It was Annie Dillard day in the nature class today and Raymond Carver day in American Lit. Dillard enjoys a transcendent moment of connection with a weasel and Carver's alienated narrator experiences a transcendent moment of lack of connection to anything, two moments that take my breath away every time I encounter them:
Our eyes locked, and someone threw away the key.
My eyes were still closed. I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn't feel like I was inside anything.
In these unexpected silences, when consciousness seems suspended and the self takes a hike, where does it go? And where can I find a map so I can follow?
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