What the world needs now

Not all of me

“And then it struck Oleg that Shulubin was not delirious, that he’d recognized him and was reminding him of their last conversation before the operation. He had said, “Sometimes I feel quite distinctly that what is inside me is not all of me. There’s something else, sublime, quite indestructible, some tiny fragment of this universal spirit. Don’t you feel that?”

– Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, Cancer Ward

I read the majority of this book last week as I lay on the blindingly hot sands of Oahu’s Waikiki beach.

I feel almost ill at ease admitting this fact. As if my enjoyment of the book should be muted, having loved it in a land so starkly foreign from the places birthed in its pages.

But like so many great works, all it did was awake a thirst.

A desire.

To feel.

To need, and be needed.

To kiss that sublime.

And be.

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3 thoughts on “Not all of me

  1. “how nice!” axually i’m envious (of course) — not only @ your recent short-term residence, but that you can and are influenced in the way you were by reading something like that.

    it’s been quite a while, but i remember feeling less gravitational attraxion and feeling like whatever brain/mind i had was more receptive after reading Hesse’s “Glass Bead Game” — oh, more than 40 years ago!

  2. Oh, how I would love to read all books from a beach in Oahu. Then again, I would probably end with awakening to blistered skin. Sun, without re-application of sunblock cream, is the enemy of fair people like me.

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