"for the eye sees not itselfBut by reflection, by some other things."
{Brutus to Cassius; Shakespeare’s
Julius Caesar}
That quote came back to me as I reflected on something a kindred soul said to me yesterday. We were catching up on readings and writings and in the context of discussing Mittelholzer’s work - his intense race experience and mental anguish in Guyana, I admitted that sometimes I forget the content of books that I’ve actually read closely at some point. I remember reading My Bones and My Flute but I still cannot remember the gist of it and fortunately my friend has a copy that I can borrow eventually.
What usually stays within my consciousness is material that connects to a corresponding experience in my life. Sometimes I try to excuse my amnesia by saying that it’s because I’ve read too many books without spending a lot of time on them. My friend suggested that it could be because I’m too cerebral when I read, that I must experience the work, not hash it to pieces with over-analysis. I take that reflection to heart because I do feel that I am missing out on a lot by skimming through books without experiencing them fully. I considered my friend’s reflection for what I can do to improve my reading experience.
The danger to approach a piece of work like a text comes from seeking out the elements, techniques and themes and the marriage of it all, so that you can share it with your fellow students. But that approach does not need to creep into every piece of literature. While that has been a way that I absolutely ENJOY approaching a work - be it literature or film - I see it’s time to grow in another direction (not with the intention of completely dismissing ‘my cerebral approach’ because at some point in time my fellow students seek out some guidance).
Yes, even at this stage of my journey I have yet to mature in my spectator engagement with the written word.
So thank you, friend. Considering some other wise suggestions coming from your direction, kindred soul, I feel that I left our meeting with much insight.
Namaste.
That quote came back to me as I reflected on something a kindred soul said to me yesterday. We were catching up on readings and writings and in the context of discussing Mittelholzer’s work - his intense race experience and mental anguish in Guyana, I admitted that sometimes I forget the content of books that I’ve actually read closely at some point. I remember reading My Bones and My Flute but I still cannot remember the gist of it and fortunately my friend has a copy that I can borrow eventually.
What usually stays within my consciousness is material that connects to a corresponding experience in my life. Sometimes I try to excuse my amnesia by saying that it’s because I’ve read too many books without spending a lot of time on them. My friend suggested that it could be because I’m too cerebral when I read, that I must experience the work, not hash it to pieces with over-analysis. I take that reflection to heart because I do feel that I am missing out on a lot by skimming through books without experiencing them fully. I considered my friend’s reflection for what I can do to improve my reading experience.
The danger to approach a piece of work like a text comes from seeking out the elements, techniques and themes and the marriage of it all, so that you can share it with your fellow students. But that approach does not need to creep into every piece of literature. While that has been a way that I absolutely ENJOY approaching a work - be it literature or film - I see it’s time to grow in another direction (not with the intention of completely dismissing ‘my cerebral approach’ because at some point in time my fellow students seek out some guidance).
Yes, even at this stage of my journey I have yet to mature in my spectator engagement with the written word.
So thank you, friend. Considering some other wise suggestions coming from your direction, kindred soul, I feel that I left our meeting with much insight.
Namaste.
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