Thinking matter
If the invisible does not offer itself to my gaze
And the intangible keeps evading my grasp
If the silent drowses off in mute waves
And the motionless congeals into fluid state
How can I find a sense
A direction to life
A hold of the real
A sensation of immanence and unity?
These thoughts trouble me
They plunge me into my self
As in a freefall
Of the imaginary
I think the body
And my spirit moves on
This is indeed a thinking matter
When one thinks about matter
I laugh in silence
The invisible has now revealed its self
In an ear-splitting avalanche
Whose senseless racket
Is sensed in these forethought statements
The intangible transforms its self
In a rectilinear advance of words
Transubstantiated by the thorough movement
Of our eyes and of our fingers
The silent appears to me
It is the warm glimmer
of a candle,
Of my garlanded spirit
That consumes its self
ɪn
frægmənts
of
tʃɑ:ɼd leksɪs
With my index I trace the major part of an imaged ring
I clench my fists, I bleed my soul dry,
The motionless crystallises
In a sensuous vapor that grazes my palms
Do not believe this is no thinking matter when one thinks matter,
For I feel it:
These attempts become a susurrant cecity
That takes me down to the bottom of the valley of my thoughts.
Through the movement of the visible and the tangible,
I break the silence and make a dent
That burns me and plunders me and makes me sensitive to…
me
It is in those moments of sensuous materiality
That I find out the sense of eternity:
In the silence of the word I discover the racket of the body
And the immanence of the unfathomable imposes itself onto me
