It’s sometimes too painful to ask ourselves for what purpose were we handed over, into this time, this place, this day of reckoning.
The contrast of this moment with our conception of timelessness could not be greater. Even as we hold it, the object in our hands is reconfiguring itself into energy beyond measure, its physical disintegration a manifest prerequisite for transformation and renewal.
Yet we ourselves, nominally at least, tend to equate bodily transmutation with finality and death. As if the pulsating life forces deep within were designed to be satiated solely by the lusts of the world