Spring Waxing Seed Moon
“Knowledge can be communicated but not wisdom. One can find it, live it, be fortified by it, do wonders through it, but one cannot communicate and teach it.” – Herman Hesse
Hesse was a key author in my youth. I’ve revisited him since, as I am Dreiser right now. They both hold up well, though Hesse can sometimes seem a bit feverish. Still, his Steppenwolf had an adult anguish that I did not understand when I read it first at 20. The Theatre for Madmen Only was a place we all could go if we understood the world in which we lived. 6 months ago, when I re-read Steppenwolf, I realized Harry Haller was mad in an existential way, that he had seen too much, walked too close to the flame. At 20 he was my hero, today he is a cautionary tale.
The mental megrims of last week have receded, perhaps the sun today burned them out or the root canal gave me some concrete pain. Whatever the reason, I feel once again whole and engaged. These ups and downs, a neurotic cycle now much milder than in former years, do get tiresome, as I said a few posts ago, but they no longer paralyze me, stop me in my tracks. Thank Jung, John Desteian, age and Zoloft for that.
Tomorrow morning Kate flies off to Denver. She will be in Grandma heaven. I saw a license plate holder that said, Parents say no? Dial 1-800-Grandma. She’s a good grandma, more a doting grandma than a Jewish grandma, though she is both.