At once hopeful and despairing, this life—this life of chaos and serenity in the void of space—is a strange place to live. We watch centuries go by with advancements that would astonish the god we so fervently wish for, yet we can’t seem to figure out how to tackle the basic problem: acting without compassion. It’s not everyone, of course, but it’s enough of us to destroy any hope we’ve ever had of lasting peace. We are the embodiment of both Sisyphus and his stone. Year after year, generation after generation, millenia after millenia.
I wrote that paragraph a long time ago. Since then, a friend has written about Sisyphus; the things he’s written caused me to dredge this up. It’s the best I can do this morning.
It’s a moving a piece by Camus — literally speaking, a moving, rolling piece — as Sisyphus turns his rock, like we all turn our rocks up some hill.
There are days in facing the numb-skull antics of young students that a teacher asks “what for?” It can hardly be any different for a man or woman who grinds a wheel or types yet another document of essentially the same thing, or the dental technician who makes another denture.
But I’ll tell you what, my good friend, I am inspired by you rolling your rock in this blog. Certainly, you must face the same question.
In the end, it’s just the act of doing it that we can all appreciate — not being there, but it’s always the getting there.
I think you need to add more to it for it to qualify as accomplishing your writing du jour. 😉