The Books of Sebastian Selaš
In the evenings I would sit in the pale waning light, and think of books or photographs that had made impressions on me throughout my life. A word would appear in my thoughts and I would smile as it unfolded into lists of names and things to do while I was waiting for god to pass by.
My name was Sebastian Selaš and I lived for many reasons; once an avid admirer of Tolstoy.
As an interested listener I picked up much and argued little about life, except when Gretel my long and grateful partner died. Then I became bitter, because I had not argued enough with her. That she had not learnt to break her timid silence with words of vibrant expression, that she fought so hard to grasp.
I had visions of her returning from that place of deepest rest for many weeks after. But she never came, and never spoke of the things that she held so dear in her heart. I knew her well though, and my heart is beside hers now, even as much as of what I speak is now a memory of my former self.
There was more than just the articulation of life to fill my thoughts of an evening, and god was my most desired recipient of such musings.
I misunderstood him once and my life was gone before my eyes. I had tempted myself with too many questions, and in my eagerness failed to listen to the answers given. For I did not believe for one minute that he had heard me. It was in fact I who had not heard him as I stood on the ledge looking at the street below.
‘Sebastian’
I now remember him saying.
‘Jump and you die. Live, and you remain wakeful. But don’t jump for the sake of answering your questions, for they must answer themselves in time.’
But my thoughts were elsewhere, and I understood only that I had a choice to make.
Tolstoy had once said:
‘..everything is just an illusion of the mind. The spirit lives on while the heart shrivels and dies.’
Of course now that I think of the meaning of those words, I’m sure that if I had decided to return to my quiet evenings, I would have discovered a solution to it all. Understood not only the photographs, but the books and the phrases that I had so sought to impress myself with.
In all fairness I was right to do what I did , because now I no longer feel the winter chill.
