Wednesday, June 16, 2010
'I am conscious of being on the outside of it: it actually makes me feel an intruder, someone who should not be here at all, should not be allowed to gaze upon you in this ineffable moment of sleep. Because here you are totally vulnerable, you have no protection against the world. Except the protection of you own self. Which, being so unfathomable, leaves you so naked that you may just as well have been peeled from your skin, a grape, a transparent fruit, light in the heart of light. And that is a mystery, for ever. And yet by falling asleep beside me, you have sanctioned, silently, this intrusion and this gaze. To sleep with someone can be more intimate than making love. It is a yielding, and a trust, that cannot be compared to anything else. You have granted me this. Can I ever be worthy of it? This is the moment I come closest to understanding something of that overused and misunderstood word: love.'
Excerpt from the novel 'Before I Forget' by André Brink. Aaah, this book.