January 25, 2010

The Tenth Letter

“…I can only wish that you trustingly and patiently allow that grand solitude to work in you. It is no longer possible to be erased from your life. It shall be immanent in all that you experience and all that you do. It will act as an anonymous influence, akin to how ancestral blood constantly moves and merges with our own and links with that of the individual, never to be unlinked. It is gently decisive at each crossroad of our life…

…Art also is only a way of life, and we can, no matter how we live, and without knowing it, prepare ourselves for it. With each encounter with truth one draws nearer to reaching communion with it, more so than those in unreal, half-artistic careers—by pretending proximity to art. All those in the field of journalism and nearly all critics do it, as well as three-fourths of those engaged in literature, or who wish to call it that. I am glad that you have overcome the danger of being caught up in such a realm, and that you are somewhere in a rugged reality alone and courageous”

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