One of the most profound emotional experiences I ever had was a vision of an imaginary storefront with an imaginary man and his wife opening a store and on a borrowed shoestring trying to make it work. It wasn't clear what they were selling or where it was or even when. Just that store, their hope, that move toward something. The fragility of it makes me want to scream. When I was younger it was much more intense.
I've been having that feeling a lot lately. That sense of the fragility of human things, the beauty of it, how sacred and small it is. How the slightest shift can change so much, how delicate life is.
Looking at images of rural Estonia 100 years ago, I can feel some of it, the meaning, the importance of something like an oilcloth on the table in bright colors, the interior landscape so uncluttered it would seem barren to most of us now. And in that landscape how important things would be that we would think trivial, how like that our lives are, all of us. Small and hopeful.
I've been having that feeling a lot lately. That sense of the fragility of human things, the beauty of it, how sacred and small it is. How the slightest shift can change so much, how delicate life is.
Looking at images of rural Estonia 100 years ago, I can feel some of it, the meaning, the importance of something like an oilcloth on the table in bright colors, the interior landscape so uncluttered it would seem barren to most of us now. And in that landscape how important things would be that we would think trivial, how like that our lives are, all of us. Small and hopeful.
