Must a Violence

Sometimes a Body

97 Sometimes a Body It’s hard to see things differently without the person without the voice of the person, but more, the body that holds the voice, the body that moves from one side of the room to the other. Someone insistent on arguing can see aging on the body. Can see weakness. The voice comes from the weakness of the body. It shows a different angle. It reveals alternative possibilities. Compassion comes from watching the gestures of a body. Without the person there it’s hard to re-imagine. It’s hard to see another way. Sometimes a body there is a necessary intervention. It shows someone obstinate with righteousness where a voice is coming from. 98 Do you see where I’m coming from? And the vulnerability of the body measures the content of the words of the voice. The body’s vulnerability tempers the temper of the words of the voice, it opens up a new brilliant corridor filled with light. Some may think it’s divine light that touches and illuminates another possibility. But it’s more than that. It’s a light that shines through tears that hang from the golden corridor ceiling on nylon fishing line. The tears on their lines are fastened to the ceiling with transparent thumbtacks. The light shines through all the tears, refracting pendants of unspeakable pain, and this is what makes the shimmering and causes the image to shift. The movement makes compassion in the light; it’s like a piece moves in the skull. A fused piece shifts like an effortless opening door— ...