The air is warm. From her sunny doorstep,
Sophia contemplates the beauty of the Cosmos.
She's probably saying to herself:
"Why does the Master never stop taking photos?" That's a good question. One would have thought that we've had time enough to record all the images that need to be recorded. Besides, why do people carry on talking to one another over the phone? And sending e-mails? And writing blogs? Haven't they got around to saying everything that needs to be said? Shouldn't the camera and the telephone soon fade into extinction, along with the computer?
Yes, all is well this morning at Gamone. The world is beautiful. And yet, when I observe that world through the Internet, I can't help feeling that it's Vegemite turtle crap all the way down. It takes a lot of imagination to envisage the global landscape in a positive sense, but Gamone provides me constantly with the necessary force. I'm like a monk who wakes up in his lonely cell, somewhat disillusioned, who needs to be impregnated by the Spirit in order to start his day of prayer.
She's probably saying to herself: "Why does the Master never stop taking photos?" That's a good question. One would have thought that we've had time enough to record all the images that need to be recorded. Besides, why do people carry on talking to one another over the phone? And sending e-mails? And writing blogs? Haven't they got around to saying everything that needs to be said? Shouldn't the camera and the telephone soon fade into extinction, along with the computer?
Yes, all is well this morning at Gamone. The world is beautiful. And yet, when I observe that world through the Internet, I can't help feeling that it's Vegemite turtle crap all the way down. It takes a lot of imagination to envisage the global landscape in a positive sense, but Gamone provides me constantly with the necessary force. I'm like a monk who wakes up in his lonely cell, somewhat disillusioned, who needs to be impregnated by the Spirit in order to start his day of prayer.
"God's in his Heaven.
ReplyDeleteAll's right with the world!"
So said Browning. But I'd add:
"And he should leave us alone
and stay there!"
You live in a great place where the seasons show. I guess I'm a country girl stuck in the big city of Sydney.
That question of seasons is primordial. I realize retrospectively that, during my adolescence in Australia, I was surely upset (unwittingly) by the absence of that great natural timepiece. My archaic mind and body were "expecting" the presence of this primeval clock, but it was nowhere to be found. For years, I hated the arrival of the steamy months at the turn of the year when it became so hot that people could no longer act intelligently. The heat haze blinded out all the subtleties in the landscape. It was so hot that people couldn't even think clearly. In any case, everybody chose this crazy time of the year to lounge around like sun-drugged beasts on the beaches. It wasn't really a season (derived from an Old French word designating a time for sowing), but rather a harsh spell: an Antipodean hibernation, during which the people and the nation were reduced to dormancy. Here in France, on the other hand, not only do the seasons "show" (as you say); they regulate, directly or indirectly, almost every aspect of our society, our culture, our existence… In Ancient Egypt, the seasonal manifestations of the Nile were directly responsible for the birth of a civilization, with all its achievements: its cultures, its myths, its creations…
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