I think we are going about with our heads in the clouds, colliding into each other at random.
If I were to choose any one of the neo-platonic elements of the self, I would choose to be earth. the savage, soily grit of the dust i was made from. clay between my hands, formed and moulded then baked hard by sun.
The Tempest
I would not be airy Ariel with his hypnotic music. Not gentle, placid, obeying Miranda, nor imperial Prospero. I'd be Caliban. The half-fish, deformed slave, stolen from his power and made a savage beast. a cur, a dog, a pitiful creature. the vegetative symbol of the earth. the most humble. the most unlikely of heroes, organic and crude but without pretense.
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