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.
Friday, August 1, 2014
Partial Truth
As long as there is only one correct response, one right way to be, a single proper way to act we will run after it, letting go whatever seemed only partially true, not realizing that partially true things are as true as anything else we might run in pursuit of.
Labels:
foolishness,
illusion,
misunderstanding,
realization,
truth
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