I have walked through many lives,some of them my own,and I am not who I was,though some principle of being abides,from which I struggle not to stray.When I look behind,as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey,I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which the scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings.Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections,and my tribe is scattered!How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses?In a rising wind,the manic dust of my friends,those who fell along the way,bitterly stings my face.Yet I turn.I turn,exulting somewhat,with my will intact to go wherever I need to go,and every stone on the road precious to me.In my darkest night,when the moon was covered and I roamed through the wreckage,a nimbus-clouded voice directed me:-Live in the layers, not on the litter-Though I lack the art to decipher it,no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written.I am not done with my changes.
The relation to the other is not epistemological, but ethical, and the whole attempt to accomodate or account for the other within the confines of my experience already constitutes a breach of this fundamental ethical relation. The other is precisely that which cannot be the object of my experience in the sense of being completely manifest within it, and so cannot be construed as a phenomenon at all.
But in a way you can say that after leaving the sea, after all those millions of years of living inside of the sea, we took the ocean with us. When a woman makes a baby, she gives it water, inside her body, to grow in. That water inside her body is almost exactly the same as the water of the sea. It is salty, by just the same amount. She makes a little ocean, in her body. And not only this. Our blood and our sweating, they are both salty, almost exactly like the water from the sea is salty. We carry oceans inside of us, in our blood and our sweat. And we are crying the oceans, in our tears.
Along with the mystical wonderment and sense of ecological responsibility that comes with the recognition of connectedness, more disturbing images come to mind. When applied to economics, connectedness seems to take the form of chain stores, multinational corporations, and international trade treaties which wipe out local enterprise and indigenous culture. When I think of it in the realm of religion, I envision smug missionaries who have done such a good job of convincing native people everywhere that their World-Maker is the same as God, and by this shoddy sleight of hand have been steadily impoverishing the world of the great fecundity and complex localism of belief systems that capture truths outside the Western canon. And I wonder if everything's connected, does that mean that everything can be manipulated and controlled centrally by those who know how to pull strings at strategic places?