We came up the sea slug way. We have in our bodies tides and residues of everything that has ever lived. All the anger, the passions, the joys of the world enfold us. We are born entangled in a web, already a billion years old before we draw a single breath.
We can struggle against the web, evoke paradise and die, or see ourselves translucently. We are not divided but related, not flawed but overwhelmed with gifts.
We must now seek a principle that gives and yet remains itself- a garden unwalled, yet ordered; a garden of unselfconscious delight.
But who can love and forgive all? Who can truly love both lions and lambs? Who can even heal the division between men and women? And yet these pitiful little walled gardens of philosophy and politics, off theology, of ideals, of hopes, are no answer. Though I do not know how, I want to remain faithful to Eve’s choice. I will not long for paradise and neither will I accept the world. I will suffer with it like a midwife waiting for something to be born; where everything hangs in the balance and only a very little can be done.