The time of necessity has been replaced by the time of possibilities, a random time, open at any moment to the unforeseeable irruption of the new,..., an open process, not determined in advance, in which surprises, unexpected strokes of good fortune and unforeseen opportunities may appear at any moment.
---M. Lowy, cited in Z. Bauman's Consuming Life

A sigh is still a sigh,as time goes by.

Each moment, each second, is a passageway, that takes us there, or brings about a Fall. Mostly you write about what you don't know, but only vaguely intuit. No unified thoughts,or single-minded determination, no unquenchable thirst, no greatness of soul, just second spaces and second thoughts, just floating, without direction, like so much else in your life...

You watch a film, expecting something deep, profound. But isn't that a quick fix, isn't all art? Not the 'thing' itself, the pure unmediated experience, fresh, open, vivid but, instead, a mirage-and what a comforting seduction at that too! Like books, words, sharpness of the mind, people you write to, hopelessly two-dimensional. The illusion that it's there, within reach, without discipline, without seriousness of purpose, without sacrifice; that by simply waiting a time before time will be opened up for you.

Well, the puritanical, the necessary, only has a momentary hold on you. Too abrupt, too harsh, as if only the broken could see. Art is still not a sign that points to reality but a reflection of it that shows. An image is still an image of something and not a random mark.

Some moments are lost; others are regained. Time would never leave us alone. Light and shadows are with us always, the world still 'a tent of scattered stars'.

We are involved in the mystery of lived time, our being here and elsewhere. What is true is 'beyond' but its reflection is also here.
--Iris M.