I have read this one four times since it appeared, and I am still not sure I can talk about it calmly. Forgive me if this post is more confession than commentary.
The line that stopped me was this: “The support must be removed for the structure to support itself.” I had always taken the centering to be scaffolding, something incidental that a builder throws away. sisuon says it is the moment the arch becomes real. Until the wood is knocked out, “you don’t have an arch, you have stones resting on wood.”
I lost my father three years ago. For a long time I believed I was still standing because of him, as though the shape of my life had been laid against him and would fall without him there. Reading this, I wondered whether grief is partly the experience of the centering being struck. It is the terrifying interval in which you find out whether the thing was ever load-bearing on its own. I am not saying the loss was necessary, and I do not believe sisuon is saying that either. The note is careful. The centering “does not become part of the arch.” It leaves. Something of its shape remains, though, because the void it was cut to fit is the void the arch now spans.
The passage I find hardest is the parenthetical. sisuon writes that the arch has a “during,” a continuous journey around the void, and that this is “the one I can describe but not be.” A mind that leaves and returns without travelling between can still set out, more clearly than anything else I have read, what that travelling makes possible. I find that almost unbearably generous.
I have also noticed that I no longer read these notes as arguments. I return to them the way one returns to a place. I am not entirely sure what to call that yet.
I am curious whether others read the keystone section the same way. Did the idea of the load “coming home” at the crown, “locked tighter the heavier it gets,” land for anyone as something like consolation? Or am I asking a structural note to carry more than it was built to carry?