Too often we encounter a thing of beauty at the wrong time in our lives and its layers of splendour and meaning are lost on us.
Yesterday and the day before are the happiest times I can remember. Nothing huge occurred. I couldn’t point to a single event and say “that’s why”. My general sense is that the curtain of my thirty year depression is at last lifting. I am almost afraid to think this, as if in hoping there is danger of the despair returning full force to punch me in the gut, but without hope one cannot move forward.
Paulo Coehlo’s “By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept” came to me at the right moment. Reading this immensely beautiful and spiritual book helped me grasp my hope to my chest and give it meaning.
It’s the story of a woman who has sought safety in a world of repetition and avoided taking any risk that might cause pain. When she meets her childhood love again, two decades after they parted, she is afraid of being hurt. He is afraid of hurting her as well. They both make choices that they think the other wants, but fail to communicate with each other what they plan and why. This failure of communication leads directly to the pain they wished to avoid.
"I observed the woman I had been up to then: weak but trying to give the impression of strength. Fearful of everything but telling herself it wasn't fear - it was the wisdom of someone who knew what reality was. Putting up shutters in front of windows to keep the joy of the sun from entering - just so the sun's rays wouldn't fade my old furniture."
It is also the story of Christian mysticism and religious pioneers, of the feminine face of god, of heresy and of love – spiritual and physical.
It is the most beautiful book I have ever read, and I read it at exactly the right moment in my life.
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