"For this is the truth about our soul . . . our self, who fish-like inhabits deep seas and plies among obscurities threading her way between the boles of giant weeds, over sun-flickered spaces and on and on into gloom, cold, deep, inscrutable; suddenly she shoots to the surface and sports on the wind-wrinckled waves; that is, has a positive need to brush, scrape, kindle herself, gossiping" (Virginia Woolf).
Do you agree with Woolf's estimate? Do our souls (whatever they may be) swim in a dark and mysterious solitude? And then, on occasion, we rise up to play on the surface of the world? Is this not comparable to what we do on this site: existing in our individual depths, we burst out in fits and starts to briefly contact others, to scrape ourselves up against another.
Do you agree with Woolf's estimate? Do our souls (whatever they may be) swim in a dark and mysterious solitude? And then, on occasion, we rise up to play on the surface of the world? Is this not comparable to what we do on this site: existing in our individual depths, we burst out in fits and starts to briefly contact others, to scrape ourselves up against another.
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what?