A kind of glory
door Prachtige Pjotr
Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the light of a man. It happens to nearly everyone. you can feel it growing or preparing like a fuse burning toward dynamite. It is a feeling in the stomach, a delight of the nerves, of the forearms. The skin tastes the air, and every deep-drawn breath is sweet. its beginning has the pleasure of a great stretching-yawn; it flashes in the brain and the whole world glows outside your eyes. A man may have lived all of his life in the gray, and the land an trees of him dark and somber. The events, even the important ones, may have trooped by faceless and pale. And then – the glory – so that a cricket song sweetens his ears, the smell of the earth rises chanting to his nose, and dappling light under a tree blesses his eyes. Then a man pours outward, a torrent of him, and yet he is not diminished. And I guess a man’s importance in the world can be measured by the quality and number of his glories. It is a lonely thing but it relates to the world. It is the mother of all creativeness, and it sets each man separate from all other men.
Uit: John Steinbeck, East of Eden