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.
Wednesday, August 6, 2014
A Question of Focus
Narrowing our focus, the details become more grand than they are. Broadening our view makes detail disappear into limitless, though blurred, horizons. Both views are accurate though neither is true. We must know when to alter focus, aware that ease with either may signal the onset of obscurity.
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