Sonntag, Dezember 18, 2005


It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me...

A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back dawn with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he never will know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works every day in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd. But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory.
There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy.
This word is not too much.
Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes to insistent, it happens that melancholy rises in man's heart: this is the rock's victory, this is the rock itself.
These are our nights of Gethsemane...

But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged.

I wish you all a good new week!


Blogger sirreene said...

You provide us with so much. Thank you.

2:59 vorm.  
Blogger castor said...

to Sirreene:
I hope you enjoy it! :-)

6:47 vorm.  

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