Photo: Fiona Morrison

Photo: Fiona Morrison




History is not linear and the origin story has an origin. 

‘In the beginning’ was always a textual construct,  

from a ‘somewhere, 

at least as far as it has appeared to us,  

passed through rather than down;  

passed up as well perhaps in some way or another. 

Words that were always a ‘the text’ become flesh,  

though of course only in the text,  

at first, or at last. 

The cycle goes on forever it seems. 

A complicated diagram of who said what to whom;  


Who saw the light,  

what appeared within it,  

what we called it; 

and all that we shall do in that name. 

Until, at last, or at least,  

perhaps at once the text does become flesh,  

written into us, inscribed on the heart,  

manifested in movement; in space;  

in the way we make ourselves. 

Resistance is futile; 

simply another mode of orientation; 


an awkward ‘towards’ that gets closer the further it flees. 

So, therefore, this:  

an uncomfortable embrace,  

an inevitable ‘YES!’ 

A thorn for the flesh, both ways, that bleeds; 

an opening in the body where the words fall out again, 

and in the light are rearranged. 

The cycle goes on forever it seems. 

The Word becomes flesh: The flesh becomes text.