I believe there is a single transversal category embracing all those subsistentiae of which Richard of St. Victor writes [HERE]: subsistentiae quae sunt illae substantiae quas participare non potest aliquid aliud - those subsistentiae of which each is that very substance in which no other being can participate. It is the category expressed by every human being on this planet throughout his or her life:
“Here I am. I exist. Me too.”
The following short story beautifully exemplifies this:
Nymphomaniac
"Ηθος Ανθρωπῳ Δαιμων" A man's character is his demon. (Heraclitus)
Men call me a whore. They say I'm a whore.
How simple men's minds are. To them, a woman is either a mother, a sister, a saint, or a whore.
I'm twenty-five years old. I've been with about two hundred men. I made love for the first time when I was eighteen.
I don't remember all their faces. I don't remember all their names. I remember their smell, though. Their bodies. The pleasure I felt with every one of them.
People don't understand. I'm not a whore. I simply need sex the way you need food or air.
Sex calms me. It makes me feel alive.
When I'm nervous, I need a man. His body. The warmth of his flesh calms me. It makes me feel I'm no longer alone in this world.
His body drives away the deep pain and anguish I carry within me. An anguish that comes from somewhere far away. Somewhere unknown.
I masturbate every day. Inside me lives the fear of failing. The terror that one day my dreams will abandon me forever.
I'm not a bitch. People don't understand that. It's simply the way I am. The way I experience life.
And I pray to life.
It's my way of saying to the world,
"Hey... I'm here, me too"
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