When the very template of reality breaks down, we know we are approaching the end of history.
Only a very domesticated version of Buddha, sitting idly on the mantelpiece, would argue for mere peace.
We asked for this: the freedom to choose as sovereign beings, to create genuinely new basins of experience, to wake from the recurring nightmare.
Amid the global lockdown, it’s easy to lose heart. But what if the loss of faith is actually a sign that the new world has already been born?
When is revelation a form of intimacy, when is disclosure oversharing, and when is a personal story an invitation to collusion?