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On Sundays and Mondays

For San Miguel
"The beginning is the result."

Hegel, Science of Logic

"One could know the beauty of the universe in each soul, if one
could unfold all its folds, which only opens perceptibly with time."

Leibniz, "Principles of Grace and Nature"

"Where do I begin?" Where else but in the beginning.

A Monday, for example, is a convenient starting point though some calendars have it all wrong. Sunday is the real beginning of the week and not as much the presupposed ending.

Perhaps He did not rest on a Sunday, gazing at His Creation while sipping on a cup of tea-- maybe everything (literally) was done by the sixth day and the seventh marked a new beginning; hence, the 'first beginning' naturally began on the first day since that day 'contained' the blueprint of "the best of all possible worlds" (Leibniz) and the rest of the days (until the sixth) were merely the enactment and fulfillment of that plan (agere sequitur esse or "action follows being"), or what He Thought -- for according to the Philosopher He is after all "a thought thinking itself" (Aristotle).

Perhaps the image of Him resting on the seventh is not so much the lazy Sunday afternoons we have but, perhaps, His rest may be better understood (and easier to believe in) as Him letting His Creation be -- His necessary detachment from and abandonment of His beings. Is this not the very 'price' of the Gift He (and we -- by virtue of us being given being) had to 'pay' for His excessive Giving, that is, He would have to dis-appear and withdraw from and after the Gift Itself? Everyone knows how difficult it is to open a present in front of the person who presented it (whatever one shows or manifests, however controlled or faked, will always be 'unnatural.') In the same but obviously different manner, that to whom the Gift is given will always (perhaps unknowingly) have to be alone (as in a surprise -- "an unexpected gift at an unexpected time," as the wise Forrester says in "Finding Forrester") in order to experience the givenness of the Gift and feel, perhaps, gratitude.

Somehow it might be easier to believe in a god Who begins and creates a world (and everything in it, i.e., I, Thou and It) and then leaves it to itself by letting beings be what they are than to imagine a god who rests and goes to the mall and has his hair done at the end of the week.

Perhaps He really began on a Sunday. And since mere mortals always arrive too late for the gods (Heidegger), He is still waiting for the Monday when we realize that this world is ours for the making (Marx), when we finally fulfill the destiny He bestowed on us to become the shepherd of beings (Heidegger), and when mortals flee the cave of their ignorance and dependence on others and on Him (Kant) and finally start walking out to the light on their own two feet (Plato). 'When' are we now? I hazard a guess: in the twilight of the seventh --where there is "enough light for the next step" (Peguy with thanks to San Miguel) yet fear envelopes us like the coming darkness of a black night.

And until we go through the night, the new day shall always be postponed. As I told you my good friend: Everything begins on a Monday.


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