“Maybe None of the Good Things Will Be Lost.”
30 September 2000
I’m writing, and behind me, the world exists.
Life here is very hard, but that doesn’t matter, because there is the Garden — and there, one can always find refuge. And that is the best thing, and that’s how it should always be: that the garden is the most wonderful and unique thing, never boring, a source of strength and of all that is possibly good.
I’m reading a wise book, titled Easy and Difficult Coexistence.
At the very beginning, the author corrects the title, explaining that it’s not that there is no easy co-existence, but rather: every co-existence is difficult, or very difficult. The first statement he makes is:
“In action, and only in action, does the value or worthlessness of a person reveal itself.”
The second quote I’ve picked out justifies this statement:
“That is why for those who truly love (or truly befriend), embracing each other is not enough, tender words are not enough; they strive toward building and managing something together, toward creating a shared front in life.”
A quote from Saint-Évremond says:
“There is no such perfect sympathy that would not be accompanied by certain disputes.”
And the conclusion follows:
“Every closeness increases the probability of conflicts. (…) Critical situations, times of failure and breakdown, serious illnesses, and the deaths of loved ones either bring people very close or drive them far apart. It is then that a person’s strength reveals itself — both the best and the basest parts of them.”
Then, I was especially interested in the chapter titled “Friendship,” and the next one — “The Value of Friendship” — begins with a wonderful passage that I completely agree with:
“When asked if I like flowers, I replied that it depends on the company. My answer was taken as a joke, but I was serious. I also only ever went to exhibitions when I went with someone. Alone, I cannot enjoy paintings, or the forest, or birdsong, or the stars. Sometimes it is enough for me to imagine that I am walking with someone to notice, along the way, more things worth noticing than usual; sometimes it is enough to imagine that I am reading together with someone to discover more worlds and lights in a book.”
Then I liked this small but great fragment:
“I do not believe that a famous artist or a great statesman could be happy if he did not have at least one person beside him before whom he could remove his mask.”
A quote from Prishvin goes:
“That man whom you love in me is, of course, better than I am. I am not really like that. But love me, and I will try to become better than I am.”
It’s impossible to express more beautifully that friendship obliges one to work on oneself, and so I completely agree with this statement. And I consider this man even more brilliant for saying, “Every work and every struggle requires sacrifice. (…) One must be a titan to realise any ideal without relying on someone who understands that ideal.”
Then there are more quotes, which I might share with you someday. But I’m not writing all this just for the sake of writing — rather, so that one day, when I show you the rest, I can prove “what would have happened” if I had ever given up on my resolutions that harm no one. You will find out, certainly, if only you wish to and devote a bit of time to it — if you are ready, and if you will want to know.
I already know quite a lot — relatively a lot, because one can always know more — about dreams, my own dreams. If only you wish to — I repeat once again…
You write about being tired of people. I am not free from that either. It must be so.
When I ask someone I know, even a little “what are you thinking about?”, they are always so surprised. In most of cases, they absolutely refuse to reveal “what’s there,” and in others, they inquisitively ask what prompts me to ask such questions — and I never get an answer.
You ask about my dreams — whether “dark figures” appear there too. I don’t recall them appearing, and even if they did, they didn’t stir any negative feelings.
I’m not running away — I’m returning.
You also wrote something at the end — something I don’t quite understand, or maybe I just don’t understand yet. Perhaps you’ll tell me about it one day?
So here I sit, scared, because just a moment ago I was afraid I might have accidentally deleted this message. If that had happened, I would have given up on writing letters on the computer altogether.
I’m glad you like my endings — they just come out that way. So today’s goes:
It’s hard to dance to several orchestras at once, says a Korean proverb.
So if one stops dancing to one melody,
One starts dancing to another — isn’t that right?
And so the little creature spoke,
And she sat in the Garden, full of happiness,
Because there she could find refuge —
Especially since, beyond the gate, she saw people at odds with each other.
The end… and the beginning.
She began to listen to the unreal woman,
But her singing was beautiful.
“How good it is here,” she sighed.
Ardently,
Alienne (the smallest one)
