I ran across this a bit back. Now and again, I've been re-reading it, chewing on it as I usually do with such items. I remain unsure as to what I think about it. I certainly respond to its honesty. I relate fully to some of its content; to other, not as much. And, given that it is, after all, Hurston, I think it's beautifully written.
Aside: Their Eyes Were Watching God. Stack it near the top of your bedside table queue.
What strikes me most, though, is the raw good. The brutal bad. The bruise of sin and the banner of saint. The truth that relationship is hard - most largely because we arrive broken, live redeemed, and die (hopefully) refined. Somewhere exit left on that life freeway, endings become necessary. Enemies may result. Joy will be tainted by stretches of selfishness. In that way, I suppose it really is living.
Still, as for me and my house, we'll be tossing the tongs. Too much of that living just ain't worth the burn.
What thinks you?
I have known the joy and pain of friendship. I have served and been served. I have made some good enemies for which I am not a bit sorry. I have loved unselfishly, and I have fondled hatred with the red-hot tongs of hell. That's living.
Zora Neale Hurston
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