the right angle (or geometries of the soul)

What is the right angle to see you-or see oneself, if you like distinctions? Into them. A certain approach, a certain distancing. You must remember or do you forget yourself? Not obtuse but the clear radiant lines that last forever. Acute. If you say so. He stood at a slight angle to the universe...and became invisible. She, quite plane; he, looking down on her, like a "vertical man". At first she seemed quite yielding, the full spectrum of humanity, her undefinable mystery brought to an abrupt focus by his shadow. The narrowness of his outlook redeemed by the unfolding of the horizontal line, which is to say time. Locked together they were, joined at the hip, twins refracted. Everything hinges on a simple point. The circle becomes square, the point a line.

But are the lines a coming together or a falling apart, the slow drift of the world? From the neutral's perspective they are infinitely different, existing in their own world without each other, something of the mirror-like quality of parallel lines remaining with them, like a memory. From the outside the right angle is perfection. But from the inside, that blank inside space, there is a kind of freedom from such conceptualisations. The right angle is not an intellectual construct, and even less is it about orthodoxy and heresy. An emotion, a fundamental gesture, that creates a living, breathing space. And though all other angles are a variation of, a falling away from the right angle, they are contained within it's loving embrace.

Tangent:

I will touch you once

And it will only be in passing

No use calling me back

No use reminding

You will have plenty of time

To rehearse and remember

This moment,

To convince yourself

We'll never part.