“The heart is not broken, in the sense that it does not exist before the break. But it is the
break itself that makes the heart. The heart is not an organ, and neither is it a faculty. It is:
that I is broken and traversed by the other where its presence is most intimate and its life
most open. The beating of the heart – rhythm of the partition of being, syncope of the
sharing of singularity – cuts across presence, life, consciousness. That is why thinking –
which is nothing other than the weighing or testing of the limits, the ends, of presence, of
life, of consciousness – thinking itself is love.”
26 February 2020
order in chaos. RZA
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