I spoke too soon. I am always afraid of speaking too soon, clocking my joy too prematurely and jinxing it. And yet, I also want to be grateful for the joy I’ve had. A joy that crashed tonight.
After camping in the woods for three days by himself, G shows up at an exhibition at L’s barn for the woman L is seeing, a photographer. He looks shaken. His face is grave. He is not his usual gregarious, busybody self. G asks me to talk and confesses that he went through a dark night of the soul. He tells me he went to the woods to “detox me from his system like heroin.” He took off suddenly without any explanation when he thought I blew off dinner at his house. He says the first night was “pure agony.” I listen. He is emotional. I well up.
“You need someone stronger than me. And you don’t love me,” he explains. “You are the most amazing woman I have ever met, the strongest woman I have ever met, and I will never forget you. It’s not possible. There is no way that I could. But while you know how to be alone, you also get your energy from people. And I don’t.”
Dumbstruck, I ask him how he knows this. He says he can’t explain it. He just does. “You have to tell me.”
hella trol buzy x peny gorig
A persistent problem for artists: How can I insist upon the reality of death, for others, and for myself? This is not mere existentialist noodling (though it can surely be that, too). It’s a part of what art is here to imagine for us and with us.
— Zadie Smith (via)
Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.
— Victor Hugo
“A mystical experience would be wasted on me. Ordinary things have always seemed numinous to me. One Calvinist notion deeply implanted in me is that there are two sides to your encounter with the world. You don’t simply perceive something that is statically present, but in fact there is a visionary quality to all experience. It means something because it is addressed to you. This is the individualism that you find in Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. You can draw from perception the same way a mystic would draw from a vision.” —Marilynne Robinson, born on this day in 1943