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Deborah J. Brasket, inspiration, mystery, personal, reader and writer, Reading, the act of writing and reading, the everpresent now, what connects readers and writers, what matters most, writing
In light of our coming demise, nothing at all matters in the long run.
Yet everything matters in the moment. The only thing we ever really have is now.
What I have most intimately now as I write is this pen in hand, this yellow pad upon my knees, this warm bed upon which I sit, this breath rising up and through me.
What you have now are these words that you’re reading, my voice speaking to you. We are connected through time and space in some mysterious way through this act of writing and reading.
You are not here with me as I write this, and yet here you are: a warm, prescient presence in my mind. I feel you even from this distance. My voice in your ear. Your receptive presence in my mind. How mysterious.
A writer who is read can never be alone. And a reader who hears the voice of another stirring their minds, no matter how distant, is never alone. We connect within this mind-space, if only for this fleeting moment.
It seems this life I love is nothing but a mystery, and the older I grow the more mysterious it becomes. How comforting this is: knowing that some vast unseen force connects us all in such intimate ways.
[If curious about the featured painting: I wrote an essay years ago about how I came to name it.]
My novel When Things Go Missing is on sale on Amazon, if you haven’t had a chance to read it yet.
If you have read it, please leave a review here on Amazon. Reviews help other readers find my writings.
A mother vanishes, a family unravels.
Three journeys to wholeness unfold in this poignant & propulsive tale of love and longing.
Discover more from Deborah J. Brasket, Author
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This reminds me of my favorite line from my favorite novel. Everything Matters by Ron Currie, Jr. It’s about something different than what you’re talking about here, but still when you say that “everything matters in the moment,” I can’t help but think about this:
Everything matters not in spite of the end of you and all that you love, but because of it. Everything is all you’ve got — your wife’s lips, your daughter’s eyes, your brother’s heart, your father’s bones and your own grief — and after Everything is nothing. So you were wise to welcome Everything, the good and the bad alike, and cling to it all. Gather it in. Seek the meaning in sorrow and don’t ever turn away, not once, from here until the end. Because it is all the same, it is all unfathomable, and it is all infinitely preferable to the one dreadful alternative.
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Lovely perspective and musings on the interplay of reading and writing.
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excellent reflections on the connections
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