01/02/2025
Suffering is one long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain. For us there is only one season, the season of Sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey. It is always twilight in one’s cell, as it is always midnight in one’s heart.
What earthly delight endures unmingled with grief? What glory remains without passing? All things are more shallow that shadows, more deluding than dreams. A single moment and all are effaced by death.
I weep and lament when I consider death and when I think of those who are laid in the grave. Where are those glorious creatures who were created by the Divine? O what a strange mystery! Why are we delivered up to corruption? How did death come into our lives? Alone by the will power of the Universe can we be granted peace and rest to our souls.
