One of the pleasures I find these days is reminiscing alone or with others about times gone by. A particularly fond memory is from when I was younger, cycling home on a summer day. I happened to encounter a celebrated cycling time-trial champion, someone who had once held every record from 25 miles to 12 hours. We struck up a conversation as the comradeship of cycling decreed, and rode together for many miles at a steady pace of over 20 mph, a speed I was familiar with from years of competing in local club races.
Eventually, he began to increase the pace to nearly 30 mph. After a few miles, I made an excuse to turn off onto a side road, where I collapsed on the grass verge. It was a wonderful moment, lying there in the quiet solitude of the countryside, with only the rustling trees and birdsong for company. In those moments, that was my simple, entire life. I wished it could have lasted forever, that such moments could have become my life thereafter.
But it was not to be. I soon returned to a world of hatred, obscure thoughts and abstract ideas, a world where I sought certainty and understanding, often at the cost of others' suffering. It took years for me to recall that moment and others like it, especially after the most traumatic event of my life: the unexpected death of my mother. This event was the genesis of my worldview of empathy and compassion.
Mea Culpa; Mea Maxima Culpa. But even now, saying that and Kyrie Eleison out loud does not help. In these years of my life, there seems to be no expiation for my past extremism and hubris.
Eventually, he began to increase the pace to nearly 30 mph. After a few miles, I made an excuse to turn off onto a side road, where I collapsed on the grass verge. It was a wonderful moment, lying there in the quiet solitude of the countryside, with only the rustling trees and birdsong for company. In those moments, that was my simple, entire life. I wished it could have lasted forever, that such moments could have become my life thereafter.
But it was not to be. I soon returned to a world of hatred, obscure thoughts and abstract ideas, a world where I sought certainty and understanding, often at the cost of others' suffering. It took years for me to recall that moment and others like it, especially after the most traumatic event of my life: the unexpected death of my mother. This event was the genesis of my worldview of empathy and compassion.
Mea Culpa; Mea Maxima Culpa. But even now, saying that and Kyrie Eleison out loud does not help. In these years of my life, there seems to be no expiation for my past extremism and hubris.
