that mirage, or that intuition... (and one more bell...)
"... the experience must be repeated, lived again, to be of any value; and so one must always start again...the same holds true, for example, for the intuition that is the origin of many poems. somebody says, more or less, "i felt as if the order of the world had been revealed to me" or else "i understood the language of the birds" or "the veil that is normally between us and reality was rent" (which is also the theme in fairy tales). these are, indubitably, facts, of course, experiences (you can treat them as lies, but they happen, nonetheless) - an experience of that kind can take on various forms, but the result is always the same. it has happened ever since man first appeared on earth, and you can find hundreds of examples in mystic, philosophical or purely literary texts. you could object that such an experience is a mirage, but what makes such a mirage possible, and why could it not have meaning, even as a mirage?
that mirage, or that intuition, revelation or dream, sets an order against disorder, a fullness against the void, and wonder, enthusiasm, hope against disgust. is it possible to believe that man's obsession with order in so many different fields could be totally devoid of sense? and do we not have the duty, or at least the right, to listen to that very deep, irresistible nostalgia within ourselves, as if it really said something important and true? is it not narrow minded to refuse to believe in the enigma that attracts and enlightens us? is it more equitable to believe only in skeletons, ruins? let us remain faithful to our immediate experience, rather than be eager to listen to whatever may contradict it from the outside.
... start from uncertainty. take nothing for granted, for is not all that is established paralysed? uncertainty is the motor, shadow the source. i walk because i have nowhere to stay, i speak because i don't know, to prove that i am still alive. stammering, i have not been struck down yet...if i breathe it is because i still don't know...
text: philippe jaccottet, seedtime (a great big giant huge thanks to woolgathersome for directing me to jaccottet for which i am most greatfull). image, of course, an anonymous RPPC of a bell ringer in what appears to be a relatively isolated place - "i ring because my ears are hungry, and while i know this bell, i find something different in the ringing each time i pull this string..."