The body is one but has many members, she says. We are the meek little bird and the executioner, both. The knife and the sparrow. We are the microscopic cells in its anatomy, exploring the world as cells do, as beautiful fleeting bits of life, dancing into and out of existence like cosmic foam, forgetting and remembering and forgetting our connectedness to the whole. In and out. Again and again. Over and over. And you can know this, Tom. You can know it but divide it not asunder. For to find ourselves, we must always cleave the sparrow.
