Just wonder...
When I walk through a forest and touch the bark of tree I always wonder, who may have walked by it, when it was just a little thing with one leave on top...or maybe someone once came by picking up a little concer or whatever and put it there, hoping for it growing tall and mighty, yet never allowed to see it in life, as first the future generations would lie eyes on it.
When I walk down the old cobble-stone streets past the old walls of the town I always wonder who walked there before and who will in a hundred or so years of time.
Right now, when I was reading in Little Men (I feel guilty for that, should read the books for the thesis instead...) anyway...I was reading around in it, imagening the characters and there ways and observing the language she used and the society she describes and nearly started to cry, not so much for the book itself, but for the picture in my mind of a lady over 139 years ago sitting at a desk I suppose writing down those words I am reading now so many decates after, imagining what sprang out of her head and feeling maybe similiar emotions that she felt when thinking of it and writing it down.
It was always like this, already as a young child, that I imagine how things past might have been, how present turns to dust, how future times come along and with it the circle of life that erases us out of the picture of this world, most of us forgotten at one point and a few remembered, because of books or art and music and such.
My friends always call me odd, when I talk that way and be in a mood like that, so I just wondered, if you feel the world that way as well? How strong do you feel mortality? Are you often overcome with it?
Or in what way do you feel, when walking through the streets, when reading older books, even watching old TV-shows, looking at old paintings or other things you can find in museums or in old churches or in the notes of music composited long ago?
TerokNor
When I walk through a forest and touch the bark of tree I always wonder, who may have walked by it, when it was just a little thing with one leave on top...or maybe someone once came by picking up a little concer or whatever and put it there, hoping for it growing tall and mighty, yet never allowed to see it in life, as first the future generations would lie eyes on it.
When I walk down the old cobble-stone streets past the old walls of the town I always wonder who walked there before and who will in a hundred or so years of time.
Right now, when I was reading in Little Men (I feel guilty for that, should read the books for the thesis instead...) anyway...I was reading around in it, imagening the characters and there ways and observing the language she used and the society she describes and nearly started to cry, not so much for the book itself, but for the picture in my mind of a lady over 139 years ago sitting at a desk I suppose writing down those words I am reading now so many decates after, imagining what sprang out of her head and feeling maybe similiar emotions that she felt when thinking of it and writing it down.
It was always like this, already as a young child, that I imagine how things past might have been, how present turns to dust, how future times come along and with it the circle of life that erases us out of the picture of this world, most of us forgotten at one point and a few remembered, because of books or art and music and such.
My friends always call me odd, when I talk that way and be in a mood like that, so I just wondered, if you feel the world that way as well? How strong do you feel mortality? Are you often overcome with it?
Or in what way do you feel, when walking through the streets, when reading older books, even watching old TV-shows, looking at old paintings or other things you can find in museums or in old churches or in the notes of music composited long ago?
TerokNor
A most excellent plan.
