you have no idea how hard i’ve looked for a gift to bring you.
nothing seemed right.
what’s the point of bringing gold to the gold mine,
or water to the ocean.
everything i came up with was like taking spices to the orient.
—it’s no good giving my heart and my soul because you already have these
so i’ve brought you a mirror.
look at yourself and:
she was the third beer.
i. not the first one,
which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude;
ii. nor the second,
that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first.
iii. but the third,
the one you drink because it’s there,
because it can’t hurt,
what difference does it make?
“closeness,” he said,
surveying the congregation.
“it’s easy to be close,
but almost impossible to stay close.
think about friends.
think about hobbies.
they’re close to us—
sometimes so close we think they are part of us
at some point,
they aren’t close anymore.
they go away.
// only one thing can keep something close over time:
holding it there.
grappling with it.
wrestling it to the ground (as jacob did with the angel,)
and refusing to let go.
what we don’t wrestle
we let go of……
love isn’t the absence of struggle.
love is struggle.
:: jonathan safran foer
here i am
if you take a flat map
and move wooden blocks upon it strategically,
the thing looks well, the blocks behave as they should.
the science of war is moving live men like blocks.
and getting the blocks into place at a fixed moment.
but it takes time to mold your men into blocks
and flat maps turn into country where creeks and gullies
hamper your wooden squares.
they stick in the brush,
they are tired and rest, they straggle after ripe blackberries,
and you cannot lift them up in your hand [and] move them. … men into blocks
permit yourself to flow and overflow.