28.

Of course the truth has nothing to do with stress relief, it amazes me I continue to be so blind. She comes down with a kind of vertigo, seems partially crippled by a persistent seasickness. It isn’t about avoiding that, it isn’t about being healthy & well & stress free, it isn’t about being mindful. It is about letting yourself break when the world has made you part of a machine. Perhaps the weakest link is the strongest one. Whatever holds us together in truth is even more feeble than gravity. & absolutely inviolable, virgin. Something must have gone terribly wrong if we can see in “turn the other cheek” a vindication of the victim. It is the complete subversion of the role of the victim: only peaceful resistance can really fight for freedom, anything else & you’ve already lost, or you would have, if there was anything on which to pivot: if a heart can change it is between pulsations: Eternity is over in a blink. If someone who has presumed themselves to have power over you slaps you around the face, how can offering them the other cheek be read as anything other than an act of defiance? One that breaks, that does not perpetuate, the game. There is an eye they should have to meet there in order to strike you again: the gaze is a truth you shall one day submit to: the day you manage to turn it on yourself. Judgement day. Finally! The day that none but yourself can see — & that blindly — & yet once it is faced it is visible in the eyes, the evidence is everywhere, the earth testifies. Turning & turning to stay just where I am, the grave of the last revolution broken open. Turning like a tide to flood a sea of open wide eyes. I don’t know what you are seeing but I can guarantee it will be magnificent. If it isn’t magnificent you aren’t seeing it. Liquid spaceships landing on glass. A goddess with the body of a horse. The wizard’s wink blackening the face of America. The whiteman who can’t be told apart from the woods she has disappeared into. The cities reduced to bubbles of glass, greenhoused ships ready to take off. The great wildlife documentary droning on in the ignorant living room while the walls that never were come down for the science of the future, the conscious strangeness of the so-called empty spaces beckoning through the portals of the tress that are the sacred mirrors of our bodies. The extraordinary death of it all between the covers of a book: a hyperdimensional sandwich placed in the delicate mandibles of unsquashable insects.