There is also an ongoing dialogue in my head that deals in the realm of ethics. Or ideals. Or righteousness. Or moral action. Or revolution. Or, simply possibility. I think what is happening is that I am not just questioning Things and Stuff, but the stuff that things are made of. Like, if the world was made from a ball of yarn and the yarn got tangled, who would undo it, and how would it become untangled without everyone having to get off first? Or what if something sent it in the direction of unraveling – at what point would it be pointless to imagine it raveling back on its own; how would the end be found and who would turn it back to become a new raveling? Or, what if the world was made of sand, which is really not so far off if you think about it, again metaphorically. And if this is the case, I can’t help but imagine that the weight of All Things filling this particular sandcastle might eventually cause the floors to creak, the flags to wave and the towers to crumble. Unnoticed at first, a few grains of sand would slide off the surface and back into the sky. Maybe that is what stars are, little bits of earth falling off itself, and maybe that is what is meant by the sky is falling. Anyways, who or what or how - when the last grain slides through the glass hole, will everything flip upside-down, in order to begin again?
Is it naïve to think of the natural balance of Things as a theatrical boomerang when the point of no-return will be slung-shot back on itself? Is it apathetic to think that someone else will be able to switch the flip, or flip the switch, before the edge has been reached, or that there could even be an imaginary someone, something, somehow out there anyways?
-Chanti Wadge, 2007