Life is not measured by its length but by its depth.
The sun is glinting off the many glass windows that surround my studio apartment. Scanning the towering buildings that stand out against a sky of hazy luminescent blue, many windows rebuke with the sun’s silver glare. Others, knowingly or not, invite me in past squinting blinds or fabric folds.
Windows are for looking through. Whether in or out, one way or two, they are a tool of enhanced awareness and understanding. They may reveal more than one may want to know but they are (almost always) where I would choose to go.
This reminds me of the quotation above, paraphrased from Emerson, etched in an antique marble coaster beneath my coffee cup. It resonates with me. Not only does it remind me of the dear and empathetic friend who gave it to me, it affirms and perhaps excuses the life I have lived.
Swinging back and forth between poverty consciousness and much more idyllic visions, staying on the surface has not been possible. I have always felt the need to live with more depth than breadth or length.
As a product of human nature and nurture, there seemed no other way. It is who I am and what I still aspire to be. As one who relishes all the nuances and complexities of thought, feeling, circumstance, and experience, there is not a day when I don’t live this conception of life–seeking greater awareness, creativity, intelligence, understanding and abundance of every sort.
It is what brings me here today, fingers curled upon keyboard, writing this entry.It is also what will keep me coming back–seeking the universal in the personal and, as importantly, the personal in the universal. That is what bibliotherapy or, more plainly, a reading and writing life is all about.