'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desesperation' said Thoreau in Walden. This is a hard phrase to face. Are we ever certain not to be part of that critical mass ?
Thoreau went to spend a year by a pond, in the forests of Massachusetts, to contemplate his own destiny. Was he any wiser after that ? At least, he learned basic survival skills without having to go through military training.
Walt Whitman walked across the United States, singing 'the Body Electric'. Did he get any fitter in the process ? He certainly got to bed a few companions on the way.
Ludwig II built his castles in the clouds of Bavaria and became prisoner of his own creation. He loved many, all in vain , was never understood and drowned in his own lake. Elisabeth was waiting on the other side, ready to help him escape. Did he know that ? How could he drown in such shallow waters, Ludwig, the swan-king ?
The Lohengrin of my dreams.
So much efforts, so much torments and turmoil, so many hopes and aspirations. You would think it's not even the result that matters most, but rather the permanent, mad, obstinate, violent pursuit of dreams and happiness, the tension towards the goal, l'elan plutot que le but, le desir plutot que la satisfaction.
Ultimately, it's all castles in the air.
And we bounce back on earth.
Or does anyone get to stay up-there, in seventh heaven?
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