One wonders at the wonder that is the wonder.
What is also wonderful is this experience of wondering itself, and myself as the person in whom astonishment ..is felt.
One often wonders: What if? What if one. What if one were not one?
There are different kinds of wonder or perhaps they are all really one? Amazement to idle day-dreaming. Startled out of one's sleepy senses, and back again...
I wonder and immediately you imagine it. It somehow exists, somewhere, and yet it doesn't, really. Is the wonderful really so because of the wonderer, because he wonders? Or is just there, for us to stumble upon? We wonder about many things and it sometimes takes our breath away. To wonder is to die a little.
The wonderful resists being defined, any binding. What kind of knowing, then, is it? When we come across it we acknowledge it even if we can't speak of it. How else could it be? Er..Ur. Pre-reflective. The wonder itself illuminates. It is in the world, far from us, but also close. What is wonderful stands out. There is something fleeting and novel about it. I sometimes wonder. I'm hard on myself, but it is only sometimes.
'The philosopher does not permit his wonder stand as it is, to be released into the flow of life. Of necessity, he must "hook" the problem from where he stands. He has forcibly extracted thought's "object" and "subject" from the flow of life and he entrenches himself within them. Wonder stagnates and is perpetuated in the motionless mirror of his meditation; that is in the subject. He has it well-hooked; it is securely fastened and it persists in his benumbed immobility. The stream of life has been replaced by something submissive, statuesque, subjugated."
The solution and dissolution of their wonder is at hand-the love which has befallen them. They are no longer a wonder to eachother; they are in the very heart of wonder. Life becomes numb in the face of death and dies. The wonder is unravelled . And it was life itself that brought the solution.'
What is also wonderful is this experience of wondering itself, and myself as the person in whom astonishment ..is felt.
One often wonders: What if? What if one. What if one were not one?
There are different kinds of wonder or perhaps they are all really one? Amazement to idle day-dreaming. Startled out of one's sleepy senses, and back again...
I wonder and immediately you imagine it. It somehow exists, somewhere, and yet it doesn't, really. Is the wonderful really so because of the wonderer, because he wonders? Or is just there, for us to stumble upon? We wonder about many things and it sometimes takes our breath away. To wonder is to die a little.
The wonderful resists being defined, any binding. What kind of knowing, then, is it? When we come across it we acknowledge it even if we can't speak of it. How else could it be? Er..Ur. Pre-reflective. The wonder itself illuminates. It is in the world, far from us, but also close. What is wonderful stands out. There is something fleeting and novel about it. I sometimes wonder. I'm hard on myself, but it is only sometimes.
'The philosopher does not permit his wonder stand as it is, to be released into the flow of life. Of necessity, he must "hook" the problem from where he stands. He has forcibly extracted thought's "object" and "subject" from the flow of life and he entrenches himself within them. Wonder stagnates and is perpetuated in the motionless mirror of his meditation; that is in the subject. He has it well-hooked; it is securely fastened and it persists in his benumbed immobility. The stream of life has been replaced by something submissive, statuesque, subjugated."
The solution and dissolution of their wonder is at hand-the love which has befallen them. They are no longer a wonder to eachother; they are in the very heart of wonder. Life becomes numb in the face of death and dies. The wonder is unravelled . And it was life itself that brought the solution.'
---Franz Rosenzweig.
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