If the moment is the fullness of time, it can’t be in time. It can’t simply be a series of nows between past and future, but rather the instant in which time itself is revealed to us, only to withdraw. How to hold this moment as it emerges, as it lets us emerge with it? It’s bigger than us, holds itself in itself, can’t be commanded. How to find it then? How to remain in it? Endure it?
Everyone carries a room about inside him. This fact can even be proved by means of the sense of hearing. If someone walks fast and one pricks up one's ears and listens, say in the night, when everything round about is quiet, one hears, for instance, the rattling of a mirror not quite firmly fastened to the wall.
Notes for a fragmentary novel entitled The Moment, linked at the top of the page.
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