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The Excess of the I: Richard of St. Victor on Incommunicable Subsistence

  The most accurate definition of what an I is can be found in Richard of St. Victor: Dicatur itaque a Daniele Danielitas, sicut ab homine humanitas. Danielitas itaque intelligatur illa substantialitas, vel, si magis placet, illa subsistentia ex qua Daniel esse habet illa substantia quae ipse est et quam participare non potest aliqua alia. Humanitas itaque, sicut corporalitas, est multis communis. Danielitas vero omnino incommunicabilis. Richardus a S. Victore, De Trinitate II, c. 12 “Therefore, let ‘Danielity’ be named from Daniel, just as ‘humanity’ is named from a human being. Accordingly, ‘Danielity’ should be understood as that substantiality — or, if one prefers, that subsistence — by which Daniel has being: that very substance which he himself is and which no other can share. ‘Humanity,’ however, like ‘corporeality,’ is common to many; but ‘Danielity’ is entirely incommunicable.” The individual is constituted by a subsistentia that gives him that substance which he himself i...
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The most profound description of the Heraclitean Logos

  This is perhaps the most profound description of the Heraclitean Logos: अनिरोधमनुत्पादमनुच्छेदमशाश्वतम्। अनेकार्थमनानार्थमनागममनिर्गमम्॥ anirodham anutpādam anucchedam aśāśvatam anekārtham anānārtham anāgamam anirgamaṁ (Nāgārjuna, Mūlamadhyamakakārikā 1.1) अशाश्वतम् (aśāśvatam) — “not eternal”: not because it is merely temporal, but because it makes itself intelligible through its presence within human time. Neither perishing nor arising in time; neither terminable nor eternal; neither self-identical nor changing in form; neither coming nor going. (Sprung’s translation) It is nothing more than a σύλληψις -  a seizing, grasping, or apprehension - which not everyone can develop into genuine knowledge. Within this σύλληψις , the Logos is always turned towards individuals; yet only some individuals are turned towards the Logos.

Aphorisms on the Excess of History and the Excess of God

The person who thinks stands at a crossroads: either to become a new Zarathustra or to dissolve into uncertainty. To become a new Zarathustra, one must learn to listen to the Logos, to the Excess — that from which everything arises, yet which only very few are able to perceive. This occurs through the alignment of one’s inner disposition with the awareness of that Excess which speaks to us. All of this takes place within the history of the human being. By dwelling in his homeland, a person grows together with it, because he has grown out of it. This can be clearly perceived in people’s posture and bodily gestures when comparing Lithuanians with other peoples (for example, Italians). The history of the homeland comes alive within the person in all its fullness. To dwell in one’s homeland means to dwell within its history. In the city of men, history separates people; whereas in the city of God, the Excess speaks equally to everyone. Sensory experience turns toward the horizon of history...

Come una benedizione

  Come una benedizione sento Il sangue a nuovo bollire dentro E dei sensi rompe l'eterno abento.

Per volontà suprema da lungo tempo

  Ma siamo mai esistiti mi chiedo  io voi? Davvero noi eravamo? Se vita avuta abbiamo, io credo? Davvero qua vivi esistevamo? E tu padre eri, tu madre e fratello Or che tutto sfuma - noi eravamo? O era solo una fede quello Cui lungo s'andava certi e sicuri A inseguir d'un'idea un modello.

Empoli addio

  L'ultima volta che ti ho visto, mamma. Seduta eri e gelava il dolore Gli occhi duri e le labbra strette Ti ricordo cosí nel mio amore. Mi guardavi partire - interdette Le mani e i tuoi capelli radi. Ferma stavi e parole non dette A dire per rabbia muta or evadi - Vado a morire - infine mi dici - Tu che a me la vita mi diradi Dal tuo essere mi maledici Mi lasci qua,  a parte, a morire. Sola vecchia e piena di cicatrici. Tu alla vita vai e non vuoi capire Che nel cuore il mio dolore provi. Vai e di Empoli non vuoi più udire. Ma verrà poi il giorno che ti ritrovi Che me vedrai ancor qui da sola E nel ricordo tardi ti commuovi.

Siedo con me in silenzio appena

  Il mostro che fuori ogni giorno vedo Eppure, di dentro a quel bambino Per gli occhi interiori accedo E all'eterna gioventú che avvicino Siedo con me in silenzio appena. E allora ecco, si mostra a sé carino.