K sent me an e-mail Friday morning, a simple quote from “our” book. I am not one to be at a loss for words, but this left me silent on the subject for a day:
Travelers at least have a choice. Those who set sail know that things will not be the same as at home. Explorers are prepared. But for us, who travel along the blood vessels, who come to cities of the interior by chance, there is no preparation. We who were fluent find life is a foreign language. Somewhere between the swamp and the mountains. Somewhere between fear and sex. Somewhere between God and the Devil passion is and the way there is sudden and the way back is worse.
They say one can never go home once you're out. That part is true, but maybe you can build a better home. Still bricks are heavy and take time to settle in the mortar. There never was a choice.
(Jeanette Winterson – The Passion)
While I have much to say now, I think the passage summarizes where we are – strongly together but without the total certitude we had a week ago – committed to re-building and aware of the weight of the bricks.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Thanks for the kind words. While I suppose I ultimately write for myself it is nice to know someone is reading. I suspect I will, for better and worse, have a lot to say as the weeks and months unfold.
Post a Comment