Like atoms and galaxies, days are full of space.
What if the ways you take up this space—the pauses, transitions, and gaps between doings—shapes the world as much as the doings?* Do we fill the space with restless preoccupation? Death drive compulsions? Nervous uncertainty? Or curious delight at the poignancy of each thing?**
What if the redemption of the world depended on how we fill it, or allow it to be its own?
*the shared implication of affect theory, Buddhism, apophatic theology, Deleuzian cinepoetics, among others
