work-in-progress
”The name is not said by us; it is the Name that calls us.” Jean-Luc Marion
This moonless, starless
night, I sit by the bay, hear
the waves break, and think.
Or so I think. No
thoughts appear. I am stone cold
as the stone I sit
on. The names for God
fade. I’m in the paradox,
the peace of the waves.
Union with things (stone cold as the stone I’m sitting on) comes to be seen as a consciousness of that union and thus being as a state of simutaeous union and distnguishing, apophatic praise, since absolute union with things would risk or be oblivion and union with God would be heaven. THe poet and we as readers of his poem instead emerge aware of our finitude as an opportunity for not just wisdom but, even better, sharing that wisdom.
Fantastic insights! Unexpected coherence! Thank you.
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