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.