Water
Dr. Yew says I am mistaken in supposing it has to do with breath. The issue is water. Not too much, not too little. Too much even worse than too little.
Dr. Yew says I am mistaken in supposing it has to do with breath. The issue is water. Not too much, not too little. Too much even worse than too little.
The old Danish Christmas carol, repeated endlessly on Christmas Eve, dancing round the tree—or, in a big house, snaking in and out the parlour doors—asks if Christmas will last till Easter.
The Third Epistle of John, the shortest book in the New Testament, is tucked away in a sort of water meadow between the towering peaks of St. Paul’s dialectical masterpieces and the terrifying bog of Revelations.
Perhaps it was the proto-existentialism of Hosea, that in choice itself is the hero constituted, whatever the choice and whatever the consequences. Or the related thought that love is not optional, not a random disposition, but something dangerous and unsettling. A commandment. The first commandment, in which all others are subsumed.