After posting about “a year of immanence” a few days ago, it occurred to me that I could have called it “A year of living immanently.” And then I thought, What would that mean? Would it be living with one’s face to the wind, always in motion, responding to the flow of life, one’s heart beating in the cool air of open encounter? Living without calculation or manipulation?

Would it be, as Deleuze describes in “Immanence: A Life,” “a qualitative duration of consciousness without self,” “an absolute immediate consciousness whose very activity no longer refers to a being but is ceaselessly posed in a life”? Would it be living as pure poetry, art exhausted in the process of its artistry, with nothing left over and nothing to spare?

A life is everywhere, in all the moments that a given living subject goes through and that are measured by given lived objects: an immanent life carrying with it the events or singularities that are merely actualized in subjects and objects. This indefinite life does not itself have moments, close as they may be one to another, but only between-times [mean-times, des entre-temps], between-moments. It neither takes place nor follows, but presents the immensity of the empty time where one sees the event yet to come and already happened, in the absolute of an immediate consciousness.”

“Very young children all resemble one another and have hardly any individuality; but they have singularities, a smile, a gesture, a grimace — events which are not subjective characteristics. Small children, through all their sufferings and weaknesses, are infused with an immanent life that is pure power and even bliss [beatitude].*”


*from “Immanence: a life” (I’ve combined two translations, Millet’s and Hodges/Naormina’s)

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