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I dug for water
T.S. Eliot puts it well when he said “the end of all journeys will be to return to the place from which you started and know it for the first time.” Four years ago I enrolled in this same class, in the same room and with the same professor who has maintained a vibrant quality as ever. I have to admit I am back partly because of my vow of obedience to my Jesuit superiors. After two weeks I return to where I all began, asking the same questions all over again “Was ist das - - die Philosophie? What is being as Being? What does it mean to say that the table is Tabling? The grass Grassing? The tree Treeing?”
Life is not just all predictability. So much of the things that come we know so little of. Every step of the way is not all a calculated event, every measure we use will always fall short, lag behind something boundless, something ineffably rich. In every step there is always hesitation, instability and other times outburst. But what remains constant is always the element of surprise, when we feel most alive, most real, and most ourselves.