Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Timed Writing: 1/29/2012


Time: 10 minutes
Prompt: Gazing at this frail relic
Source: Jules Verne, In Search of the Castaways


Gazing at this frail relic in my hand, I cannot but question its authenticity. All my life I've lived by faith, chosen to believe those things that serve to strengthen my devotion to the path. I have always sought just such devices as this to reinforce my commitment and to provide me with a point on which to focus my meditations. And yet... the events of the past week have shaken me so profoundly that even this holy object, imbued as I had believed it to be, with the aromas of the gods, is now suspect. I cannot touch it or look at it without noting how much the matter of which it is composed resembles all other matter. Is this evidence of the inadequacy of my faith, that I can see this, the choicest prize of the devout, as naught else but a clay jar from which any peasant or beggar might eat, had it not been locked behind the most secure of gates and secreted below the deepest of dungeons? This vessel, this crude container, is the symbol of all of my life's work, and now that I possess it, I confess that my life seems to have been wasted.


(about my timed writing exercises)


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