《Levels of Life》的笔记--
- 2018-04-22 08:41:55
Some think grief a kind of violent if justifiable self-pity; some that it is merely one’s own reflection in death’s eye; others say it’s the survivor they feel sorry for, because they’re the one going through it, whereas the lost loved one can no longer suffer.
Though I remember, sharply, last things. The last book she read. The last play (and film, and concert, and opera, and art exhibition) that we went to together. The last wine she drank, the last clothes she bought. The last weekend away. The last bed we slept in that wasn’t ours. The last this, the last that. The last piece of my writing that made her laugh. The last words she wrote herself; the last time she signed her name. The last piece of music I played her when she came home. Her last complete sentence. Her last spoken word.
There are two essential kinds of loneliness: that of not having found someone to love, and that of having been deprived of the one you did love. The first kind is worse. Nothing can compare to the loneliness of the soul in adolescence.
There is a German word, Sehnsucht, which has no English equivalent; it means ‘the longing for something’. It has Romantic and mystical connotations; C. S. Lewis defined it as the ‘inconsolable longing’ in the human heart for ‘we know not what’. It seems rather German to be able to specify the unspecifiable. The longing for something – or, in our case, for someone. Sehnsucht describes the first kind of loneliness.
‘The cure for loneliness is solitude,’ Marianne Moore advises. While Peter Grimes (if not in all respects a role model) sings: ‘I live alone. The habit grows.’ There is a balance to such words, a comforting harmony.
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