Crap!

So much to say, so little desire to say it.

Every time I see my blogs, I think crap. I really should write something.

Bounded

In a new country, amid new conditions, Prince Andrew found life easier to bear. after his betrothed had broken faith with him - which he felt the more acutely the more he tried to conceal its effects - the surroundings in which he had been happy became trying to him, and the freedom and independence he had once prized so highly were still more so. Not only could he no longer think the thoughts that had first come to him as he lay gazing at the sky on the field of Austerlitz and had later enlarged upon with Pierre and which had filled his solitude at Bogucharovo and then in Switzerland and Rome, but he even dreaded to recall them and the bright and boundless horizons they had revealed. He was now concerned only with the nearest practical matters unrelated to his past interests and he seized on these the more eagerly the more those past interests were closed to him. It was as if that lofty, infinite canopy of heaven that had once towered above him had suddenly turned into a low , solid vault that weighted him down, in which all was clear, but nothing eternal or mysterious.

How often have I felt this way? I find myself frustrated with Prince Andrews many swings. Just as he seems about to touch something significant and larger than himself, something sends him back to the base life of the crust of the earth. Yet this passage rings so true to me. Those great experiences of the boundless Eternity seems so easily eclipsed by the daily work of living.