You've been on my mind. I've been mulling over something you said. I have this little fantasy that we could sit side by side over coffee or wine and have a heart to heart. Honestly you said and wrote many things that give me pause, but what brought me here today is this sentiment.... God, how I ricochet between certainties and doubts. It seems lately I'm either The Little Engine That Could or Oblomov, and sometimes that changes by the hour. I know you also struggled to have strength and faith when filled with fear and uncertainty. I have admired your spirit in spite of your demons, or perhaps, because of them. We all have them. Although usually we don't talk about them unfiltered. You were bloody honest and sharply blunt about the harshness of life, and your life was harsh. Life is harsh period. Yet I sense that you also knew its beauty even if the darkness eventually prevailed. Life is beautiful period. While I feel like kindred spirits in a sense let's be clear, I only stick my head in ovens when I'm baking. But the thing is that I am interested in finding answers to the questions that haunted you. Questions like how to be. here. now? And who am I? And how can I make myself understood? Fulfilled? Free? And what is the way out of the mind? In the Bell Jar you wrote, I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.
I am Sylvia.
Sadly, you were.
