The palm at the end of the mind, beyond the last thought, rises in the bronze distance. A gold feathered bird sings in the palm, without human meaning, without human feeling, a foreign song. You know then that it is not the reason that makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine. The palm stands on the edge of space. The wind moves slowly in the branches. The bird's fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

Friday, December 21, 2007

it is i who

It is I who am the part of my mother;
And it is I who am the mother;
It is I who am the wife;
It is I who am the virgin;
It is I who am pregnant;
It is I who am the midwife;
It is I who am the one that comforts pains of travail;
It is my husband who bore me;
And it is I who am his mother,
And it is he who is my father and my lord.
It is he who is my force;
What he desires, he says with reason.
I am in the process of becoming.
Yet I have borne a man as lord. [114:8-16]
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Albrecht Dürer, “Woman Clothed With the Sun”


All citations from On the Origin of the World are from The Nag Hammadi Library, ed. James Robinson, rev. ed. (San Francisco: Harper, 1988). For ease of reference, they will be cited in the body of the article by original text page and line number, as indicated in Robinson's edition.

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