Every gesture we make appears as a context, a performance
which suggests an audience, an audience which suggests a stage, a stage which
suggests space beyond the stage, time beyond the stage, stretching out
infinitely, in all directions, an infinite, inscrutable ocean of meanings and
experiences that come into sharp focus at the crossroads of that single
gesture. As we move, it moves.
The invisible, the infinite, the bottomless, ungraspable
speaks when it speaks, as it speaks, about what it would speak through us. We
are the midwives of an immaculate conception – the possible become sharp and
dangerous right here and now, as our struggle as life against the great death.
So our very doing is prayer, our very speech is prophecy, our dance is creation,
our music is apocalypse, redemption, cliffhanger - axis. As we speak, it
swings.
The Ancestors reach out to the Unborn through us, as our
deeds and misdeeds stretching out in both directions, countless generations. So
what are we doing, what are we saying, knowing, seeing, feeling in as much as there is truly
no life after death, nor death before life for us, only for the Ancestors behind us, only for the Unborn before us, in as much as it is upon our
memory that everything we love survives, it is only in our precious imagination that
the children of our thought arise? Are we waiting to get it right? Are we
waiting to be worthy? Are we hoping for perfection, while the house is on fire?
How are we doing, saying, seeing, and sculpting the mask that we are, knowing
that there is truly nothing else, nowhere else, but eternity? As we see, we are
seen.