Читать книгу Visual Inspection - Matt Rader - Страница 30

In a guided meditation, I’m invited to close my eyes.

After a series of descending numbers and images, I’m relaxed and I visit an island.

I look around.

The island is russet-coloured and black. A couple dozen metres in diameter. Barren. Large white seabirds glide down from the milk-blue sky, perch on the rock, then flap away. I’m standing on a beach of fine round pebbles the ocean combs through as it recedes.

Downpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwash/ Come flowing through… / You stand there like a pipe / Being played by water… / And diminuendo runs through all its scales…²¹

This is what I know: the island is still warm. As if it were new. As if in this place, deep inside myself, human time and geological time are unified.