A Message To The Artist
Talk through your art, not your arse.
To experience art is to journey into the soul of the artist, a journey which only the soul can take. Or greater, it is to travel into the soul of being, to experience oneness with reality itself, the reality in the real and of the real, otherwise only experienced through the things of the natural world.
Why do I talk as I do? I am the sum of all of my experiences, both sacred and profane, and talk and write as such. Being made of bits and scraps of this, that and the other, I appreciate the saying that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
As an adolescent, I asked my mother why are there two words meaning the same thing, real and reality. She replied that reality is the essence, the meaning of the real, and not the thing itself. Then why are the words treated as meaning the same thing, I asked.
I still await the answer.
***************************************************
GLOSSARY: a vocabulary of words requiring special explanation: a dictionary.
ARSE: n. the posterior parts of an animal. adv. and adj. Arsy-versy, backside foremost: contrary. [A.S. ears; Ger. arsch, Sw. ars; cog. with Gr. orros.]
ARTIST: n. one who practices art.
PROFANE: .........v.t. to put to a wrong use: to pollute: to debase. n. profanation: a treating of anything with disrespect.
SACRED: .............adj. entitled to respect or veneration: devoted to destruction: set apart or dedicated, esp. to God:........
***************************************************
Selections from my old dictionary.
I appropriate inappropriate language. Such words have been misappropriated, I return them as lambs to the fold. No word is inherently good or bad, but may be "put to a wrong use" or a right one.
David****
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Philosophy. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Truth Defined
(Refers to 'Talking To Myself' and 'The Truth Is Coming', which read for context.)
14th October, 2009.
(Peter, Van Gogh, Leonardo - note, your name is bracketed with the greats).
Peter,
You ask what is truth, pointing at the handle of a cup. What is the truth of that handle? The truth of that handle is the truth of all handles, that it possesses the quality of handleness. If it serves the function of being a handle, then it is true, then it is worthy of being called a handle. The truth must be put first, both by the designer and the maker, then it will serve its purpose, which is to satisfy the user. Its truth does not merely reside in the fact that it is (we have all seen bad handles). To be is to be true, all else is false.
The truth is all pervasive, and its other name is God. The denial of truth is the denial of God. Heaven in a grain of sand - William Blake. Inanimate objects, not man made, serve their purpose merely by being. We, however, are self aware and can choose, as Hamlet said, to be or not to be.
Our purpose is to serve the truth of being, by being true. True to the material from which we are formed, which is all we know and are, to find and seek the truth in our world and universe, and give expression to it in how we are and what we do and make, which is ultimately what we make of our lives. We choose how we are, what is immaterial, we may be a road sweeper.
Our true purpose is to serve the truth, by being a good cup handle, metaphorically speaking. When quality is put first, quantity is ennobled, and quality and quantity are one.
Everywhere, the truth is denied whereas the truth is the meaning in an apparently meaningless universe, of which we are a part. The truth is that which we must seek and seek to convey, in our words and actions. By being true to ourselves, we are true to others. Be true to your materials.
I hope this is of some use.
As an artist, you should be concerned with the bigger picture (joke, but many a true word is spoken in jest).
Everywhere, everything is treated as meaningless, but that is not to say that it is meaningless, merely that the truth is denied. Quality is treated as non-existent, whereas it is all we seek. The symbol is not the thing symbolised, but the truth is when they are one. We can but try.
Seek, and ye shall find. When a person goes to an art gallery, he is seeking truth, although he may not know it, in the form of a painting.
I got up out of bed to write this.
You ask a worthy question, the question of all questions, what is truth? The truth is not a what but rather a how, and the answer is when how and what are combined.
Next time, perhaps you will ask a greater question, why?
The answer will be one and the same, in so many words, in a manner of speaking.
Yours speechlessly,
David
PS I could have said, did you eat rat poison for your breakfast this morning? It would not have been true food if you did. Now you know what the truth is.
D
14th October, 2009.
(Peter, Van Gogh, Leonardo - note, your name is bracketed with the greats).
Peter,
You ask what is truth, pointing at the handle of a cup. What is the truth of that handle? The truth of that handle is the truth of all handles, that it possesses the quality of handleness. If it serves the function of being a handle, then it is true, then it is worthy of being called a handle. The truth must be put first, both by the designer and the maker, then it will serve its purpose, which is to satisfy the user. Its truth does not merely reside in the fact that it is (we have all seen bad handles). To be is to be true, all else is false.
The truth is all pervasive, and its other name is God. The denial of truth is the denial of God. Heaven in a grain of sand - William Blake. Inanimate objects, not man made, serve their purpose merely by being. We, however, are self aware and can choose, as Hamlet said, to be or not to be.
Our purpose is to serve the truth of being, by being true. True to the material from which we are formed, which is all we know and are, to find and seek the truth in our world and universe, and give expression to it in how we are and what we do and make, which is ultimately what we make of our lives. We choose how we are, what is immaterial, we may be a road sweeper.
Our true purpose is to serve the truth, by being a good cup handle, metaphorically speaking. When quality is put first, quantity is ennobled, and quality and quantity are one.
Everywhere, the truth is denied whereas the truth is the meaning in an apparently meaningless universe, of which we are a part. The truth is that which we must seek and seek to convey, in our words and actions. By being true to ourselves, we are true to others. Be true to your materials.
I hope this is of some use.
As an artist, you should be concerned with the bigger picture (joke, but many a true word is spoken in jest).
Everywhere, everything is treated as meaningless, but that is not to say that it is meaningless, merely that the truth is denied. Quality is treated as non-existent, whereas it is all we seek. The symbol is not the thing symbolised, but the truth is when they are one. We can but try.
Seek, and ye shall find. When a person goes to an art gallery, he is seeking truth, although he may not know it, in the form of a painting.
I got up out of bed to write this.
You ask a worthy question, the question of all questions, what is truth? The truth is not a what but rather a how, and the answer is when how and what are combined.
Next time, perhaps you will ask a greater question, why?
The answer will be one and the same, in so many words, in a manner of speaking.
Yours speechlessly,
David
PS I could have said, did you eat rat poison for your breakfast this morning? It would not have been true food if you did. Now you know what the truth is.
D
The Truth Is Coming
(Refers to 'The Truth Defined').
14th October, 2009.
Dear (young lady),
I enclose a letter I wrote to a friend of mine, an artist, a painter, a long time friend. He is a good artist and a good friend, with some sort of mumbo jumbo philosophy which I have not tried to understand, which he does not often bring into a conversation, but which appears to be totally off the wall and meaning, if it means anything, that nothing means anything.
Anyway, yesterday I was sitting alone with him in his kitchen talking about I don't know what when I must have used the word "truth" and Peter asked "What is truth?" This more or less floored me, coming from an apparently intelligent man (did he want a true answer?) Then he pointed at the most trivial object to hand, the handle of a cup, and asked "What is the truth of that handle?" I may have mumbled something like "It is a handle" and then a few larger ways of looking at truth were raised and the subject was dropped, Peter having apparently won the argument (his argument being there is no truth and his argument being false because if his argument is true then there is truth).
I am not a slot machine. I don't (always) provide instant answers. The truth comes dropping slow, to paraphrase a poem by W. B. Yeats. The answer to Peter's argument came to me in the early hours of the morning, and I wrote the enclosed.
I asked a friend of mine, a working-class man, a craftsman, to read it and I asked him did he understand it. He said "Yes". He said "If he (Peter) doesn't know what truth is now, he will never know", or words to that effect.
The reason I asked that friend of mine whether he understood the letter is twofold or, possibly threefold. First, I want my words, written or spoke, to be understandable by absolutely anyone. Second, I am from the middle, or upper middle class sector of society and there is a danger I might express myself in a way understandable to the class from which I spring, but not to others, or so I feared.
However, as a child, I found that, when reading a very well written book, such as the Sherlock Holmes books, words new to the reader are understandable from the context. Words truly used are clear, as to meaning. Third, Christ expressed himself in words understandable to a child and no one should express themselves otherwise.
****
About two hours have elapsed since I wrote the above words, I had my lunch and worked with my brother on the computer. That was at home, now I am in a hotel. Its virtually empty, being eleven ten p.m. in the off season. I had exhausted the above topic, anyway.
I want to say something about class, social class, which raised its ugly head some while ago in these pages. It is artificial, manmade and meaningless. Someone wrote about Jesus and social class. His father was a carpenter, that is the skilled working class. He worked as a fisherman, that is a rung further down the ladder, unskilled work. He had a friend who was a prostitute, the lowest of the low. He went to a party, that was middle class. What may be said in sum? Class meant nothing to him.
Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. The same may be said of people. The theologian, Teilhard de Chardin, of whom you may or may not have heard, said "People are not equal, they are complementary".
Finally, finally this letter to you seems to be coming to an end. Why did I decide to send you the enclosed letter (The Truth Defined)? This afternoon, at this hotel, I was at the outside tables (it was a fine day), I still had not sent the letter to Peter, and I thought you might like that letter.
Something about you, something about how you responded or did not respond when I used the expression "A cross to bear" on the phone to you recently. Also, you have something about you, genuineness, which is always a pleasure to meet.
There is a saying, "What everyone knows is wrong". To an old friend of mine, I said "Suffering is good". "How else do we learn?" he replied.
On that note, goodbye for now,
Love (Uncle Aesop)
****
(When I spoke to the young lady to whom this letter is addressed she said she was in a hurry when she read it and thought the word 'love' (the second last word) was 'Coming on a bit strong', (nothing about the content). I composed several letters to her defending 'love', inside or outside of quotation marks, but sent none of them. I may post one to her, or on this blog, as the spirit moves me.
Young people are typically busy, busy, busy. What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?)
D
14th October, 2009.
Dear (young lady),
I enclose a letter I wrote to a friend of mine, an artist, a painter, a long time friend. He is a good artist and a good friend, with some sort of mumbo jumbo philosophy which I have not tried to understand, which he does not often bring into a conversation, but which appears to be totally off the wall and meaning, if it means anything, that nothing means anything.
Anyway, yesterday I was sitting alone with him in his kitchen talking about I don't know what when I must have used the word "truth" and Peter asked "What is truth?" This more or less floored me, coming from an apparently intelligent man (did he want a true answer?) Then he pointed at the most trivial object to hand, the handle of a cup, and asked "What is the truth of that handle?" I may have mumbled something like "It is a handle" and then a few larger ways of looking at truth were raised and the subject was dropped, Peter having apparently won the argument (his argument being there is no truth and his argument being false because if his argument is true then there is truth).
I am not a slot machine. I don't (always) provide instant answers. The truth comes dropping slow, to paraphrase a poem by W. B. Yeats. The answer to Peter's argument came to me in the early hours of the morning, and I wrote the enclosed.
I asked a friend of mine, a working-class man, a craftsman, to read it and I asked him did he understand it. He said "Yes". He said "If he (Peter) doesn't know what truth is now, he will never know", or words to that effect.
The reason I asked that friend of mine whether he understood the letter is twofold or, possibly threefold. First, I want my words, written or spoke, to be understandable by absolutely anyone. Second, I am from the middle, or upper middle class sector of society and there is a danger I might express myself in a way understandable to the class from which I spring, but not to others, or so I feared.
However, as a child, I found that, when reading a very well written book, such as the Sherlock Holmes books, words new to the reader are understandable from the context. Words truly used are clear, as to meaning. Third, Christ expressed himself in words understandable to a child and no one should express themselves otherwise.
****
About two hours have elapsed since I wrote the above words, I had my lunch and worked with my brother on the computer. That was at home, now I am in a hotel. Its virtually empty, being eleven ten p.m. in the off season. I had exhausted the above topic, anyway.
I want to say something about class, social class, which raised its ugly head some while ago in these pages. It is artificial, manmade and meaningless. Someone wrote about Jesus and social class. His father was a carpenter, that is the skilled working class. He worked as a fisherman, that is a rung further down the ladder, unskilled work. He had a friend who was a prostitute, the lowest of the low. He went to a party, that was middle class. What may be said in sum? Class meant nothing to him.
Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. The same may be said of people. The theologian, Teilhard de Chardin, of whom you may or may not have heard, said "People are not equal, they are complementary".
Finally, finally this letter to you seems to be coming to an end. Why did I decide to send you the enclosed letter (The Truth Defined)? This afternoon, at this hotel, I was at the outside tables (it was a fine day), I still had not sent the letter to Peter, and I thought you might like that letter.
Something about you, something about how you responded or did not respond when I used the expression "A cross to bear" on the phone to you recently. Also, you have something about you, genuineness, which is always a pleasure to meet.
There is a saying, "What everyone knows is wrong". To an old friend of mine, I said "Suffering is good". "How else do we learn?" he replied.
On that note, goodbye for now,
Love (Uncle Aesop)
****
(When I spoke to the young lady to whom this letter is addressed she said she was in a hurry when she read it and thought the word 'love' (the second last word) was 'Coming on a bit strong', (nothing about the content). I composed several letters to her defending 'love', inside or outside of quotation marks, but sent none of them. I may post one to her, or on this blog, as the spirit moves me.
Young people are typically busy, busy, busy. What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?)
D
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Inspired Rubbish
(My first ever post - a mission statement.)
The past provides a rich source of fact, fiction, fun and fancy. I am composed of a unique mix of metaphors, myths and magic, and so are you.
Here, I will attempt to express the inexpressible, say the unsayable and repeat the unrepeatable.
The subject is immaterial, the object is all-important.
Let us get a few facts straight, in order to avoid crooked thinking.
Fact 1: I am Irish. Therefore, I put sound first, tone before content. The truth is true in tone and content. I have found that if something sounds good, or well, as my mother would have said, it makes sound sense. The truth reverberates, sound as a bell.
Fact 2: A fact is a lie and a half, as my father said. It is how the fact is interpreted that matters, and interpretation is in the eye of the beholder.
A taste of things to come, a rhyme written by me:
A Metaphor
I met a metaphor today
It said "I haven't much to say.
You see, I mean two things at once
And might be taken for a dunce."
I wish my writing to be such that its meaning is immediately apparent to the meanest intelligence, such as yours (Groucho Marx).
Genius is of the spirit (anyone can be a genius). Rubbish, crap, shite, call it what you will, are the base materials alchemy seeks to turn into gold. I make no apology for my language, now or in the future. I am made of shit and stars, and so is everyone else.
Await further developments.
David ****
The past provides a rich source of fact, fiction, fun and fancy. I am composed of a unique mix of metaphors, myths and magic, and so are you.
Here, I will attempt to express the inexpressible, say the unsayable and repeat the unrepeatable.
The subject is immaterial, the object is all-important.
Let us get a few facts straight, in order to avoid crooked thinking.
Fact 1: I am Irish. Therefore, I put sound first, tone before content. The truth is true in tone and content. I have found that if something sounds good, or well, as my mother would have said, it makes sound sense. The truth reverberates, sound as a bell.
Fact 2: A fact is a lie and a half, as my father said. It is how the fact is interpreted that matters, and interpretation is in the eye of the beholder.
A taste of things to come, a rhyme written by me:
A Metaphor
I met a metaphor today
It said "I haven't much to say.
You see, I mean two things at once
And might be taken for a dunce."
I wish my writing to be such that its meaning is immediately apparent to the meanest intelligence, such as yours (Groucho Marx).
Genius is of the spirit (anyone can be a genius). Rubbish, crap, shite, call it what you will, are the base materials alchemy seeks to turn into gold. I make no apology for my language, now or in the future. I am made of shit and stars, and so is everyone else.
Await further developments.
David ****
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A Dialogue
Person One: What do you call a black man flying a plane?
Person Two: I don't know.
Person One: A pilot, you racist.
Person Two got the answer wrong because he or she treated it as a trick question.
Life is not a trick question. It is a dialogue between you and God (who may or may not exist). You provide the answer in how you live, your life is a one-act drama. You believe or you don't believe, choosing quality or quantity, the choice is yours.
Why is racism wrong?
Because it is materialistic. It treats quantity as all important, whereas quantity is merely that through which we must see quality. Quality counts.
It is fun to ask my first question of a politically correct person, and hear them saying they don't know. After giving the answer, tell them "You are not supposed to differentiate".
Note how I proceed from the specific to the general, and back again. GO TO THE WELL FOR WATER _ BRING IT HOME_ THEN DRINK IT AND LIVE ON> ELSE YOU MAY DIE OF THIRST>
(The last part printed in large capitals because I pressed some fucking wrong key on the keyboard, I am typing this in the semi-darkness).
Politically correct people, when asked a question, ask themselves 'What answer am I supposed to give?' instead of just answering the question. They are modern brainwashers.
Too-clever-by-half people treat every question as a trick question, whereas every question deserves only one answer, a true one.
Preserve us from people who are all knowing and no understanding.
In eternal terms, the answer to the question which we are posed is a simple one, the question is the answer. Frame your answer in terms of the question, each question, large or small, must be answered on its own terms. Each detail is part of the whole.
Much of life is made up of apparently inconsequential trivia, but do not mistake appearance for reality. Reality is the essence or meaning of the real.
The real is that through which we must perceive reality and there are none so blind as those who don't want to see. See not the thing, but the meaning of the thing. In broad terms life, in narrow terms you or the thing perceived, and may they be as one. See them as such and act accordingly.
This comes in dribs and drabs, and I pass it on.
My search is a search for clarity, in, of, through, and with expression, a search for clarity itself.
A litany of prepositions.
May I and my writing be true in preposition as in verb, the greatest of these is the verb to be which, as you may have noticed, is an irregular verb.
We all have our own way of being and being true. The truth is extraordinary, giving the lie to the ordinary.
That the ordinary and the extraordinary may be one, that is my prayer.
I will leave it at that, lest I go on too long.
David
Person Two: I don't know.
Person One: A pilot, you racist.
Person Two got the answer wrong because he or she treated it as a trick question.
Life is not a trick question. It is a dialogue between you and God (who may or may not exist). You provide the answer in how you live, your life is a one-act drama. You believe or you don't believe, choosing quality or quantity, the choice is yours.
Why is racism wrong?
Because it is materialistic. It treats quantity as all important, whereas quantity is merely that through which we must see quality. Quality counts.
It is fun to ask my first question of a politically correct person, and hear them saying they don't know. After giving the answer, tell them "You are not supposed to differentiate".
Note how I proceed from the specific to the general, and back again. GO TO THE WELL FOR WATER _ BRING IT HOME_ THEN DRINK IT AND LIVE ON> ELSE YOU MAY DIE OF THIRST>
(The last part printed in large capitals because I pressed some fucking wrong key on the keyboard, I am typing this in the semi-darkness).
Politically correct people, when asked a question, ask themselves 'What answer am I supposed to give?' instead of just answering the question. They are modern brainwashers.
Too-clever-by-half people treat every question as a trick question, whereas every question deserves only one answer, a true one.
Preserve us from people who are all knowing and no understanding.
In eternal terms, the answer to the question which we are posed is a simple one, the question is the answer. Frame your answer in terms of the question, each question, large or small, must be answered on its own terms. Each detail is part of the whole.
Much of life is made up of apparently inconsequential trivia, but do not mistake appearance for reality. Reality is the essence or meaning of the real.
The real is that through which we must perceive reality and there are none so blind as those who don't want to see. See not the thing, but the meaning of the thing. In broad terms life, in narrow terms you or the thing perceived, and may they be as one. See them as such and act accordingly.
This comes in dribs and drabs, and I pass it on.
My search is a search for clarity, in, of, through, and with expression, a search for clarity itself.
A litany of prepositions.
May I and my writing be true in preposition as in verb, the greatest of these is the verb to be which, as you may have noticed, is an irregular verb.
We all have our own way of being and being true. The truth is extraordinary, giving the lie to the ordinary.
That the ordinary and the extraordinary may be one, that is my prayer.
I will leave it at that, lest I go on too long.
David
Thursday, November 12, 2009
The Truth Defined
This post is referred to in my previous post ‘The Truth Is Coming’, which should be read first, to put this in context. See also ‘Talking To Myself’, which enclosed both that and this post as well.
D
(Peter, Van Gogh, Leonardo – note, your name is bracketed with the greats).
Peter,
You ask what is truth, pointing at the handle of a cup. What is the truth of that handle? The truth of that handle is the truth of all handles, that it possesses the quality of handleness. If it serves the function of being a handle, then it is true, then it is worthy of being called a handle. The truth must be put first, both by the designer and the maker, then it will serve its purpose, which is to satisfy the user. Its truth does not reside merely in the fact that it is (we have all seen bad handles). To be is to be true, all else is false.
The truth is all pervasive, and its other name is God. The denial of truth is the denial of God. Heaven in a grain of sand – William Blake. Inanimate objects, not man made, serve their purpose merely by being. We, however, are self aware and can choose, as Hamlet said, to be or not to be.
Our purpose is to serve the truth of being, by being true. True to the material from which we are formed, which is all we know and are, to find and seek the truth in that world and universe, and give expression to it in how we are and what we do and make, which is ultimately what we make of our lives. We choose how we are, what is immaterial, we may be a road sweeper.
Our true purpose is to serve the truth, by being a true cup handle, metaphorically speaking. When quality is put first, quantity is ennobled, and quality and quantity are one.
Everywhere, the truth is denied whereas the truth is the meaning in an apparently meaningless universe, of which we are a part. The truth is that which we must seek and seek to convey, in our words and our actions. By being true to ourselves, we are true to others. Be true to your materials.
I hope this is of some use.
As an artist, you should be concerned with the bigger picture (joke, but many a true word is spoken in jest).
Everywhere, everything is treated as meaningless, but that is not to say that it is meaningless, merely that the truth is denied. Quality is treated as non-existent, whereas it is what we all seek. The symbol is not the thing symbolised, but the truth is when they are one. We can but try.
Seek, and ye shall find. When a person goes to an art gallery, he is seeking truth, although he may not know it, in the form of a painting.
I got up out of bed to write this.
You ask a worthy question, the question of all questions, what is truth? The truth is not a what but rather a how, and the answer is when how and what are combined.
Next time, perhaps you will ask a greater question, why?
The answer will be one and the same, in so many words, in a manner of speaking.
Yours speechlessly,
David
PS I could have said, did you eat rat poison for your breakfast this morning? It would not have been true food if you did. Now you know what the truth is.
D
The Truth Is Coming
Dear (young lady),
Enclosed find a letter I wrote to a friend of mine, an artist, a painter, a long time friend. He is a good artist and a good friend, with some sort of mumbo jumbo philosophy which I have not tried to understand, which he does not often bring into a conversation, but which appears to be totally off the wall and meaning, if it means anything, that nothing means anything.
Anyway, yesterday I was sitting alone with him in his kitchen talking about I don’t know what when I must have used the word “truth” and Peter asked “What is truth?” This more or less floored me, coming from an apparently intelligent man (did he want a true answer?) Then he pointed at the most trivial object to hand, the handle of a cup, and asked “What is the truth of that handle?” I may have mumbled something like “It is a handle” and then a few larger ways of looking at truth were raised and the subject was dropped, Peter apparently having won the argument (his argument being there is no truth and his argument being false because if his argument is true then there is truth).
I am not a slot machine. I don’t (always) provide instant answers. The truth comes dropping slow, to paraphrase a poem by W. B. Yeats. The answer, or an answer to Peter’s argument came to me in the early hours of the morning, and I wrote the enclosed.
I asked a friend of mine, a working-class man, a craftsman, to read it and I asked him did he understand it. He said “Yes”. He said “If he (Peter) doesn’t know what truth is now, he will never know,” or words to that effect.
The reason I asked that friend whether he understood the letter is twofold or, possibly threefold. First, I want my words, written or spoken, to be understandable by absolutely anyone. Second, I am from the middle, or upper middle class sector of society and there is a danger I might express myself in a way understandable to the class from which I spring, but not to others, or so I feared.
However, as a child, I found that, when reading a very well written book, such as the Sherlock Holmes books, words new to the reader are understandable from the context. Words truly used are clear, as to meaning. Third, Christ expressed himself in words understandable to a child and no one should express themselves otherwise.
****
About two hours have elapsed since I wrote the above words, I had my lunch and did something with my brother on the computer. That was at home, now I am in a hotel. Its virtually empty, being
I want to say something about class, social class, which raised its ugly head some while ago in these pages. It is artificial, manmade and meaningless. Someone wrote about Jesus and social class. His father was a carpenter, that is the skilled working class. He worked as a fisherman, that is a rung further down the ladder, unskilled work. He had a friend who was a prostitute, the lowest of the low. He went to a party, that was middle class. What may be said in sum? Class meant nothing to him.
Oscar Wilde said there are only two kinds of books, good books and bad books. The same may be said of people. The theologian, Teilhard de Chardin, of whom you may or may not have heard, said “People are not equal, they are complementary”.
Finally, finally this letter to you seems to be coming to an end. Why did I decide to send you the enclosed letter? This afternoon, at this hotel, I was outside at the outside tables (it was a fine day), I still had not sent the letter to Peter, and I thought you might like that letter. Something about you, something about how you responded or did not respond when I used the expression “A cross to bear” on the phone to you recently. Also, you have something about you, genuineness, which is always a pleasure to meet.
There is a saying, “What everyone knows is wrong”. To an old friend of mine, I said “Suffering is good”. “How else do we learn?”, he replied.
On that note, goodbye for now,
Love (Uncle Aesop)
When I spoke on the telephone to the young lady to whom this letter is addressed she said she was in a hurry when she read it and thought ‘love’, the second last word in this letter, was ‘ coming on a bit strong’, (nothing about the content). I composed several letters to her defending love, inside or outside of quotation marks, but sent none of them. I may post one to her and on this blog, as the spirit moves me.
Young people typically are busy, busy, busy. What is this life if full of care we have no time to stand and stare?
D
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