New world, lens flare: the beginning of light is the beginning of time, and who controls it moves the vision of the moment––and its form. What difference is there, at any genesis, between making space and shining into it?
Seeking, some found light until the dark begat seeking again. A hard time for thinkers, some say, though others object. Reason’s luminescence, which progressed by co-opting fire and then the lives of those deemed fit for its fuel, can only know its debt in waning radiance.
In this twilit hour, something comes. Lurching through a forest of shadows, flickering through an expanding dark, it speaks in long silences now. Given the limits of this human form, and the limits of a word designed for pointing to a nonexistent boundary between itself and other life, only when I begin to know the fullness of my nonexistence as human can I begin to say, I am.
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Inspired by Digital Light, ed. Sean Cubitt, Daniel Palmer and Nathaniel Tkacz.
I find these words deeply satisfying. They speak in the language I cherish. The language of magic– the language of possibilities– the language of wonder.
There is a reality superior to the one perceived by these few senses. A reality that can only appear when it is apprehended by the Spirit, and when those finite senses stand to the side with heads bowed… and wait.
Chris Ernest Nelson, thank you for this.