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Worshipping Lali

Far, far away

It seems society conspires to make us live in the distant ‘tomorrow’. Religion speaks about ‘destiny’ and sanctifies gratification delayed; science groans for a ‘technological utopia’; schools tell us to learn so we can live in the future; and the nation-state is run by politicians who trade in sound bites about getting better. All the while, we forget to live in the moment, to slowly relish a meal’s gift to our senses, to enjoy a companion, to get dirty with wild play, to reflect on the salvific power of sorrow, to run into the teenage angst of a voluptuous rain storm. We live big and stretched, when we can live small and intensely. But not for long. Our grandiose quests for scale at the expense of intimacy are losing their driving force; it is now becoming more commonplace for people to walk out of the job world, to assert the magnificence of their lives beyond the dictates of a culture addicted to achievement, to explore the rhapsodies of being in experimental communes. Everywhere I visit around the world, everywhere I am gracefully invited to share my gifts, I discover that this – this quiet revolution of sorts – is what our hearts pant for. The future has never looked more promising or more queer

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Falling might very well be flying – without the tyranny of coordinates.