Thomas Meyer. “Isis’ Memory” in The Umbrella of Aesculapius
Practice attunes one.
At first the diary of day &/or dream does no more than record, but in its persistence & dullness it instills the keeper with a certain & previously unknown link to matter or hyle. These elements, fundamental matters, are oddly enough not par of personal perception; they come upon us unawares. They are sought indirectly by the heart.
Ears, thoughts, words & the day echoes
Shakespeare by way of T.S. Eliot “This music crept by me upon the waters”
Why now? Why here? A fil conducteur … the bare thread of a connection in the simple preposition “upon” and the souffle of a constant “w”.
always upon us unawares
And so for day 1471