Snow coming obliquely through the gray light this morning has me thinking, as ever when the flakes come « general all over » like this, of the final lines of Joyce’s masterful short story The Dead: « His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead. »
Beautiful snowflakes! As Layman Pang exclaimed, « They don’t fall in another place! »
They only fall here, and they fall everywhere, upon all. Selflessly, without a trace.
The universe is always falling right here. It’s one city out there. A veil of white covers the rear-view mirror on a motor bike outside my window and the tan cat rushes in speckled, wet paws leaving traces as she trots across the room.
I suppose the traces will dry.
Meanwhile, I’m tapping keys to make these traces, faintly scrolling through the universe.
The universe faintly falling
About the Author: zenscribe
Enseignante Zen et poète, Sensei Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell est née et a grandi à Minneapolis, aux Etats-Unis. Arrivée en France en 1981 pour étudier la littérature et l’histoire, elle y est restée, s’installant à Paris, où elle élève ses deux enfants et gagne sa vie en tant que journaliste.
The Zen teacher and poet Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell Sensei was born and raised in Minneapolis, but came to France in 1981 to study literature and history and has lived in Paris ever since, raising her two children and making a living as a journalist.
Reminds me of Grandmother Agnes Baker-Pilgrim words "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is our gift, and we better use it wisely…"