Alone at last, on the rooftop of my house, drinking coffee, listening to the few sounds here and there, reading a book about World War One, some poetry, writing this: some construction going on, dogs barking in the background, they all blend into one; that is: the rumbling blending into silence! The human face has vanished this morning; thus, I can only blame my soul for my thoughts—, as I prefer to twist and refresh myself in the watery shadows—and solitude of this long moment…! Let me recapitulate my life in brief: eighteen times I avoided death— No doubt God had something to do with it! Seldom thanking Him for his generosity— and the angels He’s sent…always on time… But still—nonetheless, I’m discontent with life not for what I did, but for what I haven’t done yet! And the problem is: I don’t know what it is. And with the corrupting vaporous world in which I live— who’s to tell me straight? What shall be my proof that I was here, if nothing else! What will be my story, when my time runs out? We will all have to give such an account.
#3807 (4-5-2013)
