every where i look there is something to be done that has no beginning point and no ending point.
the list of tasks to accomplish in the next three weeks brings me to tears. literally.
I just read this in a book called Ask the Dust by John Fante:
"But, I have to smile, for the salt of the sea is in my blood, and there may be ten thousand roads over the land, but they shall never confuse me, for my heart's blood will ever return to its beautiful source."
"Then what shall I do? Shall I lift my mouth to the sky, stumbling and burbling with a tongue that is afraid? Shall I open my chest and beat it like a loud drum, seeking the attention of my Christ? Or is it not better and more reasonable that I cover myself and go on? There will be confusions, and there will be hunger; there will be loneliness with only my tears like wet consoling little birds, tumbling to sweeten my dry lips. But there shall be consolation, and there shall be beauty like the love of some dead girl. There shall be some laughter, a restrained laughter, and quiet waiting in the night, a soft fear of the night like the lavish, taunting kiss of death."
Perhaps the beauty of this passage is lost with out the context, but I think you can appreciate the imagery in and of itself.
how do i pack two years of my life into a few suitcases and end it?
No comments:
Post a Comment