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.
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.
Comments
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.
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 :)