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.
Monday, October 1, 2012
The Security of Our Trees
In the beginning, when that first gorilla left his tree and tried to be a man, it was a new and strange role. He wasn't sure he could play it. It would have been easier to stay with the others, but he had taken a step. He was going to try to be what no one thought he could, or should, be. He was trying to be different. The progress was hardly noticeable. It may even have seemed a step backward. But because he dared to try, it would someday happen. He had stopped being an "it" and began to be "he." Because he stayed on the ground rather than accept the invitation to flee back into the trees, man was born. There may now be something trying to be born from us, if we will let it. If we will but leave the security of our trees.
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