What if this life we embrace as unique is really God's latest nightmare?
And what happens when She wakes up?
Each of us approaches our daily lives with our inner maps already
plotted, life divided into neat neighborhoods of understanding.
It takes a jolt, an abrasion, a piercing work of art to disrupt these
illusory maps of how the world works.
Artists explore those places on the map of being that others fear to
visit. We cross the borders of insanity, clutching our visitor's pass.
We envision a town where leaves choose to be square and streets run
vertically to manywheres. We turn our backs on categories and labels,
immobile bits of data that try to freeze the rhythms of life. Instead,
we think of absurdities and othernesses, brown dwarfs and gluons, and
six-flavored quarks.
We do not ask, as Heiddegger once did, "Why is there something instead
of nothing?" We ask, "Why are there so many somethings?"
We dare to consider what flourishes on the other side of infinity,
creatures without arms or legs, or the other features that mirror ourselves.
If you are fiction, and I am a lie, how will we know tomorrow?
And what happens if tomorrow doesn't know us?
c. Corinne Whitaker 2002