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, January 16, 2015
Survival
Narrowing the focus of life to its most essential features enables them to survive and survival is their highest goal. It is not the focusing of contemplation and not something for which others might strive. It is more like the gathering in of oneself that we see among the wounded, the conserving of self that lessens the pain and permits the moment to be tolerable. That same woundedness seems to follow the poor.
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