I mentioned earlier the pause in which a listener tries to take in the magnitude of what’s been said and recalibrate their world view as to accomodate this more millions way of seeing things. A cousin of that phenomenon is when someone in the room – and if you are the only other person in the room, it might be you, or if that person isn’t in the room, per se, that person for example is Björk , and the room is your car, your honda which was your mother’s car and you are driving it because she has died, and you are driving down Rte 17 to a technical writing job for an architecture firm, a job you need and are grateful for, says, or sings something that causes you to ask the person to say what they said, or you replay it, if as is the case in this instance, it is Bjork, singing “All is Full of Love.” You play the song again because you can’t believe she could just be saying that – did she really say ALL with so much assurance. Didn’t she say, “Some is full of love?” “Some subset is full of love, and the rest is full of ____?”
No, a repeated play confirms that she is laying out a vision that suggests, like Agnes Martin, and everyone else you’re reading those days– Rilke is in on it too –that it’s all love, even the gothically painful triple breakup you’ve just been through. That any given whole sequence of disappointments is somehow kind. Fate is Kind is what Agnes Martin goes so far as to suggest, and you need no gym, because to wrap yourself around this prospect is workout enough. But when someone is as Millions as both Björk and Agnes Martin are, you trust them and that trust helps you make room for the millions that passeth understanding.
