Peter Quigley is his book Housing the Environmental Imagination doesn’t use the word crafting, but rather “fashioning.” Such a familiar word, but one I may have never used.
In The Oxford English Dictionary it offers, “Fashioning is to give shape to, to mold.”
Sounds like crafting to me, but that is not the point. The point is to consider how many of us get there? How many of us fashion a life that matter? Do even we even know when we have?
Quigley writes, “There is so much than conspires against getting it right. Like the crafting of a poem, one crafts a life alone.”
I guess Quigley got to that word crafting too.
He writes on, ” We do it against all odds, and we do it with the crushing likelihood that the project will evaporate, the profile will be blotted out, the language will blur, and all will be subsumed by some governing paradigm; we will fall in line.”
It has happened more than once to me. How about you? How do we craft a life that matters?
This old tree has become part of me. We, twenty years living here, have enjoyed having it by our side.
We saw it survive winds and ice, enjoy heat and humidity, but now to save it requires major pruning. It might not be enough. Eighty years old we figure. It has seen so much, a youngster in the 1930’s.
Born years before us, it is time. I hope it does not hurt. I hope it understands. Trees falling apart are dangerous. They don’t mean to be.
What is Nihilism? Short answer from Oxford English Dictionary is a “total rejection of prevailing religious beliefs, moral principles, laws, etc., often from a sense of despair and the belief that life is devoid of meaning.”
Then look up Nietzsche who wrote in his book Will to Power, “ The extremest form of Nihilism would mean that all belief—all assumption of truth—is false: because no real world is at hand.”
What about the Red Sox? Not real. Jesus? Not real. Now how do you feel. Can we afford to lose both?
“To your health” is a toast that has had legs. Part of being, much of being, most of being is to have health.
I know fellow bloggers who have struggled with bad health. So do you. Bad health is, as with death, for some other.
Robinson Jeffers writes, “The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those that ask for mercy, not often to the arrogant. You do not know him, you communal people, or you have forgotten him; intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him; beautiful and wild, the hawks, and the men that are dying, remember him.”
What I like best about this quote
Russian Writer Boris Pasternak said, “When a great moment knocks on the door of your life, it is often no louder than the beating of your heart, and it is very easy to miss.”
Where do you go when you read this? To missed moments realized or unrealized?
How did they come to you? Orally? Written? Actions?
I ask because I don’t know. If knowing is part of an afterlife, and if given a choice of knowing or not, I might say no.
Lines from Robertson Jeffer’s poem “Hungerfield” transfixed past to present.
Jeffer’s wife Una had died. He writes,