In the minute I was born, three other events took place, of which two were significant and one altered the subsequent course of my life.
These were what happened:
1. An author penned the first word of her first novel, without realising the fact
2. A chain of GATCs lined up in a sequence unique in the history of our Universe
3. A tomato rolled off the wagon, squashed to a green pulp under the farmer’s boot
The day was simultaneously hot and cold depending on where you were. At the place of my birth, heat seared into skin like knives dragged over bare skin. Elsewhere, winter chill did the same.
I favor the derivative, ‘Space’. ‘Outer Space’ suggests that there is an ‘Inner Space’ – Earth. But there is no space here. Only gaps. Gaps between this land and the other; gaps between humans on the subway (if you are so lucky). Gaps between teeth, thighs, and logic. The infinitesimal gap between atoms of futilely clasped hands.
When I say “I need space,” no one knows the picture in my head:
I am floating in subzero, waiting for a speck of space dust to shatter my brittle body into the vacuum.
Leaves have their wisdom too.
Their shape, size and color; their thirst and lust for closeness to the sun, are singularly governed by the task of respiration. Untethered they are by Living, or Meaning. They brown and shed when needed and suffer no existentialism.
