamiliar, and loveable, poetry, insofar as poetry is the new association of images, blooms between your every moment as you go, line by line, moment by moment, expanding infinitely until you stop – it is you in a red blouse, naked, a gray blouse. Or, if poetry is lack, it is the green grass between you and I, it is/// “I need just to touch you for the quicksilver of the sensitive plant to bend its harp upon the horizon. But provided we stop a moment, the grass will turn green again, will be born again, after which my new steps will have no other goal then to reinvent you. I shall reinvent you for me, since I desire to see poetry and life recreated perpetually.” But again and again and again, across that distance, that lack… “That the absolute gift of one being to another, which can exist only in reciprocity, be in the eyes of everyone the only natural and supernatural bridge cast across life itself…” Everything is strange. We must not forget this. It is beautiful that it is strange, perhaps even because it is strange, but we must not let it’s beauty which becomes our love for it let us forget it is strange, we must love it while remembering it is strange – our loving it does not make it familiar or finite or, least of all, ours. Through our love, we may touch it, but not hold it. Our love for it is that supernatural bridge that allows for contact, but to forget it is strange is to be unprepared for the moment when Eliot’s brown river god comes smashing our illusions of non-isolation. Simone Weil says the function of language is to make connections, is to walk across that green grass, to set it to moving – it is sad that the air is always between us. It is also nice.
Hericlitus and river girls you never see again.
Desire is impossible: t destroys its object. Lovers cannot be one, nor can Narcissus be two. Don Juan, Narcissus. Because to desire something is impossible, we have to desire what is nothing.
p.99 – The contradictions the mind comes up against – these are the only realities: they are the criterion of the real. There is no contradiction in what is imaginary. Contradiction is the test of necessity.
Man’s great affliction, which begins with infancy and accompanies him till death, is that looking and eating are two different operations. Eternal beatitude is a state where to look is to eat.
That which we look at here below is not real, it is a mere setting. That which we eat is destroyed, it is no longer real.
Sin has brought this separation about is us.
Appearance has the completeness of reality, but only as appearance. As anything other than appearance it is error.
We must try to love without imagining – to love the appearance in its nakedness without interpretation. What we love then is truly God. (p. 54)
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