I lift on my toes at the end of the dock, to dive into the lake because I am hot, and while isolated like a specimen in the glassy slide of summer, the notions of hot and lake and I converge into a consciousness of consciousness-in an instant, in between launch and landing, even before I cannonball into the lake, shattering both my reflection and my old notion of myself. That was what was once believed. Now, it seems hardly to matter when and how we become ourselves-or even what we become. Theory chases theory about how we are composed. The only constant: the abjuration of personal responsibility.
( Gregory Maguire )
[ Son of a Witch ]
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