Aug 11th Journal excerpts

For some reason these past few days, I have found myself drawn to an older book called ‘The Best Known Works of Voltaire’. Childish stories really, simplistic, almost akin to Aesops fables, and each story has a character which travels all over their known world, for love, wisdom, or fear of persecution as a result of love. I read the stories with a light heart, and at each mention of a place name, I allow my imagination to travel there and conjure images that I associate with each said locale. Zadig travels the Middle East, the Princess of Babylon chases Amazan to China, Europe, Russia etc... Candide finds himself walking from Buenos Aires to El Dorado the land of dreams, across what we now know as the Amazon Jungle and river. In allowing myself to conjure up the images which the characters are facing, I see myself in great conversations with the Pharaohs of Egypt in palaces replete with crocodiles and mummies. Or perhaps I am in the great bedroom chambers of the palace in Babylon, and at the next turn of the page I am fighting cannibals and wandering about a city of gold. Truly, as I sit here looking at one of the most fabulous views in this great world, I can’t help but feel like an armchair traveler. Perchance a son or daughter of a previous lightkeeper sat in this very spot reading this same book, thinking the same things. I feel as if I shall never waste my time trying to be the first at something, instead I would rather share these moments across time. Standing in others footsteps and for the briefest of moments experiencing the same exact feeling beyond the constraints of time. I pretend in my mind that Thomas Johnson would agree.
Helene, my patron saint of Patos, and Thomas my patron of Turn Point. In truth I know nothing or very little about either. I just know e have shared the same emotions.
In 4 days is the anniversary of my grandfathers death. I do miss him, and there is so much I didn’t know about him. I really only knew his love, is that enough to say you know someone? Does everything else become trivial when you know someone only through their love, regardless of how perfect or imperfect it may be. I watch the last of the sunlight fade, and I allow the tears to wash over me like memories.