So I plan to update about my trip to Maryland, but first, let’s talk about History of Love. I finished it sitting in an airport terminal, a CNN memorial going on for a war journalist killed in Syria going on above my head. SO. MUCH. EMOTION.
I don’t really know what words to use on the finishing of that book. Overwhelming, the act of swelling, a desire to love immediately, longing, the power of loneliness, the power of writing, the power of love on the human condition.
It is by far the most beautiful book I’ve ever read. Nicole Krauss is officially one of my literary heroes with one simple work. To write something a fourth of it’s equivalent someday would be success.
It makes me wonder, how many Leo Gursky’s are there in the world? And if so, did I pass the chance to love them?
When I think of Jesus alone in the garden, in agony the night before the crucifixion, it breaks my heart. I can’t imagine the anguish in that moment; it’s more than I can wrap my head around. And to think, so many people suffer such agony, some daily. Alone in apartments, on benches, beneath covers. It’s common, so many people diagnosed with depression.
We are shown on television and in theaters scenes of great human suffering, it’s what makes a story interesting. Man in pain is something we’ve become used to in a foreign sense. We see Prozac commercials, watch Matt Damon sob like a baby, etc. At the same time, honest suffering or grieving isn’t really allowed among one another. It’s reserved for empty apartments, deserted benches, and under covers. It is something that makes us uncomfortable because to witness grieving requires true compassion, selflessness, and closeness. To witness grieving is to be vulnerable oneself. But then you think, if man can suffer agony as Jesus did that night in the garden, and man is made in the image of God, shouldn’t that break our hearts? The urge to have consoled Jesus in his torment should be the same for our fellow man. And maybe I’m just rambling, and maybe it’s just late and I need sleep, but I hope that the next time I pass Leo Gursky on the street, I am radiant with love.