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Reflected light, according to Cordovero, fulfills a great task in the consolidation of the potencies and behinot of judgment (din) in each Sefirah, for it functions through a process of restrictive contraction rather than free expansion.

... The face of one Sefirah turns toward another and consequently there develops between them a "channel" (zinnor) of influence which is not identical with actual emanation ....

It is not clear to what extent there is any identity between the symbols of reflected light and channels nor, if there is none at all, what their relationship is. Any interruption in the return of influx from below to above is called a Breaking of the Channels ....

SCHOLEM, Kabbalah

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......................................... Okay, enough on this sub-
ject. I am going to wait for you, to await all of you on this platform, I am finishing this little note quickly (in which I have said nothing in comparison to what you know in advance that I would have wanted to say to you
................ for it has not escaped you that the other omnipresent
one, my immense one, is you. And I want it thus. That none of my secret thoughts can ever be taken away from you. No, not the same omnipresent one, the other one, you
...................................... Please, don't persecute me any more with the "details," and don't ask me any more to send you back the letter that came back to me
............................ It's too late now. I am leaving, or any how, I am coming. When you get off the (en)train, I still will wait for us to be alone - and I will begin to love you.

{Envois 10/Sept/77 }

{DERRIDA, The Post Card

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Ah! But ...
what if the whole thing
{{ - you know, I told you, en-trains & "boats" and pains, I made a bet with myself the other night?, in the Underground, Morpheus in the Underworld, hah!*, but when I told you I was still a little bit pissed, you know me, well, except I was so exuberantly pissed, not at all the miserable monstre you may have accustomed or prepared yourself to receive, altho of course there are beer monsters and there are wine monsters and there are whine monsters and some people get pissed and flash their arse cheeks (I fall flat on mine) or their tits, or yell "get yer tits out for my Lack, girls!" but oh no, that's not me, I get pissed and talk Blanchot at sublimely tuff looking lesbians, that is the burden of my song, {maybe that is precisely why, I mean, her being Other but not a part or bit of the other, if you see what I mean, and you will, you of all people, I think you may well have done so yourself, gone the self same prophylactic route in advance, pre stalling your desire, and it may even have been me ... } altho of course you, "you", you may be one of the only ones, the only ones who know how I can - and do - laugh, I think you called it generous, at any rate you certainly {or certianly} called it, it was "you," that one night, not the other night, the first night, as if it were a gift, my burst of laughter, some potlatch cinder ... caught in your night cat's eye, it suddenly makes tears run down your sooty cheek, but tears of joy, of abandon, of affirmation, and heaping thing on top of thing, feeling atop feeling, twigs & bones & ribbons & ... things) {where were we? & don't say "the usual place" - here, me - ah yes, WHAT IF, the related episode, from the other night, see below, and I mean that twice or three times over, "see below," I've just thought of a fourth, and what if it WERE the case that my codes had gone so crazy that a single letter could rearrange everything to come? WHAT IF, in other words, what IF ...} the whole thing was "just" a dream? Or some form of encoded Allegory on my part? Does it make it any less the case, any less 'something that happened'? What does any kind of "event" become, when it comes or becomes glossed onto/into one of these POST-it notes or post-Id boxes? When it becomes entangled in a web of all those fatal a prioris people assume about the Author {and how truthful she is about her life ... do you know I now even have two seperate supports? To write on, I mean, one where I write all this "to" "you" alone, straight off the top of "my" head, via all of you, and another table, for other content, where I have actually gone back to using my pen ... of all things! And what would my imaginary shrink say about that?}; the whole mess of meconnaissance, misrecognition, ms.alliance, misty routes, snarled up projections, the whole silly fort:da spool game, the fool's cat-ass-trophy, the full catastrophe {and you already know I underline strophe there, in my heart of hearts, or my part in heartening, or my art of hurting, or my art - of - parting ... because
..................... you always already know, it all, in a -

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*{ "When Orpheus descends to Eurydice, art is the power that causes the night to open { ....} the night welcomes him; it becomes the welcoming intimacy, the understanding and the harmony of the first night. But Orpheus has gone down to Eurydice: for him, Eurydice is the limit of what art can attain; concealed behind a name and covered by a veil, she is the profoundly dark point towards which art, desire, death and the night all seem to lead. She is the instant in which the essence of the night approaches as the other night.

{Blanchot, The Gaze of Orpheus

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posted by Ian 8/30/2003 10:38:00 AM

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