22 Sep 2007

[Book.]

Where was I again? In the middle of a sleeping city, lost in myself. Or so went the tune. If I think about it, now, I suppose that any place and time, however lost you are, has elements within it to hold onto a hope — even if you have to carry every one of those elements with you. If there is light where you are and there is no candle held aloft ahead of you, then you, my friend, are the lead candle wherefrom that light emanates. Go on, now. Any minute the streets are going to awaken, trickles of people will become a current strong enough for waves, breaking upon the storefronts and offices. But wait — it’s Sunday, isn’t it? Only the moderate tides of holy water then, we might forecast. Shortly. Today, though, might be just arbitrary enough for something remarkable to happen in it. Don’t you think? Some cities have that air: like at the next moment, anything could happen.

I’m still looking at all the hopeful faces. A morbid thought then runs through my mind: I wonder how many of them are dead? As Ecclesiastes tells us, “Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.” How many of us have done so, that whatever our hands found to do, to do it with all our might? The book does not go on to tell us that such noble effort will necessarily be rewarded; it follows to say, “I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.” Yes, a cheerful little chapter.

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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