In his journal, No Souvenirs (1957-1969) Mircea Eliade writes about his sadness regarding life's obligations, saying,
"What saddens me especially is that for a long time I'll be unable to write and read as I wish. I sometimes dream of a long, endless summer, waking up every morning overjoyed that the new day will be mine, all mine, and that, if I feel like it, I will be able to squander it, to use it up, writing a book."
When Eliade says "squander," I don't think he means that writing is a wasteful use of our time; I think of his meaning in this way: to "squander" is an extreme form of freedom to do what one wants, a freedom very few, if any, individuals have. There are always obligations that seem to keep us from the work of writing.
Worst of all is when writing itself becomes an obligation. Of letter writing (which is truly becoming a lost art, I believe), Eliade writes:
"How I admire E. M. Cioran for his incomparable mastery of the art of letter writing. I think I have penetrated his secret: Cioran never writes a letter out of obligation, or because he has nothing better to do, but only when he feels the need to communicate with someone, whether friend or stranger. And his letter reflects his mood at the moment, a nontemporal mood in a way--in any case, beyond the historical moment."
How much better ALL our writings would be, I think, if when we wrote we wrote out of a great NEED to communicate. Of this need, Eliade writes:
"How well I understand that!...Today, suddenly, I felt the need to communicate with someone the first impressions that I had of Chicago eight or nine months ago. I felt them again, vividly and clearly, as I will probably never feel them again."
What Eliade speaks of here is not an "endless" summer, to be sure, but it is a verdant moment, a moment creation, of profound connection. I understand the clarity of which Eliade speaks. I've felt it; it is temporary, unsustainable and we crave to feel it again, as sure as we dream of the warm sunlight on our own bare skin.
3 comments:
I have felt that with my own journal writing, I believe it was the primary reason I started it, to communicate with others. I needed to share my thoughts even if no one other than myself ever read a single word of it.
That feeling is the true addictive nature of writing and why, for me, writing when I don't feel like it is important. In just keeping on writing, even when it's a chore, something usually happens where it becomes imperative to communicate, and that buzz is there again.
You`ve really looked into this!
Thanks,
V
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