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Life is too short for boring stories

I have tasted it, the miracle of becoming You, the miracle of the becoming human, the incarnation, the flesh-born acceptance. I sat down and satiated, on the one word that made something of what I was not before. Or is it? Has not there been a time when I was it? Has not there been a time when I saw the word not as spoken, but as being, in the pre-linguistic nature of my existence, in which I was still so close to being, and yet no one had departed me from it? Has not there been a time when I was just there without having to be aware of it before? Has not there been a time of perfect innocence and closeness? Has not there been a time when I was whole?

Dia.logue, the flow of words between you and me. All too easily we let ourselves be seduced that these words must be spoken, articulated. It is the Dia.logue of spoken, articulated words, a broken one. In its originality, the Dia.logue did not need any spoken, articulated words to remain in the flow, but only the eyes.look, the look of the eyes. Even before we could speak, we spoke us to us, with the first eyeopening we gave each other and received.

 

It was not necessary to say thank you or not, it was not necessary to say You or I, was not necessary to explain, because only with the spoken, articulated words comes the misunderstanding between us, for these words are, at best, only in the most affectionate ears approaching the actual, the living, the being. This is its brokenness. In the word of pre-linguistics, we are given, as we ourselves, as ourselves and remain safe. Even before we can speak, articulate ourselves, we are toward one another. We are open and sloppy, receptive and able to give.

 

But then we should articulate, and we learn it, learn the words and their meaning. A table is a table. It is still possible when I can point to the table when I speak of it. This table is the table of which I am speaking. But when I speak of a table that is not there, you think of a table other than me. So the misunderstandings arise. We learn words of difficulty, which not only bring us closer to each other, but separate us from each other. We learn words that are meant to bring us closer to the world, because we all think we should be able to communicate with each other. We mean that we can only connect with each other, and they mean that all of them must lose their original language, this primordial language in which we are ourselves the Word and the Together and the Understanding.

 

In the beginning we are, in a matter of course, in order to let it exorcize us, so much so that we distrust our own significance, which is so obvious. With difficulty and uncertainty, we have to learn it again, to trust in our innermost being. We are cramping the holes that made us pass through to you, because we are told long enough that we must be mistrustful, like all others, and thus the fear of betraying leads to the self-fulfilling prophecy, for who fears treason and wants to escape it, commits it by giving the other the possibility. But one day it may be that we meet again, this unrighteousness and elevate us into the pre-language, inarticulate, lived being-you, in the Dia.logue, which you and I is called, and if we were allowed to experience this, we will never be able to go back and always yearn for it because we know it can be because we know we can be it, living Dia.logue.

2 thoughts on “Dia.logue (7): There is no back

  1. robertomuffoletto sagt:

    The flow of your words…. ideas and images…. swimming as a song.

    Gefällt mir

    1. novels4utoo sagt:

      I drill more and more holes into myself, until I become permeable like Swiss cheese, so that you can sink more and more into me, like water in the desert, invigorating and inspiring.

      You are inspirating, thank you.

      Gefällt mir

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