Friday, May 27, 2005

Tolstoy, the genius of well-being

Tolstoy is the great genius of well-being.
The only writer who can capture that sense of fitness, of fullness, when your cup runs over and you feel like you're right there, in harmony with everything, and brimming.

When Natasha screams at the climax of the wolf hunt.
Levin, harvesting in the fields.
The whole book (seven?) about russian christmas in War and Peace.
Natasha at her first ball.

Pierre and Andrei on the ferry crossing the river.

He is the only writer I can think of who can capture the moments of fullness as well (or better) than he captures the longing, the deprivation, the sense of futility and violence.

Many many writers write well of the ache of emptiness, of longing, of yearning, of absurdity.

But how many artists can capture that sense of being full?
Those rare moments when you could be struck down, and annihilated, and it would be ok, you'd die smiling, lacking nothing?
Only Tolstoy. If you can think of others, I'd like to know. I want to read them.
I feel full today. Don't know why. I am hungover and have a lot to do. And yet, if I die on Highway 1, or crossing the street, I just want you to know, I'd go smiling, lacking nothing.
love again,
me

2 Comments:

Blogger Jonnie 7-11 said...

I have never read any Tolstoy, but brother Todd recommends him highly.
Nixon had lots of Tolstoy in his collection too.

2:06 PM  
Anonymous amyjo said...

Read him.
Don't go gently into that good night without Tolstoy under your belt.

He's no Jim Thompsen, but he's good...

8:50 PM  

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