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The Word of the Soul

It is said that the waters at the source of rivers find their soul. And it is there that human reason as thought and speech in the sense of relating to self and others meets the Word. It is in this place that words, measured against their limitations, struggle to “steal” something from the ineffable. Hence the danger of the enterprise.

For words are like the prodigal son. They long to return to the Whole, to the womb that gave birth to them. And then they fall twirling from the sky like glowing wings and land on earth. Like the wings of the black crows in Virginia Woolf’s Orlando. Or they speak with the simplicity that a child would speak. Like little Orestes, who, seeing the islands lying in the sea from the plane, began to cry out: “Mama, Mama, the moon is broken! The moon is broken!” Or raving. Or they are silent and give birth to the landscapes of poetry par excellence, like the pauses and silences of Helderlin or the fragments of Solomos – two poets who praised freedom and struggled to subjugate the senses to reason.

Man, throughout his evolutionary course, gradually conquers his freedom through language. Beginning to speak, he is freed from his muteness, disentangled by the contribution of the father’s speech from the mother, he appears on the stage of history as a subject of consciousness, conquering the freedom of his thought; he is also disentangled from the father of the sentence, from the dominant speech, but it is there, at the mouth, that, hearing the Word of the soul, he conquers the totality of speech and his complete freedom, where all heteronomy is abolished. For there his truth speaks. A truth, however, that contains and loves.

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