In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

The Radiance of the Lotus The lotus, resplendent symbol of the awakened mind, exfoliates in enigma. Is it an explosion, a cosmic detonation, flinging its energy outward ? Toward what? From what center? Do we rather see, not dynamism, but quiescent serenity, loveliness eternally distilled, a vision disturbed only by the gentle lapping of the waves? Or is it that “[t]he film suddenly stopped, and the picture on the screen remained fixed—but alive” (Sekida 1992, 201). Have we somehow surprised the detonation in a moment beyond time, disclosing its dynamism in “a breathtaking continuum of the present” (201)? What we see of the lotus, what appears, is presented as an enigmatically silent burst of color and light, quiet uproar, motionless explosion , occurring upon, within, as an expression or manifestation of, the supporting waters of the pond. It is as if the stillness and motionlessness of the pond, mating with the savage dynamism and biting beauty of the sun, gave birth to a being of few days, yet, in its presence, eternal. And it is as if the event of parturition, though never completed, were always complete: the salience of the lotus not repudiating its expressiveness. In its wild radiance, the lotus evinces the serenity of the pond. Nor is the pond free from enigma. Its quiescence is both a glass and a mirror. The ingenuous settling of stones at the bottom, the effortless grace of the savvy koi patrolling the pond, are seen through the waters. Yet—and at the same time—the overhanging leaves, the wisps of evanescent cloud, the idols of one’s own visible presence, are cast upon the waters. The waters are indecisive, hesitating, ambiguous: transparent? reflective? Or does the pond play a double game? Does it, simultaneously or in succession, wear two very different masks? Or again, is it not rather indifferent to such merriment , leaving the masquerade to others? The pond keeps its secret. The answer remains undisclosed in its presentation. The blackbird, arrested in its flight, lites upon the arched wooden bridge (merle au pont), peering without comment at the pond below, its “mind quiet as water in the fissure 1 of Being” (Merleau-Ponty 1969, 235). And mindful of the enigma, the plucky visitor decries: When through the water’s thickness I see that tiling at the bottom of a pool, I do not see it despite the water and the reflections there; I see it through them and because of them. If there were no distortions , no ripples of sunlight, if it were without this flesh that I saw the geometry of the tiles, then I would cease to see it as it is and where it is—which is to say, beyond any identical, specific place. I cannot say that the water itself—the aqueous power, the syrupy and shimmering element—is in space; all this is not somewhere else either, but it is not in the pool. It inhabits it, it materializes itself there, yet it is not contained there; and if I raise my eyes toward the screen of cypresses where the web of reflections is playing, I cannot gainsay the fact that the water visits it, too, or at least sends into it, upon it, its active and living essence. (MerleauPonty 1964a, 182) Within the water, there is neither “here” nor “there.” Or rather, “here” and “there” do not designate the coordinates of an absolute Cartesian grid. The waters of the pool are uncontainable, unlocalizable. And the lotus itself shares, though differently, this refusal of containment . The quiet-exuberant lotus flings itself, flings its self, centrifugally beyond all bounds. Its ecstasy, its savage habit of being perpetually beyond itself, is a negation, a warning. “Do not presume that I will succumb to your snares. I am a being of pure freedom.” Do not assume, with Sartre, that I am subject to “violation by sight,” that “[w]hat is seen is possessed,” that “to see is to deflower.” Do not suppose that “[e]very investigation implies the idea of a nudity which one brings out into the open by clearing away the obstacles which cover it” (1971, 738). “You cannot grasp me, seize me, lay hold of me. To know me is to be what I am, to throw yourself away.” In Suzuki’s words, “To know the flower is to become the flower, to be the flower, to bloom as the flower, and to enjoy the sunlight as well as the...

Share