"I don't know what it is about fecundity that so appalls. I suppose it is the teeming evidence that birth and growth, which we value, are ubiquitous and blind, that life itself is so astonishingly cheap, that nature is as careless as it is bountiful, and that with extravagance goes a crushing waste that will one day include our own cheap lives. Every glistening egg is a memento mori" (160).
I am met with these three thoughts as I encountered this passage in Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
For the month of December, my reading has been sporadic at best. As I readied myself for work this morning, rushes of things I could do at home flooded my brain; this angered me because I have been stuck at home, snowed in for almost 2 weeks this month. One would think I could finish all my books and crocheting projects and other such things...but no. The best way for me to get things done at home is to leave home...
But back to my story.
I didn't read much in December.
I always feel a bit disoriented and guilty when I neglect books for longer periods of time than my routine is accustomed to...and yet, had I read more of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, I would have never encountered this passage last night at precisely the moment in which I was meant to.
You see I have been rather pensive lately about the inevitability of death and grotesqueness of life and growth (birth!). Here I am thinking these thoughts and then I open up to chapter 10 : fecundity...and after I looked up the meaning of the word, found myself bound and open-eyed upon the discovery of all Ms. Dillard's musings.
We are born. We seek to integrate all the disparate issues inside of us in an effort to become healthy and whole. We die.
Of course there is a lot of amazing stuff in between, I am not pondering morbidly or being maudlin for effect...but the simple equation of life is grotesque, bountiful, careless, beautiful, and a bit mind blowing.
Well, if nothing else - the new chapter gave me the fever again.
The bookish kind.
And it feels good to be home.
dust to dust,
mme bookling
Timing.
Coincidence.
Destiny.
Coincidence.
Destiny.
I am met with these three thoughts as I encountered this passage in Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
For the month of December, my reading has been sporadic at best. As I readied myself for work this morning, rushes of things I could do at home flooded my brain; this angered me because I have been stuck at home, snowed in for almost 2 weeks this month. One would think I could finish all my books and crocheting projects and other such things...but no. The best way for me to get things done at home is to leave home...
But back to my story.
I didn't read much in December.
I always feel a bit disoriented and guilty when I neglect books for longer periods of time than my routine is accustomed to...and yet, had I read more of Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, I would have never encountered this passage last night at precisely the moment in which I was meant to.
You see I have been rather pensive lately about the inevitability of death and grotesqueness of life and growth (birth!). Here I am thinking these thoughts and then I open up to chapter 10 : fecundity...and after I looked up the meaning of the word, found myself bound and open-eyed upon the discovery of all Ms. Dillard's musings.
We are born. We seek to integrate all the disparate issues inside of us in an effort to become healthy and whole. We die.
Of course there is a lot of amazing stuff in between, I am not pondering morbidly or being maudlin for effect...but the simple equation of life is grotesque, bountiful, careless, beautiful, and a bit mind blowing.
Well, if nothing else - the new chapter gave me the fever again.
The bookish kind.
And it feels good to be home.
dust to dust,
mme bookling
2 comments:
We are born. We seek to integrate all the disparate issues inside of us in an effort to become healthy and whole. We die.
i think i caught your fever, o eloquent one. welcome home.
I read the first bit of quote, realized I needed to stop because my understanding of the word fecundity was lacking, looked it up, continued reading, and laughed at paragraph three where you admit to doing the same exact thing.
I became bookishly ravenous last week and then the lackluster realities of work took over. But today, I plan on throwing them off and consuming words, rolling them across my tongue and digesting them slowly.
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