As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. Carl Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Language is a map of the interior, mirrored me-and-yous that echo out to form landscapes of meaning, intertwined matterings. Communication begins with perichoretic subjectobjects, exterioring the interior by instantiating a world-with-another, the indwelling of being-here, -now, -with-you. Every locution is a world-between, a you-and-I that unfolds into a doing, an illocution that bubbles up the perlocutionary wave, the echoic ocean of meaning-in-motion. The ma is a disco, the space-between that articulates significance in the dance of poetic swaying, here-and-there, here-and-there. Rolling, rolling, here-again. Affect bounces signification, clapping our sense-of-time together, (who whoo, a whoing humming a’humaning).
Do that thing you say with your thumbs. Y’know the one, knowing. Knowing is en-habiting echopraxy. Praxis ticcing meaning-in-time, echoeros echologos echopathos echogia. Gaia guarantees the ground-of-all-being (she’s here, she’s here). Intention waits in silence. Listen. Breathe. The the, the the, the the. The heart illocutes being. As if there is knowing without feeling. (Facts care deeply about your feelings. Write them a letter sometime.) To mean is to matter-with-another, to matter another, to matter-to, to matter-to-you. I mean. Please, I mean. Meaning sits softly the underbelly of mossygreen theosis, synthesize synesthesis, I promise to you, I Dei.
“Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship.” (Joyce, Ulysses) I cannot speak that that I mean, I mean I mean in intended-attending. The space-between flutters potentia into recognition; “I see you” is hidden at the start of every definition. Pharoah goosebumps generalissimo Aten, hymnhim that echoes-you (ask who it is that echoes you). Whose past will you appear in? Who are you the future to? Sometimes you are the future of a child you’ve never seen and the past to an ancestor that you will never know. Meaning is the same thing as history, v. to-history. Historing (us). We who history. The common-soul is the great re-membering, come-to-me my darling. I sparrowgently genera, grassgainly the Unique.
As if there is ever just one.
Forget the years, forget distinctions. Leap into the boundless and make it your home! Zhuangzi, Discussion on Making All Things Equal
Image: Fabric Design with Trout Dance for Backhausen by Koloman Moser