Mystery

“Some have entirely forgotten the lost heritage and the mystery of their abandonment; their games absorbed them, they have become gamblers, they have theories of chance, their talk is all of Progress of one sort or another. They forget the great mystery of life. We tramps and wanderers remember.”

“The town is one large house of which all the little houses are rooms.
The streets are the stairs. Those who live always in the town are
never out of doors even if they do take the air in the streets.”

“Then the spirit drove me into the wilderness to my mountains and
valleys, by the side of the great sea and by the haunted forests. Once
more the vast dome of heaven became the roof of my house, and within
the house was rebuilded that which my soul called beautiful. There I
refound my God, and my being re-expressed itself to itself in terms of
eternal Mysteries. I vowed I should never again belong to the town.”

“I never knew in advance where I should make my night couch; for I was Nature’s guest
and my hostess kept her little secrets. Each night a new secret was
opened, and in the secret lay some pleasant mystery.”

from “A Tramp’s Sketches” by Stephen Graham, a guy who hunded years ago was a tramp in Caucasus. His writings are like medicine healing the sadness being once in a while back in what they call civilization. I am back in Tbilisi, suffocating of cars, dust and noise. Will escape soon. Mountains are close.

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