Jean Gaumy/Magnum Photos
"Le Chtelard," Village of Saint-Sigismond, France
Everyone who thinks is unhappy, says Sergei Dovlatov in a single of his stories. Some crows caw all day, a little have nothing to say. you see a single of them pace behind as well as onward on my grass a approach Ive seen Hamlet do on stage. Whatever is bothering him seems insoluble, as well much for a single crow to figure out on his own. Still, no harm trying, you suppose, even with a pole his relatives have been creation as they fly to as well as fro, as if a highway they manage is not lonesome usually with fallen leaves as well as rags of ice, but also with uninformed highway kill.
My late father, who had something good to contend about many things, used to console people who complained about bitter cold weather by reminding them of a joys of a hot play of soup as well as of a clever drink being made slight early in a day by a extraordinary circumstances. In addition, he claimed which a cold concentrates a mind. The moment you step outdoors, you do what you have to do with uncommon comprehension as well as dispatch, distinct those folks who can afford to sit in a shade on a little Mediterranean or Caribbean island. Once you distortion down, time ceases to count as well as you can discuss on eternity, Cioran believed. History, he said, is a product of people who stand up as well as get busy. Can a single be a dreamer or a fool on a North Pole? My father had his doubts about that. How does Berlioz sound during forty below? How does Schumann? He never cared to find out.
If usually Plato as well as Socrates had to scratch a ice off their windshields as well as understanding with passed car batteries, you was starting to add, when a offensive realization struck me that, notwithstanding a perpetual New Hampshire winters as well as a presumably heightened state of int! elligenc e, weve never of late up here constructed a single philosopher which anyone would care to remember. So, this uncanny feeling which you have, when you get up in a center of a night as well as tiptoe on unclothed feet down to a cold kitchen to look during a thermometer outside, which Im on a verge of a supreme insight, something worthy of Blaise Pascal contemplating a silence of a infinite universe, turns out to be all hooey. Well, maybe not entirely: a a single whose thoughts is clear senses himself free, a master of his destiny. Who says truth is incompatible with tough labor of self-preservation? When Im shoveling snow off a roof tiles you sneak admiring glances during myself as if you were Nietzsches superman.
Still, you cant assistance but feel which Im surrounded by deep thinkers: a young cow station puzzled in a field lonesome with first snow; a hybrid Ive been job Schopenhauer, sighing during a end of his heavy chain, or a alternative a single who reminds me of Karl Marx as well as who you saw bark during a military in their cruiser as they drove past his house. Even a lake about to solidify appears tongue-tied with indecision as well as lost in thought. As for cats, there contingency be during slightest a couple of Wittgensteins slinking around behind porches in a vicinity as well as a single large, long-haired black tabby who comes to rub himself opposite my leg right away as well as then as well as whom Ive declared after Boethius, who wrote Consolation of Philosophy, a single of a many renouned books in Medieval Europe.
No philosopher has ever influenced a attitudes of even a travel he lived on, Voltaire was reputed to have said. Thats not what you believe. With deep winter on us as well as a weather flourishing colder, even a wood fume out of a neighbors chimneys could be described as philosophizing. you can see it pierce a lips as it rises, telling a indifferent sky about a loneliness, a torment of a minds as well as passions which you keep tip from a! ny other , as well as a wonder as well as pain of a mortality as well as of a contingent vanishing from this earth. Its a kind of deep, cathedral-like quiet which precedes a snowfall. One looks with amazement during a unclothed trees, a gray daylight creation a slow shelter across a unclothed fields, as well as inevitably recalls which Emily Dickinson poem in which she speaks of only such a winter afternoonwindless as well as cold, when an otherworldly light falls as well as shadows hold their breathand of a hurt which it gives us for which you can find no scar, usually a closer look inside ourselves where a meanings as well as all a unanswered questions are.
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