I always seem to read Henry Miller when I come to a crossroads or defining moment in my life. Each book of The Rosy Crucifixion has taken me down a different path and provided for me a different kind of enlightenment. In between the rambling mess of character portraits and sexual encounters hides these brilliant moments of clarity. It's like getting punched in the face for fun. This last book sees Henry Miller struggling to reconcile his life with his art, and he has all but given up, at this point. I, too, waffle, waver, second-guess, and submit to the hand I've been dealt. At least, I have been following that particular path, recently. It leads somewhere between grand plans and grand failures, and it is easy to feel caught up in the muck. I'm back here, writing again, because something is tugging at the heartstrings and the tendons again. In Nexus, and in myself, there is a drastic push toward freedom, even when it feels unattainable.
Most recently, I was struck by the following quote: "By day the graveyard of senseless sweat and toil; by night the cemetery of love and despair." Miller is speaking, of course, about the worker "ants" that struggle with their hated jobs by day and only find comfort in the arms of another person, or in their own misery. Either way, he equates meaningless work with death. I hear you, loud and clear, Mr. Miller. Right down to the grandiose notion that, having been there himself, he is perhaps most qualified to speak directly to those "ants" and comfort them with his writing. I wouldn't exactly call it a comfort, but there is beauty in shared pain and struggling, even if the sharing is based solely on false perception and projection onto Miller's characters.
For better or worse, I had the urge to write again, both in my blogs and in paper journals. I am always seeking solutions and inspiration. ...and besides, I have a giant bookshelf that needs some love and attention.
