you are more than you know

If one extinguished all the lights in one’s cell, with no bars, no windows emptying in, only a vent for air with so many bends between its origins and its destination that no light could possibly survive, if one were to spend a thousand years staring into this blackness, if one gouged out one’s eyes, if the nerve cells withered and died, one by one, through lack of use or lack of object, would, perhaps, this very abyss transform itself into a profusion of light ? Into light itself ?

I have the need to love something beautiful: or else rage at the ravaging nature of the world.