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, July 1, 2013
Thomas Merton At Peace
I am reluctant to finish the "Asian Journals." There will then be nothing else for him to say. This seems the best of Thomas Merton. It came before he could eliminate its spontaneity in the editing of it into ideas and a structure for which this seems the short hand noted. There is not the wild enthusiasm of some other things he's written, and in its place there seems a greater faith. More at peace if less at ease.
Labels:
faith,
peace,
Thomas Merton,
writing
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