Death is the limit, the only candle among shadows and shadow among candles.
Love and death are inseparable because their hearts beat with a
nostalgia for annihilation. "I'm dead, I'm dead" "I am
beyond life and death" This is what the lovers say. To be dead within life
means to pulse with its wave-tremors. To be beyond life and death means
exactly this: to become the lightning stroke, the thunderstorm that
pours over arid lands. As violet skies, as rain, as volcanoes know neither
life nor death. To be a pulsing intensity moving acorss the deserts and
the jungles. Love is the mirror of life reflecting its opposite,
terrifyingly, ecstatically. It is mortality burning with its own will
towards eternal existence, towards a being at home in all things in the
world. Undifferentiation. Love is weak if it hinges on denying death.
Death, if held, like a violet, envigorates, maddens, intensifies, burns
the paltry human shell to leave a desparate creature in its wake. As
we hunt life, we are joyous to find death at every corner, destroying us,
making us cry, tearing apart the ground on which we built our lives.