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.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
My Mantras
Each day I say to myself a number of things. Some are those I had said the day before and some I have been saying for years, though they do not always seem so old. In hearing them they are affirmed, or they show why they may be less worth repeating on the following day. I say also to myself some newer things, and at times I am surprised by their presence. They seem not to derive from places within me, nor do they fit so well with the older sayings. Yet both the new and the old, even when contradictory, are mine.
Labels:
comfort,
contradiction,
mantra,
surprise
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment