of Wisdom

It finally arrived, that book, whose title was scribbled on my wrist weeks ago even though it was barely legible in the aftermath. I bought it used; the seller said "Like New" but wasn't it filled with scribbles and markings after all? I flipped through it, trickling down dog-eared pages and deciphering Somebody Else's handwriting in the margins. Like a secret treasure, that I could sneak into their read, try on their experience, sit in their armchair a little too closely and relax.

Appropriately enough, this is what I found:

Money has been the one thing I have never had, and yet I have led a rich life and in the main a happy one. Why should I need money now --or later? When I have been desperately in need I have always found a friend. I go on the assumption that I have friends everywhere. I shall have more and more as time goes on. If I were to have money I might become careless and negligent, believing in a security which does not exist, stressing those values which are illusory and empty... In the dark days to come money will be less than ever a protection against evil and suffering.

and

At that moment I rejoiced that I was free of possessions, free of all ties, free of fear and envy and malice. I could have passed quietly from one dream to another, owning nothing, regretting nothing, wishing nothing. I was never more certain that life and death are one and that neither can be enjoyed or embraced if the other be absent.

Henry Miller,
The Colossus of Maroussi

I will read the book, the whole book from beginning to end and try to ignore the underlined passages to make the book my own. But today, now, I thank the previous reader for a breath, for a momentary lifeline. They are invaluable, in whatever form they may come.