Vincent Van Gogh was sensitive, gifted
and emotionally honest. Despite the mystery surrounding his death and the search
for enchantment that fueled his life, there is no disagreement on his love and
life-long devotion for the stars.
It is the stars as a final
destination that I draw your attention to, taken from one of the most
profoundly moving pieces on life, death, and the myriad thoughts on
both.
The book, that is its source is
by film critic, Roger Ebert, entitled Life
Itself. The excerpt, I Do Not Fear Death, is an eloquent and thoughtful piece that one
can’t help but feel the need to capture and preserve. It is penned in
loveliness and grace and the simple reading of it leaves you aching for a
belief in divinity.
From the author’s wistful note
that, “One of these days I will encounter what Henry James called on his
deathbed 'the distinguished thing,'" to a favored passage on kindness he
memorized, which reads in part, “I respect kindness in human beings first of
all, and kindness to animals,” that Ebert says covers all his political
beliefs, there is raw truth here in all its uneasiness.
Yet, it is the beautifully moving
passage from Van Gogh that forms the heart of Ebert’s
incandescent essay.
Looking at the stars
always makes me dream,
as simply as I dream
over the black dots
representing towns and villages
on a map.
Why, I ask myself,
be as accessible
as the black dots
on the map of France?
Just as we take a train
to get to Tarascon or Rouen,
we take death to reach a star.
We cannot get to a star
while we are alive
any more than we can
take the train
when we are dead.
So to me
it seems possible that
cholera, tuberculosis and cancer
are the
celestial means of locomotion.
Just as steamboats, buses and railways
are the terrestrial means.
To die
quietly of old age
would be to go there
on foot.
1 comment:
I always marvel at our shared sensibilities.
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