I was leafing through Goethe’s Poetry and Life and I came upon this phrase: “This loathing of life has both physical and moral causes…” I was sufficiently stirred by this to read on. “All comfort in life is based upon a regular occurrence of external phenomena. The changes of the day and night, of the seasons, of flowers and fruits, and all other recurring pleasures that come to us. that we may and should enjoy them- these are the mainsprings of our earthly life. The more open we are to these enjoyments, the happier we are; but if these changing phenomena unfold themselves and we take no interest in them, if we are insensible to such fair solicitations, then comes on the sorest evil, the heaviest disease- we regard life as a loathsome burden.”
-Saul Bellow’s, Dangling Man.
I find this to be soul searching literature. This is the philosophy by which I live my life. Hence, my love of a falling leaf. Although that alone doesn’t summarize the depths of that simple thought/phrase. That ‘one’ leaf changed my life. I can only hope we all find a leaf of such magnitude. The proof of all things.
Saul Bellow, along with using a bit of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s poetry, masterfully lays out a path for any individual to break down happiness and how to apply it, if so inclined. It’s not the things, certainly NOT the things, we buy and stuff into our already full garages to show to our ‘friends’ just how far we’ve made it; at a very young age I realized just how fake that was while watching adults parade their facades.
As an adult I’ve found that writing is not only my outlet, but a space for my soul to become tangible. Whether my writing is any good or not, well that’s not for me to decide, but I will write. And I will read literature that touches my heart and forces me to look from the page and dive into my thoughts while staring at a blank wall and processing what I’ve just learned.
I wish you all the best,
I’m thankful for the support so many of you have so unselfishly given me.
there’s no definition
I care for
and there it is
and here we sit
or even walk while we read
some words stick inside you
some are just, gone
some come back again
it’s not for everyone
but, sitting near a window overlooking
an evergreen gently dancing in the wind
is just fine for me
You can read it and know the words, or you can’t read them and feel them. Take your pick. -M. Taggart
There’s something about a good book, a place to read it, and the rising of your eyes from its pages to think about it. -M. Taggart
I like the simplicity of finishing a book
and closing it.
It seems though, sometimes,
the book doesn’t agree.
I love to read.
Yesterday I purchased two used books from a very used bookstore
Hemingway and Steinbeck
I lazily tossed both on top of a shelf in my office
Maybe I’ll read them at the same time
One cubby hole down sits Bukowski
which happens to be next to a few books that I’m published in
and on the floor, near my right foot, The Unabridged
Edgar Allan Poe. That’s literally the name of the book
In back of my chair is a box that I have yet to completely unpack
In the box are a number of books, books, books.
On my desk sits Final Harvest, Emily Dickinson
It’s impossible for my person to become bored
oh, and I just found Papa, A Personal Memoir written by
Gregory H. Hemingway, M.D. in back of the monitor
I could clean my office but the life would be sucked out of the
otherwise very empty room
I don’t think I’ll do that. Hell, I haven’t even mentioned what’s in the dry sink.
Personal space is a beautiful thing, if we let it be.
Let no one dissuade, ridicule, or decay your interest in words. -M. Taggart
I like to read in public. I find it relaxing. I enjoy the background noise. It seems to somehow mold itself into the happening within the book. As though the chatter from the pub’s patrons are the very chatter I’m reading about. It doesn’t interfere with my concentration. It never has. I don’t just read books in pubs. I read while sitting in the back of my truck in random parking lots, on the beach, around a campfire, etc. And, I use to read while walking from class to class on the UMASS, Amherst campus. One time, while walking with a book in my face, a young lady pulled the book down and kissed me. I don’t know why I didn’t ask her name. Instead I continued on, walking and reading, but now with a large smile on my face.
While in public people often ask what I’m reading. This has lead to many great conversations, as well as, new friends. Generally the question I ask is them is, “What author do you like best?” It seems when one book-head sees another it’s hard not to connect. All I know is that I love to read.
Do any of you read in public? If so, do you have a favorite location?
Writing is much like breathing to me. With each inhaled breath comes another floating thought. And with each step comes another observation to tuck away, or to forget, or to position into shape. There’s something to be said for each of these things and it’s up to me how I lay them.
I have a goal. A plan even. There is an absolutely priority to what I’m hoping to achieve and I’ll write toward that with purpose. I’m a lover of life and of all the peoples that come with it.
I have met people who believe writing and reading are a waste of time. I disagree. I believe writing and reading helps bring cultures to a better understanding of one another. I believe it helps us to celebrate differences rather than impregnate brain washed stereotypes and hatred lasting generation after generation. Now that is a waste of time. I hope, they, someday pick up a book and search for knowledge. And I’ll continue to be, very comfortably, me.
If you have thoughts on the importance of reading and writing I’d enjoy reading them.