Passion and its Value In Literature

During the work week it is hard to create lots of new content. Thus for the next few days I will be digging deep into my saved correspondence for some of the material posted. If you have seen it before, be tolerant. If not enjoy. As I progress in the book on ethical philosophy I am sure I will have some other stuff to rant about.

This was a bit I wrote explaining some of my favorite summer reading…

In all the reading that I do, I am struck by the passion that pervades the souls of the writers I find meaningful. Each one of them to a person is driven by something. Not just intrigued, but really driven. Merton was drawn by his inner disquiet to find something more. He struggled and he fought with what was the way to that something more throughout his life. While he was a Catholic hermit he never stopped looking. He was drawn to the Tao. He was drawn to philosophers. I think yesterday's reading from A Year with Thomas Merton was the only time where he indicated that he had achieved several days of spiritual peace. This came only after he fully committed himself to the life of a total hermit. Not my path, I do believe.

Neruda was consumed by passion. A lust for the fullness of life is found in every line he writes. With apologies if I have sent this too you before, but I offer the following as proof:

Horses

From the window I saw the horses.

I was in Berlin, in winter. The light
was without light, the sky without sky.

The air white like wet bread.

And from my window a vacant arena,
bitten by the teeth of winter.

Suddenly, led by a man,
ten horses stepped out into the mist.

Hardly had they surged forth, like flame,
than to my eyes they filled the whole world,
empty till then. Perfect, ablaze,
they were like ten gods with wide pure hoofs,
with manes like a dream of salt.

Their rumps were worlds and oranges.

Their color was honey, amber and fire.

Their necks were towers
cut from the stone of pride,
and behind their transparent eyes
energy raged, like a prisoner.

And there, in the silence, in the middle
of the day, of the dark, slovenly winter,
the intense horses were blood
and rhythm, the animating treasure of life.

I looked, I looked and was reborn: without knowing it,
there, was the fountain, the dance of gold, the sky,
the fire that revived in beauty.

I have forgotten that dark Berlin winter.

I will not forget the light of the horses.


Yeah, passion. Neruda is definitely about passion. As to other writer's Chesterton's take on the life of Francis is passionate also. Although Chesterton's expression of passion is a quieter one, focused mainly on the contradictions of a man as holy fool, his passion is clearly evident in his careful and diligent selection of words to use. Chesterton is drawn to the saint with flaws that Francis was. I think Francis inspires Chesterton to believe that anyone can remake the world in a moment, for in reality that is all the duration of one life is.

In looking at my earlier post of what I like I thought I had better put something interactive on the site. With regard to access to media and to some extent on the topic of movies, I have discovered hulu.com. How could I not? Tons of press has been disseminated on this site in the past several weeks. It hosts old TV shows and some movies, albeit it with commercials, but otherwise free and legal. Here is one of the great modern classics for anyone who might have missed it. http://www.hulu.com/the-usual-suspects Just click on the link and register, but then you can watch the movie on your computer. Very cool stuff.