Basic Statement: Everything is.
As there as there can get
Ray of sunlight reflected by the silver clasp of my writing board. It’s a tiny dot mirroring the presence of the sun, but it’s one evidence revealing itself. Others are more apparent, I see, like the vast amount of light coming into this room through large windows, like the pleasant warmth I feel when standing in the light mentioned above.
Others can be found, too, e. g. the solar system the earth is part of being kept in order, in process, by the sun’s being. Quite a macro-perspective, I agree, and how petty it could seem to others — me referring to the reflection on the surface of the silver clasp of my writing board.
But let’s get ontic again, and you’ll notice that the reflection on the clasp is as present as the giant sun itself. They’re both there, as there as there can get. Boy! how presence can blow me away…
Loose conception of Greenland
It’s a geographical romance, geometrical lines on maps of the world, vertical and horizontal. In between, up north, the presence of Greenland is indicated. I put my finger on the map, not completely without a sense of longing. Having never been there, I imagine icebergs and deserted vales with pretty flowers, face to face with endless white. Documentaries and pictures offer images to construct a loose conception of Greenland. Oh, you come along, all your witty self, saying, “You’ve never been there. How could you know it exists?” — and you’re right, I’m not an eyewitness. Rest assured, though, as the vales, the water and the ice don’t care for us at all. They are, regardless of us having been there or not. Even if Greenland was another crude fantasy of mine, it would at least exist as this loose conception of Greenland which I happen to have. Right, conceptions are not equal to landscapes — still, this landscape couldn’t even be amused by our thoughts on its presence. It just lies there, until something else might emerge.
Not about longing
When you lift the lid of the waste basket in the train, mounted below the window, in blunt silver, you may find objects thrown away. You follow my instructions, you lift the lid to take a look. You turn your head towards where I stand and tell me “It’s empty. There’s nothing inside.” You may not have found an object that has been thrown away, but inside, there is space. Air. Dust. Oh, I could go on… and now you’re calling me a trainspotter, of all things. You may do so — already have done — but everywhere in the world, there is something. Perhaps you won’t find what you’re looking for, but this is not about longing: it’s about being.
Did you see that woodblock too? Well I broke it in two. You may conclude I destroyed it, I say I changed the functionality. Listen, the pitch has changed, higher notes emerge when you hit the piece of wood. And is there less wood? No. The sum of matter has remained, the outcome’s changed. There is as much in the world as before. Your attempt to compare it to woodcutting does not devalue my aforementioned statement, but it’s the morals that provide a dividing line right here.