Work in Progress

And what of us? Are we here? Can we say we’re here, philosopher? And what does it mean to be here, anyway?

Who are we, here? Where is this place … this no-place. This absence.

Has everything ended? Has it all ended? But it’s an endless end. And what about the beginning? Are things going to begin – all over again? But it’s a beginning without beginning. Without initiative. Nothing commences here.

We’re lost here. Everything is lost except what we’re saying. Which is only saying that we’re lost.

I think we’ve turned invisible. Can that happen?

I can see you.

Oh, we’re not invisible to each other. But to everyone else …

I don’t think there is anyone else. We’ve got the beach all to ourselves.

I think we’ve turned inaudible, too. There’s no one to hear us except each other.

It’s the kind of place where you experience God. Where you pass through God. Where God lets you pass through Him. As He passes through you.

This is the kind of place where the invisibility of God becomes visible. Where he’s here where he is not. His absence is his absence. It belongs to Him.

What if it’s not even God’s absence? What if it’s absence’s absence. Just, like, being and nothingness, changing places?

Is God between us? Is God in what we say? In my address to you, and your address to me?

Is that what God is: a speaking? An acknowledgement? That you’re there, and I’m here, and that we can speak?

Is that what God is? Is that how God shows himself? Even now? Even in these times?

Is God the limit of philosophy? I think he might be the limit of Organisational Management.

I thought you’d think of God as just a giant organisational manager. An organisational manager in the sky …

Do you think there’s such a thing as Organisational Management theology?

It wouldn’t surprise me. There’s Organisational Management everything else.

Something very important is happening to us on our picnic. On our coast walk. On our stroll along the beach.

Nothing matters but what we’ll say now. Nothing else matters except what’s happening between us now. There’s nothing else worth thinking about. There’s no point to anything … except this.

This is real. Realer than anything. Realer than us. Realer than we are. The world is become less real, and we … we …

What matters is what we say. Are these words. No, not these words. The shadow of these words.

I’ve forgotten everything but this. I’ve forgotten everything but us.

The world is everything that’s out there. Not in here. Not when we’ve shut the door. Not between us. Not between you and I. That’s what matters: everything between you and I. This strange country between us. This strange land between us. These words we say. These things … this rapport. This … to and fro.

But it’s more of a to than a fro. I talk more than you. I say all these things. And what am I saying? I hardly know. Even I don’t know what I’m saying. Where this is going. Is it going anywhere? There are just greater and greater … uncertainties. Just more ways of getting lost.

Don’t you get tired of seeing what we’ve seen, philosopher? Haven’t we had enough of it – seeing what we’ve seen? Hasn’t it become perfectly tedious: seeing what we’ve seen? Being who we were.

The whole yesterday thing. Our whole pasts. Our … identities. What it says on our passports. On our driving licenses. Our names … Our very names. Haven’t you got tired of it all?

I’ve forgotten my name, philosopher. Have you forgotten yours?

Do you get lost, philosopher? Lost in the fog? Lost in life?

Do your eyes get tired? Does your head get tired? Does your life get tired? Are you tired in your life? Do you get tired of the world? I get tired of the world.

It’s like we missed our appointment. Like we haven’t made the meeting – a really important meeting. At which really important things were to be discussed. About us. About the world. About our future. All of that stuff.

It’s like we don’t care about anything anymore. About anything we should care about. About our own … existence.

Are we losing our survival instinct? Don’t we even want to survive? What is this about, for us? What are the stakes? Why does it matter? Who’s paying attention?

Is this all just more randomness? Just random stuff. Just stuff happening and happening and happening?

The world is … wearing away. Everything is just … wearing away. Reality is wearing away. It’s like we can see through the world. Like the gauze is wearing thin. Which is good.

When did the world end? Why did the world end? Who are we, who live after the world’s end? What are we doing here, in the absence of the world? Who’ve been washed ashore from the world?

There was … everything, and now there’s just us, walking along the beach.

We’re disappearing, philosopher. We’re losing hold of ourselves.

I don’t think the world wants us anymore. Or needs us. I don’t think we’re needed in general. We’re surplus to all requirements. Even our own … requirements.

Our empty hearts. Our empty heads, philosopher.

How can it just go on? On – and on? What makes it go? What powers it? just vast implacable laws.

It all … works by itself. The eternal engine. It’s just what happens, nothing more.

What will happen when we reach the end? When will turn the last page?

But there is no last page. There is no end.