A weighty word, for sure. Do we love wisdom enough to make her weighty distinctions? But, in the end, can only poetry bear the weight of truth? Word and Fire Image Belong together. Thou, Thou and I Thou in me and I in Thee But there are really Three, after all, my Father, my Brother, my Life-Giver. An image. In you and me. In each and all of us, my beloved friends. Love is a fire. Fires consume. And a Word. Words breathe life. Or death? Let not the two be cast asunder. For that great divorce can only make us into monsters. Which abyss do I choose? Or chooses me? Mine, all mine, darkness covers. Thine, all thine, love unfolds. Ours, love is ours! The mystery embraces. Whispers of transcendence. Thou. Never only as an object. Not the objectification of a Kantian subject. Not the inward Cartesian thought. Nor a mere Nominalist name. After all, what is in a name anyhow? For Thou art before I am. How do I know you? And you me? Adam knew Eve and she conceived. You are never a conception of my mind. Only. There was another conception that had you in mind. Was it of two? Or only one flesh? We are so conceived. Never alone. Always in a bond with another. A bond, not a bondage, mind you. For you are an image not only of your parents but of a more intense Thou. For your, and my, DNA is written in words of life. We now know that. Yes, know. I said it right. Can words dance? Can words know? And see? And delight? How do they express themselves? For the words only work if intertwined. You are not your own. You were bought with a price. Yet mystery has no price if given as a cross. It can only be given and received. There actually is a logic there. Quite adequate, if I see. I really have no choice, do I, if I am to know love and fire.
Paul S. Julienne
February 16, 2015