Figuring the myths of father and mother

Making sense of all the little I have read this last year.

The infolded bud senses within itself the sound of the cosmos
outside. Separated, it listens to the voice of ‘God’; Mother is the fluid cosmos around, Father the command to unfold. When it opens, skin inside out, mind meets world in a ritual called adulthood. The interpenetration of stamen and pistil with air is the real sexual union; self and world beget other selves.


For the cosmopolitan, exile is impossible.With the world to belong to or disavow, the Wanderer has no place and all space to inhabit as she travels incessantly among subcultures. Beyond the horizon of diplomatic relations the utopia of the afterworld rears its head. Elsewhere in living memory is out of the question; a temporal other/no-where is possible only as if on the earth-bearing rim of a bulldozer. Or on the tusk of the Boar, lifting the world out of the cosmic waters. Time and eternity are indivisible, and therefore unbridgeable, impassable; one cannot leave them behind. How else can an elsewhere exist? If there is heaven on earth, then, it must be this, it is this, this.