What a superb piece of writing, David, such a beautiful, thoughtful, and revealing reflection on friendship, the life of the mind, and growing old (not merely ageing, but continuing to grow as we age) in this era of digital disintegration. You write as one who has discovered the value of your spiritual heritage and dipped his fingers in "the river of truth running down through the centuries, even to the barren times of a materialistic and secular age."
True friends, when they die, remain alive and with us in our hearts.
I'm reminded of Alex Cockburn's observation on the passing of his friend Edward Said in 2003: "We march through life buoyed by those comrades-in-arms we know to be marching with us, under the same banners, flying the same colors, sustained by the same hopes and convictions. They can be a thousand miles away; we may not have spoken to them in months; but their companionship is burned into our souls and we are sustained by the knowledge that they are with us in the world."
This is one of your most beautiful posts, David. In my late 70s I have to think about providing for my wife, seeing one friend, comrade, ally, one after another drop off the perch. Why I finally finished my book - to get it out of my system. Your legacy is definitive. You don't have to worry about that. Although, why should one worry anyway?
I have looked at some of Ricky Gervaise's atheist sketches and they are brilliant. If you are an atheist, and you are dead, it doesn't matter. But he also did an add on - "It's like being stupid - it doesn't hurt you but it hurts the people around you". Quite a philosopher. Out there with Camus.
As we make the laborious climb through our (or at least my) 70s I find your words inspiring. I take a breather. I wasn't a breeder, but I think about my nephews and nieces who now have their own progeny, and I feel profound anxiety for them.
I feel sorrow. But sorrow does not imply guilt. Your work, and your writing is wonderful, friend.
Hi David, I feel like you were telling that story to me. You have a warm and clear way of writing. Those memories that we all have, fragmented as they may be, keep us connected to people who also care and try to do good in the world. Like me to you.
What a superb piece of writing, David, such a beautiful, thoughtful, and revealing reflection on friendship, the life of the mind, and growing old (not merely ageing, but continuing to grow as we age) in this era of digital disintegration. You write as one who has discovered the value of your spiritual heritage and dipped his fingers in "the river of truth running down through the centuries, even to the barren times of a materialistic and secular age."
True friends, when they die, remain alive and with us in our hearts.
I'm reminded of Alex Cockburn's observation on the passing of his friend Edward Said in 2003: "We march through life buoyed by those comrades-in-arms we know to be marching with us, under the same banners, flying the same colors, sustained by the same hopes and convictions. They can be a thousand miles away; we may not have spoken to them in months; but their companionship is burned into our souls and we are sustained by the knowledge that they are with us in the world."
This is one of your most beautiful posts, David. In my late 70s I have to think about providing for my wife, seeing one friend, comrade, ally, one after another drop off the perch. Why I finally finished my book - to get it out of my system. Your legacy is definitive. You don't have to worry about that. Although, why should one worry anyway?
I have looked at some of Ricky Gervaise's atheist sketches and they are brilliant. If you are an atheist, and you are dead, it doesn't matter. But he also did an add on - "It's like being stupid - it doesn't hurt you but it hurts the people around you". Quite a philosopher. Out there with Camus.
As we make the laborious climb through our (or at least my) 70s I find your words inspiring. I take a breather. I wasn't a breeder, but I think about my nephews and nieces who now have their own progeny, and I feel profound anxiety for them.
I feel sorrow. But sorrow does not imply guilt. Your work, and your writing is wonderful, friend.
Hi David, I feel like you were telling that story to me. You have a warm and clear way of writing. Those memories that we all have, fragmented as they may be, keep us connected to people who also care and try to do good in the world. Like me to you.