Here everything
appears near.
Dara Egan thought this as a moth. Later, contemplating
how a moth could think in words at all, she would have plenty to ponder
about the nature of mind and consciousness. At the moment, though, her attention
flittered, attentive to air currents of molecular scents, semibreves of
fragrance from the thick of things.
Pollens wafting over the moth’s antennae contoured
space with an olfactory map of the terrain. The evil stink of spiders seeping
from the fretwork of grasses repelled her. She beveled wings to glide higher,
where exhausted clouds crawled away from daybreak... [MORE]
| 4. The Mystery
of Death |
Mar
7, 2008 |
Death is a tree. It grows toward the light. And the light-within branches
through the body like a tree.
In
the dark long after, things happen as if they were not recalled.
Those two passages
probably mean nothing to you. Each of these four sentences is an agent of
intelligence who dwells among the resemblances. What are these resemblances
who confront you as you first enter...
[MORE]
|
