``My own dark time, as I call it, the time of my loneliness, was most of my life, as I have said, and I canner make any real account of myself without speaking of it. The time passed so strangely, as if every winter were the same winter, and every spring the same spring. and there was baseball. I listened to thousands of baseball games, I suppose. Sometimes I could just make out half a play, and then static, and then a crowd roaring, a flat little sound, almost static itself, like the empty sound in a seashell. If felt good to me to imagine it, like working out some intricate riddle in my mind, planetary motion. If the ball is drifting toward left field and there are runners on first and third, then---moving the runners and the catcher and the shortstop in my mind. I loved to do that, I can't explain why.'' p. 44, Gilead, Marilynne Robinson
This is the second novel from Marilynne Robinson that I am reading. I think of them more as long poems rather than novels. They are beautiful in a strange way. I am reading a lot of English (American) and Persian poetry these days, between trading options. It is a lonely existence, but I am working on being thankful for whatever I am getting, and being patient and forgiving with respect to my shortcomings (and others') and on developing my tolerance for uncertainty and for losing opportunities (which are always plenty in trading business with the benefit go hindsight!).
``The medieval Japanese monk Yoshida Kenkō put it this way: ‘If man were never to fade away like the dews of Adashino, never to vanish like the smoke over Toribeyama, how things would lose their power to move us! The most precious thing in life is its uncertainty.’I really liked the quote from Yoshida Kenko. I posted it on my Facebook page too.
You can hardly get more transient than an insect; some adult mayflies live for just half an hour.'' Insectophilia, Andrea Appleton [Source: Aeon online essays, link]