Plodding along here, just admiring the astonishingly gorgeous snow and winter cold. When no one is out, the sun is shining, and there are no footprints, it’s possible to glimpse portions of heaven around the corners of the eyes. It enters the self through the somethingness that lives alongside a body, a body that cannot contain all while containing everything. Proprioception then, or whispers, or ether. (Ether as in what the alchemists tried to distill from the air.)
Later, while indoors and playing a little Mozart, I came across this photo. It is Mozart’s Pianoforte. This is another of the white-winged dove mysteries. How is it that great works were created from such an instrument? Nothing is so astounding as hearing the music on modern instruments whilst looking at the tools of creation.
P.S. Note the stack of books to be used for foot rest.