Sometimes (all the time) my imagination is cracked and dry compared to (yes I know comparisons are odorous but) the open eyes, the Argus eyes, of every one around me.
Why, asks my five-year brother, why, during the day, are the planets so far away, and at night they're close?
Forsaking earbud music for Lent: to obey, my Protestant child, says my mother, to obey is better than sacrifice. But to forsake is to watch days disappear, beads slipping off a string, to turn your face toward the verity we usually shut out with sound and fury: man is mortal. Perhaps once in a while, obedience and sacrifice?
Lectures in the absence of music, then. Words, then. Not to shut out, but to scrape and chafe the matted lashes on my Argus arms. Peter Kreeft, GK Chesterton.
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