Work in Progress

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.

The signal decays, philosopher. Time decays and space decays. How long does it take for the end to end?

How much time is there left? What will happen when we disappear? Will anything happen?

Next and next and next. What? What will happen next?? Are we just trying to work out how to die?

What does space do? Does it space, like a verb? Do the distances between things become greater? Is everything expanding? Are we all getting vaster and vaster?

Where’s the space taking us, philosopher? Into itself? Are we disappearing into space?

Is space invading us? Is it hollowing us out? Is it hollowing everything out?

What’s disappearing in space? What’s getting lost?

Are there things washed up by space? That just appear in space, like wrack on the sea shore?

What does time say, philosopher? What does time have to say? Let’s translate time into words. The timing of time, or whatever. Time’s whiling. It’s … whatever it is -ing.

It just goes on. It goes on, philosopher. That’s all. There’s no secret. There’s nothing hidden. Time does its thing. Hour follows hour. Day succeeds day.

Am I a philosopher now?