by Christos Polydorou
As I sit in my bedroom on the third floor I call for Philosophicat in the opposite garden, that my neighbours have finally weeded, but Philosophicat is turned the other way. I snap my fingers, but Philosophicat is playing dumb. He knows I am here but he is lightly showing me that in this moment he does not need me. I understand God in this way; the vaults of heaven open and fingers snap, music issues, and sometimes you do not wish to acknowledge God, and others you do. When you open your heart. You look up. Nothing there? Then what is happening in your breast?
If I have a single philosophical question pressing down on me with such sweet agony it is this one. I can hear your call. I do. Am I doing enough? Should I do more.
I want to be enough for you. Can I be?