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.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Discovering What We Know
When new things are discovered they do not seem so new, so startling, and we can wonder why it took so long to realize them, because it is realization rather than the creation of something entirely new. It was there to be known. We had it within our grasp but had to learn we could grasp it. Newness does not come from what was never there, but from what was not yet recognized.
Labels:
creation,
discovery,
enlightenment,
knowing,
realization
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