I’m sure we all wrestle with internal issues, but none is worse for me than the feeling when finishing a good book.
I hate it and I love it at the same time, I wan to rush down the street while “I’ve got a golden ticket” plays from some unseen loudspeaker. But at the same time I want an Evita like funeral procession for the loss of my newest and most treasured friend. It’s these moments in life that make me happy to be sentient. I think not being able to agree, even with myself, about how I feel is one of the most beautiful mysteries in life. Why is it so sad and yet so wonderful? The characters I have come to know so intimately will live on forever in the printed word, yet I will never know the joy of reading it fresh again. Never again will the death of the professor or Luna’s freedom make me feel so much at once.
And again I am happy, because only our species can feel such passion for something that has never tangibly existed. Yes the ideas and even efforts of Libertarian revolutions have coded, sliped down from balconies and through back rooms; and yes, real humans have expressed feelings and died for more than the words in on the pages of my recently departed friend… but to be able to feel for something that exists in only the metaphorical sense of the word is something that I feel truly blessed (blessed in an unreligious sense) to be able to experience.
When was the last time you felt like that? When was the last time you mourned so loudly that your heart grew larger? Or you touched something so cold that your flesh burned?
Thanks Heinlein, (I grok you) for filling my spirit to the brim by using your words as a tool to carve the most beautiful images into “realities.” I will go out today, head filled with visions of star freedom, blood secured and eyes shut forever with such resonance that the Earth will echo cold when it is dimmed.
“There Ain’t No Such Thing As A Free Lunch!”