I is
Let me tell you: I’m trying to seize the fourth dimension of this
instant-now so fleeting that it’s already gone because it’s already
become a new instant-now that’s also already gone. Every thing has an
instant which it is. I want to grab hold of the is of the thing. These
instants passing through the air I breathe: in fireworks they explode
silently in space. I want to possess the atoms of time. And to capture
the present, forbidden by its very nature: the present slips away and
the instant too, I am this very second forever in the now. Only the act
of love – the limpid star-like abstraction of feeling – captures the
unknown moment, the instant hard as crystal and vibrating in the air and
life is this untellable instant, larger than the event itself: during
love the impersonal jewel of the moment shines in the air, the strange
glory of the body, matter made feeling in the trembling of the instants
– and the feeling is both immaterial and so objective that it seems to
happen outside your body, sparkling on high, joy, joy is time’s material
and the essence of the instant. And in the instant is the is of the
instant. I want to seize my is. And like a bird I sing hallelujah into
the air. And my song belongs to no one. But no passion suffered in pain
and love is not followed by a hallelujah.
Clarice Lispector, “Agua Viva”, 1973