If there are no meanings, no values, no source of sustenance or help, then man, as creator, must invent, conjure up meanings and values, sustenance and succour out of nothing. He is a magician.
In our 'normal' alienation from being, the person who has a perilous awareness of the nonbeing of what we take to be being ... gives us in our present epoch the acts of creation that we despise and crave.
Words in a poem, sounds in movement, rhythm in space, attempt to recapture personal meaning in personal time and space from out of the sights and sounds of a depersonalized, dehumanized world.
Their source is from the Silence at the centre of each of us.
Wherever and whenever such a whorl of patterned sound or space is established in the external world, the power that it contains generates new lines of forces whose effects are felt for centuries.
The zone, the zone of no-thing, of the silence of silences, is the source. We forget that we are all there all the time.
An activity has to be understood in terms of the experience from which it emerges. These arabesques that mysteriously embody mathematical truths only glimpsed by a very few - how beautiful, how exquisite - no matter that they were the threshing and thrashing of a drowning man.
The Politics of Experience and The Bird of Paradise, p.37, 38