Labels

RETREAT

For Ursula Renz

Between the Arctic and Austria we step on stones made out of chocolate truffles. “How did you know, I ask?” and the wise woman says: “I just did.” You know, she then says, “absolute nothingness is not an abstract.” "I know," I say, “abstracts have forms, absolute nothingness doesn’t.” She nods and takes a deep breath. Mountain air is between us. We climb high and agree that closure is not in our vocabulary. I see Spinoza as the Hunchback of Notre Dame. She can also see that. Three weeks in the mountains carrying Spinoza on your back will do that to you – make you see things. Moses Cordovero is shaking his head. “Crazy women,” he thinks. And I go: “hey, you’ve got exactly 3 minutes to state your case.” “Form is stripped away by the power of ayin,” he says, and I ask: “where did you get that from?” But he keeps silent. “Can Kierkegaard have a word?” the other woman asks, and then says: “Don’t go cosmic. Kierkegaard thinks it’s a bad idea.” But Kierkegaard didn’t read any Freud or Lacan, so I’m not afraid. I lose my patience, and say: “all I ever want from you, men, is to answer this question: “what does it mean to say: ‘I’m here,’ in the light of nothingness, no point, and no form?” Isaac the Blind has an insight: “The inner, subtle essences can be contemplated only by sucking… not by knowing.” We are childless women. The wise woman eradicates the materiality of time: “even if seven years pass, seven mountains are climbed, and seven oceans crossed, you come to me and say, ‘I’m here,’ and it will be enough.” We divulge no secrets, for we are thieves in hiding.


Email Post
Labels:

Comments

Robert Gibbons said…
A man to say, "I'm here," in the light of nothingness, it seems to me, would have to stand within the conjecture of the eventual, "Not here," which is so much longer within the Time span of that anonymous man. At my age I can say, "I'm here," with just a bit more conviction than when I was twenty, granted as open a young man as I could invent, while at the same Time intuiting that it may take another ten years to learn to live in the moment. Yet, I'm here because of those geographies transited then, including points north & south of Austria. Ultimately, for any man, or me, to stand before you, & state, "I'm here," either of us would have to humbly/bravely acknowledge that "Not here," while at the same Time proffering an awe-filled recognition of your own significant existence, which we'd hope would result in a handshake, or two or three kisses on the cheek in rapid, customary succession. -rg
June 18, 2009 at 10:04 PM
Camelia said…
Robert, think of this formulation: ‘you are here, here, here. But does that make you present?’ Your conjecture in opposition to that, ‘not here’, is a structural one, as the battle is between cerebral and intuitive modes of being where a mental geography of retreat is concerned. I’m interested in pure negative theology which doesn’t have a dialectical movement at its heart, such as the one between emptying end emanation. Annihilating your intellect in the face of nothingness only so that you can experience the ineffable as it emanates through you, through this very nothingness, is a beautiful idea, but a romantic one and not radical enough. I want to know what happens when the statement ‘I’m here,’ if taken seriously, involves the total surrender and annihilation of the other, to whom it is addressed, not yourself. I have a feeling that it will take more than kisses to balance the enormous pressure which terminates aloneness, as it were, if such termination is allowed for, that is – for, of course, one always has the prerogative to refrain from posing questions of this type: how do you respond in the face of presence, however poorly, powerfully, or eloquently such presence may be articulated. In other words, what happens when 'I'm here' calls for a retreat not from the thought of presence or response to presence but from thought itself?
June 18, 2009 at 11:59 PM
Robert Gibbons said…
Well, Camelia, I’m no stranger to a position of absence of thought. In fact, I carried on a five-year correspondence with a previous editor of the journal I now edit during which Time every mention of thinking, mind, or thought needed a caveat on my part in brackets. I’m a man of language of the body, the body’s choric [Kristeva’s chora] soundings. My “Not here” is cryptic clarity for death itself, the body’s ultimate decay, decomposition, disappearance, & as Derrida points out the ultimate silence of the ongoing silence of the Death Drive in Life; although he sees the Afterlife not in terms of death, but that excess of life preceding it. All of which you know better than I. Your retreat then seems an honest, deliberate Solitude, at which all will be judged, or at least remembered, although the circle or rose or eros of that Solitude cannot rightly care? “Memory is the Life of the Dead” is what came to me at the end of an Archetypal Dream, during which I could not be accused of thought. Your own need for release/retreat from thought is fascinating to one without such cerebral capacity. Perhaps your poet/artist corporeality is calling you, what long distance, text messaging your philosopher/physicist intellect into account? Handshakes & kisses may well be two of the most valuable things in the world. I extend them your way. -rg
June 19, 2009 at 2:12 AM
Camelia said…
Robert, that was a beautiful answer. In terms of what we can or cannot do mentally, things are much simpler than we imagine. The interesting thing about thought is that it is predicated on will. Thus we can will it away, or we can will it to vanish. The interesting thing about will is that it doesn’t take thought to enforce it but guts and balls. Where time is concerned, when one thinks of it in terms of trillions of years, it means nothing, absolutely nothing. Not even for knowing how essential the difference between loving or loving in vain is. Thus I stick with Derrida, and Freud – thank God for them, they were not so stupid, and they also understood a thing or two about the meaning of success in life, namely that it is tied with either a desire for death – as in, ‘what else is there?’, hence off you go – or oblivion – as in, OMG, my Harvard publication is already forgotten after 3 days – or decline – as in, I’m just old, there is always someone younger and more interesting around the corner ready to take your place. This being said, you’re right about the type of encounter that may still hold some significance for existence in general, and one which can still be thought of as courteous. For what remains is precisely a touch, a hand on your shoulder, or just a handshake.
June 19, 2009 at 10:43 AM
Robert Gibbons said…
Courageous, insightful [inciteful] retort, & summation to the exchange, Camelia. You know I’m particularly enamored of writing accomplished by way of cathexion of “guts & balls.” Citing, applying Freud within this context, seems essential to me; after all, Derrida, Lacan, & Kristeva refused to abandon his theories, but elaborate, reinterpret, & carry them newly-born across postmodern thresholds. Your placing thought within the realm of will is an exceedingly cogent reminder, a crucial piece to the ongoing puzzle, & silent nod to Nietzsche, which has me “thinking.” Well, we both must direct our attention to the work at hand. I used to love the way van Gogh signed off on so many of his letters with a handshake, so too then, do I here in an early-morning in American without even a first cup of coffee! -rg
June 19, 2009 at 11:10 AM
lektor said…
“what does it mean to say: ‘I’m here,’ in the light of nothingness, no point, and no form?”

Your question makes no sense to me. Our life as cerebral males is pointless, and we all converge towards a fractal-like formless.

So what do you mean by Nothingness? Is there a complementary to nothingness? There is no such thing. Nothing is exactly what we are.

So my answer is: I am here. For now.
June 27, 2009 at 5:25 PM
Camelia said…
Herr Lektor, are you going philosophical on me, or what? What is this ‘looking for sense’ activity? As you yourself point out, there is no point to any of it at all, including hermeneutics, although, interpretation, like the belief in myths, does make our lives more interesting, for a while; nothingness has no complementary: you cannot even say that it is what it is, nothing, that is, which implies singularity. Nor can you say that nothingness is what it is not, which implies a negative dialectics. So let me see, is there something in your comment that I disagree with? No, there isn't. But there is something far worse: frustration, for you see, you forgot that saying, 'I'm here', for now or for nothing, implies an addressee. If it's you, you're a goddamn solipsist and not very interesting. If it's another, well then, what do you anticipate, for you do anticipate a position where the other is concerned. If you anticipate that the other will open her arms and say, well, my love, come to my bosom, you're a fool. Conversely, if you don't anticipate that, you're also a fool. So we're back to square one where action is concerned. It’s different with thinking, but it would take too long to explain here. So in response to your question, let me pose another one in turn: isn't it better to assume that ‘I’m here’ as a mode of anticipating nothing bypasses any movement, including the possible trajectory of infinite density towards zero density? Those who really understand convergence understand this: that it takes not reason, but floating around in space to appreciate the consequent conclusion formulated thus: ‘I’m here, but I don’t understand what it means; I don’t understand what the “I” does in relation to its own locality.’ In other words, convergence means that you’re always in a symmetrical relation to being beside yourself.
June 27, 2009 at 11:52 PM
lektor said…
In this context convergence looks more like divergence. Consciences start their existence as singular peaks which gradually tend to disperse while accumulating knowledge. Just as you said: from an infinitely sharp density of pure but empty bliss, to a flatted density of solid facts.

For me I'm here for now contains the quintessence of quantum mechanics. A very strong statement which frustrates the hell out of me.

And yes: I am a fool. But full of hope :)
June 28, 2009 at 10:21 AM
Camelia said…
It's all about topology, my friend. Ultimately the question I'm interested in is what happens when you can never ever leave the phase-space of an atractor. Real retreat in not possible, once you enter that space. I like fools. I like them a lot.
June 28, 2009 at 5:26 PM
Post a Comment

Popular Posts