The past is never dead. It's not even past. All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and enviroment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity. Haunted by wrong turns and roads not taken, we pursue images percieved as new but those provenance dates to the dim dramas of childhood, which are themselves but ripples of consequence echoing down the generations. The quotidian demands of life distract from this resonance of images and events, but some of us feel it always.
From "The Quiet Game"
By Greg Isles |
