We rob reality of her most powerful gift to us when we try to understand her as she is, often with the stern exactitude that forbids creative play, subversive exploration and fanciful yearnings.
We act as if she were an object – sterile, dead or convenient. As if she were a bloodless cadaver in a whitewashed mortuary. But she is thankfully never as listless as our advances towards her are.
Like a potential seductress smiling at the far end of a wine parlour, reality doesn’t stand still and immobile waiting for us to probe her, bombard her, or figure her out.
With the indeterminacy of a whirlwind she, garbed in sequined mysteries, eases herself to the sweaty dance-floor, nods her head in your direction and – with one quizzically rude flick of her eyebrow – disrupts your safety and your tethering to the familiar or the fundamental by asking you…
…You! Wanna dance???