SLEEP AND THE SEA
Nothing is more down-to-earth, more grounded in appearance, than a sleeping body: a breathing shard of primordial clay. Yet respiration recalls the sea, and the regular motion of the waves.
“At day’s end it wasn’t just the sea that lived for me in Albertine, but, at times, the drowsiness of the sea as it looked on the beach under a full moon … ”
“In that light her sleep became, to a certain degree, the possibility of love … She was hidden, enveloped, returned into her body … her life … exhaling her light breath toward me. I listened to the mysterious murmuring emanation, soft like an ocean zephyr, enchanted like moonlight, that was her sleep.”
Sleep, which encloses this being in her body, is moonlight on the sea, interior and exterior both. It will return in adjacent pages in different locales and forms, the way moonlight moves across summer nights creating different sky-scapes. Language imperceptibly changes: “I embarked on the sleep of Albertine.” A lightly grazed exchange, encounter.