Friday, July 14, 2017


László Krasznahorkai

This is the second in a series of flash-fiction pieces that The New Yorker will be presenting throughout the summer.

I would leave everything here: the valleys, the hills, the paths, and the jaybirds from the gardens, I would leave here the petcocks and the padres, heaven and earth, spring and fall, I would leave here the exit routes, the evenings in the kitchen, the last amorous gaze, and all of the city-bound directions that make you shudder, I would leave here the thick twilight falling upon the land, gravity, hope, enchantment, and tranquillity, I would leave here those beloved and those close to me, everything that touched me, everything that shocked me, fascinated and uplifted me, I would leave here the noble, the benevolent, the pleasant, and the demonically beautiful, I would leave here the budding sprout, every birth and existence, I would leave here incantation, enigma, distances, inexhaustibility, and the intoxication of eternity; for here I would leave this earth and these stars, because I would take nothing with me from here, because I’ve looked into what’s coming, and I don’t need anything from here.


Reading bible commentary and theology, one soon learns to take care regarding authorship, sources, to mind that scholarship is not drivel, rubbish, as is so majorly the case in this field with, at least from my viewpoint, material driven by certitude, preconceptions and faith, by eisegesis vice exegesis, rather than objectivity, and this caution carries over to other reading when one is exploring new authors; as for example I never heard of László Krasznahorkai, but having been lured by the above piece, looked him up and find he’s either weirdly captivating or insufferably deadly boring. So thinking to order a couple of his English translated books, Melancholy of Resistance or War & War or Animalinside, and reading some tidbits, I see there are movies, b&w films of a dark nature, including a rendition of his apocalyptic Sátántangó that runs seven hours, 

which seven hour movie I no thank you, ok’san; but I do find one that appeals, Werckmeister Harmoniak, a movie interpretation of Krasznahorkai’s book The Melancholy of Resistance 

and after watching a segment, German, dubbed-in Hungarian with Greek and English subtitles, I download the whole movie, free on Youtube, time 1:12:49 instead of seven hours, save on desktop, and it’s ready to go whenever I am. 

Now the rub: the above short piece in The New Yorker caught my attention because I do not agree with its, or indeed anyone’s, philosophy or theology that life here is insignificant because of what awaits us in life hereafter; that’s skybalon that the medieval Christian church offered to its downtrodden, sheer rubbish and high risk. No, this is the wonderful gift of life that the Creator gives us to live, love, be grateful for, and enjoy. For us to assume, expect, or ask for a second helping, much less feel that we earn seconds by believing this or doing that, seems to me quite greedy, not to say wishful imagination, human-fear-driven, arrogant, and cosmologically untenable. Created in divine image, the human mind is a marvelous thing, but still and all physical. If its faith and hope soothe our fear of death, fine. If, in faith, at this ending, life hereafter is given to us, well and good; but by no means contemn this precious and unique gift of life with its Time, love and blessings because of faith that there is dessert, more, better and sweeter to come. One may believe, but belief is faith, not knowledge, and no matter how fervently one believes, one sure does not know. Faith and Hope are biblical, but for biblical certainty, Koheleth the Preacher of Ecclesiastes has it right.

I do need. I have my memories and loves and memories of loves from here, and will take them with me into the shadow. And I am not afraid of the dark.

Them as wants dessert, keep yo' fork.

DThos+ treasuring +Time+  

Irrelevant addendum. TGIF for many and most perhaps, though for clergy TGIF doesn't come until the Sunday afternoon nap; but this morning's Friday is delicious: slightly cool on 7H porch, hint of breeze, and lightning in the huge clouds on the southern horizon.

Now thunder rumbling as it draws closer.

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