That taste in my mouth brought me back to a different matter.
I felt as if an old, forgotten matter was becoming, making me a different world and drawing me into a world I had once set aside—a cached world, left untouched through prolonged abstinence from this grounded savour.
And I wondered!
"Oh my God!" I exclaimed, elated.
How can matter—rabbit meat—open my matter and disclose other matter, buried yet alive within me, which I had forgotten in my living Spirit?
Is the Spirit altered and made, shaped by the matter?
Yes, it is, I realized.
This truth dawns on me every time I fast. When I fast, I perceive my true self emerging, rising from beneath dark layers that obscure my essence. Fasting, like light, disperses them.
(How to peel an artichoke: Each leaf you peel off reveals a new, yet already present, part of the original artichoke that once was.)
We often say we are what we eat, but that is not true.
Rather, we are what we have eaten, never what we eat. What we eat distracts us from what we in essence are—from what has prepared us to be—our essence, our ὑποκείμενον, our substratum.
We often say we are what we eat, but that is not true.
Rather, we are what we have eaten, never what we eat. What we eat distracts us from what we in essence are—from what has prepared us to be—our essence, our ὑποκείμενον, our substratum.
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