My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
The power we thought others had was only there because we thought they had it. When we realized the control over us was ours, we were free of what seemed to be. The shadow was shown to be no more than that.
No comments:
Post a Comment