Today, still in pajamas by mid afternoon, with snowflakes thick as confetti streaming past my window, I sit down to write. I’ve had a mild stomach virus since yesterday, and have been reading Elie Wiesel’s memoir All Rivers Run to the Sea.
History is fascinating, something my mother always told me and something I chose not to consider as a young woman because I found it boring and her annoying. Another example of youthful foolishness or perhaps just a time/space continuum it’s taken me decades to embrace and catch up on. A neophyte I remain and I will never stop missing her.
No matter who you are, or what you like, if you haven’t read any of Elie Wiesel’s work, as a member of the human race you owe it to yourself to do so. Not only is he erudite, and a resonant writer, he stands for global citizenship. He rears at injustice and suffering (and he’s had his share), chooses to learn, stick with his community, holds himself and others to a high standard, and fights for a better tomorrow.
Thoughts tumble, like the snow storm, making it hard to hold on to any of them. A gestalt of white swirling and descending, precipitation and gravity, a whirr of silent particles – beautiful and secret. The speed of descent is beyond my ability to decipher. I want more time, I often want more time.
Snapping photos with my phone, I try to catch the flakes falling. Without a zoom I fail, even though the sky is expelling them with a vengeance. Accumulation on trees, roads and lawns is significant. A neighborhood washed clean.
An interesting aspect of history is how often specifics of human behavior are repeated (genocide, war, hatred, injustice). It remains a menacing problem and there is no simplistic or consistent answer – each point in time declaring details that deserve an independent evaluation, even when it looks like we recognize it. Variables are wide and many and staggering.
Reminds me that no matter how much I learn or think I know, there’s always room for more. And that makes me glad to be alive.