Summer! We’re remembering summer, postgraduates! We’re keeping the memory of summer warm inside us!
Like the summers of our PhD years. Like the summers of our distant childhoods.
Eternal summer! Weeks and weeks, held into the eternal. Turning there, kept by the eternal. Weeks lying back beneath summer skies. Watching summer pass over us, in summer skies. Over our offices! Over the campus!
With no one knocking on our office doors. No one phoning us. With rare emails! With a few postgraduate meetings every now and then.
Summers becalmed. Summers with no breeze, nothing taking us forward. Summers without wind to fill our sails. And we were glad of it! We were glad that summer was a turning upon itself, and nothing more. That the summer was the fulcrum of the academic year, turning on itself, and that was all. Letting the academic year turn – and wasn’t that enough? Letting the year turn about itself, in slow orbit.
When we wore our summer haloes. When the dream of genius burned around us. When we thought we’d Work for the first time. When we’d be brought back to ourselves – as philosophers. When we were given back to ourselves – all over again – as thinkers. As thinkers who could think, for the first time. When we’d coincide with ourselves as philosophers, as thinkers.
But as philosophers of summer. As thinkers of summer, where summer thought inside us.
If we fell asleep in the sun, what then? If we closed our eyes, of what would we dream? Let’s dream those dreams now, in the cold of the Organisational Management campus. Let’s let our stupidity join hands with Brilliance. Let’s let our idiocy meet Genius.
Isn’t God an idiot, too, in the high summer? Doesn’t God become stupid under the high summer sun?
Work in Progress 