I do not think that life is short. It usually gives us enough time to perform a variety of projects and dreams. Life allows us to correct some mistakes ourselves into others as well, that's how. The major drawback is that it offers us no second chance, a second life.
Let now the moment of Now. In his novel "Dolce Agonia" read long ago, N. Huston thinks he's God (again!) And regulates the fate of a group of old friends. I pointed out a passage in which she draws a parallel that I share with you:
"The snow had always seemed treacherous, deceptive, each flake a tiny star shining, all lightness and softness throughout, ready to melt you on the tongue and skin, although their strength was a slow accumulation murderous able to derail a car, collapsing roofs, trees descend, yes, she stopped everything, blocking everything, prevented you from moving forward, to join your family ...
Just as time is he says now. Every moment in itself without weights, imperceptible, a tiny shard that will melt on the tongue, while their accumulation is lethal force, you press in the years covering everything and blurring the differences ... How, my God, to clear the huge drifts of Time? It is going after them to remove them, push them on the edges of the route, mais inter-temps, sur la chaussée elle-même, la neige neige s'est transformée in dangereuse, provoquant des accidents, precipitating les gens dans la mort ... that tout avait alors commence in façon if innocent, a l'instant a après l'autre ... "
I do not think that life is short. Usually gives us enough time for many projects and dreams. Life allows us to correct some mistakes but we can sink into others.This major drawback is that it gives us a second chance, a second life.
Let's talk today of the moment, the present moment. The writer Nancy Huston, in his novel "Dolce agony", believed God and decide the fate of a group of old friends. In one paragraph makes a parallel that I would share:
"Snow had always seemed treacherous, deceptive, each flake a tiny star shining, all all sweetness and light, ready to melt on the tongue or in the skin, while its accumulation was a lethal force capable of sliding to cars, tear down the roof, knock down trees, yes, stop everything, blocking everything, I prevented move, reunite with your relatives (...)
Just like the time he thought now. Every moment, without its own weight, imperceptible, a tiny flash of glass that melts on the tongue, while its slow accumulation is lethal force, the years we sink, covering everything and fading the differences ... How do, my God, to cross the glaciers of Time? One is determined to remove them, push them to the side of the road but in the meantime, on the same road, the snow turns to ice dangerous, causing accidents, people rush to death ... when everything had started so innocently, a moment one after another ... " Trad.Colo.
Photos: I. Pampín. (C'est derrière chez moi, it's behind my house)
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