Just a light little read about life, death, time, eternity and meaning. Seriously.

Life is a beautiful journey filled with countless experiences, joys, and sorrows. We are constantly evolving and growing, learning from our mistakes and making memories that will last a lifetime.

Death, on the other hand, is an inevitable part of life. It is the end of our physical existence, but it does not mean the end of our spirit or our legacy.

Time is a precious commodity that we often take for granted. We rush through our days, not realizing that every moment is a gift. Eternity, on the other hand, is a concept that is difficult for us to comprehend. It is the idea of an infinite amount of time, a place where there is no beginning or end.

The meaning of life is a question that has been asked throughout history. Some people believe that the meaning of life is to find happiness and fulfillment, while others believe that it is to make a difference in the world.

In conclusion, life, death, time, eternity, and meaning are all complex and profound topics that require us to think deeply and reflect on our own experiences. By doing so, we can gain a better understanding of ourselves and the world around us.

Dillard has a remarkable ability to engage her readers, and that's precisely why I hold her in such high regard. She skillfully combines elements of history and philosophy in a conversational tone, which, for me, mitigates the otherwise overwhelming sense of nihilism. Strangely enough, after reading her work, I found myself feeling inspired. Even though the content may not be exactly to my initial taste - at least in terms of what I typically enjoy reading - I truly appreciate the way Dillard presents it all here. Her writing style is captivating, and it draws the reader in, making them want to explore the ideas she presents. It's as if she has a unique way of making even the most complex and potentially daunting topics accessible and interesting. I look forward to delving deeper into her works and seeing what other treasures she has in store for her readers.

This is the very first Annie Dillard book that I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

I found myself completely engrossed in it from the very beginning, so much so that I read it in a single sitting.

The moment I finished it, I knew without a doubt that I would go on to read the rest of her books.

Annie Dillard's writing style is truly captivating. Her words seem to dance off the page, painting vivid pictures in my mind and evoking a wide range of emotions.

Each sentence is carefully crafted, filled with depth and meaning.

I can't wait to explore more of her works and see what other literary treasures she has in store for me.

It's rare to come across an author who can have such an immediate and profound impact on me, but Annie Dillard has definitely achieved that with this book.

I'm excited to embark on this literary journey and discover all the wonderful things that lie ahead in her other books.

Opophenia, a work that is tender, exacting, and brilliant.

I decided to read this particular piece because Maggie Nelson included it in her top 10 favorite books.

Dillard's mind has a profound impact on me, as if it "knaps me around."

The tenderness in Opophenia can be felt in the细腻的描写 and the gentle exploration of emotions.

It is exacting in its precision and attention to detail, leaving no stone unturned in its pursuit of truth and beauty.

And the brilliance shines through in the unique perspectives and the masterful use of language.

Reading Opophenia is like embarking on a journey through a complex and captivating mind, one that challenges and inspires me at every turn.

It makes me think deeply about life, love, and the human experience.

Overall, it is a remarkable work that I am glad to have discovered through Maggie Nelson's recommendation.

I've relocated so frequently that I've nearly given away all my books. However, this is one that I've managed to save.

Strangely enough, I've lost it twice and replaced it twice. I can't recall the last time I opened it, yet I have this sense that I would be truly lost without it.

Once upon a time, this book served as my remedy for anxiety. Whenever I was overcome by it, I would randomly open the book and read until I started to feel better.

On one hand, it firmly affirms the uniqueness and wonder that exists within all things. On the other hand, it also reminds us just how insignificantly small we are in our vast universe filled with mind-boggling numbers.

Both of these themes are developed in a rather roundabout fashion, through approximately a dozen subjects that Dillard repeatedly delves into - birth, China, clouds, thinker, and so on. She examines them from various different angles in her distinctively offbeat and somewhat unsettling way.

Admittedly, some parts of the book can seem to drag, and many people might detest the book as a whole. The first time I picked it up, I put it down after just a few pages. But for some reason, something compelled me to open it again, and I'm truly glad that I did.

This is without a doubt one of the most intriguing, thought-provoking, and beautifully written books that I've ever read, penned by one of our most eccentric living authors.

This book, in comparison to The Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, didn't have an immediate impact. However, it combines Dillard's intense curiosity for scientific facts, especially anomalous cases, and religious history into a lyrical and beautiful prose style.

It seems to truly reflect the wonder and awe she discovers in nature and life. I envision Dillard as a writer who spends countless hours poring over extremely dense histories and scientific textbooks. Only to extract exquisite details that she transforms into poetic insights about the human condition.

Even if this isn't her actual working method, what is certain is the amount of herself that Dillard infuses into her prose. She desires readers to face her uncertainties as well as her convictions, and she exposes them openly.

She also succeeds in the meticulous craftsmanship that such lyrical writing requires. Here, she employs 7 chapters, which is hardly a coincidental number considering how deeply this book is invested in ideas related to creation, birth, and existence.

She divides each chapter into topic headings, always beginning with "birth" and ending with "now." It is an incredible way to organize such extensive amounts of information and enable the reader to catch a glimpse of patterns that might not have emerged otherwise.

I highly recommend this book, and even more so, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Annie Dillard is one of my favorite writers. Reading her truly gives the feeling that you are encountering someone who has to write to make sense of her world.

We are the civilized generation number approximately 500, if we count from 10,000 years ago when our ancestors settled down.

We are also the Homo Sapiens generation number 7,500, starting from 150,000 years ago when our species presumably emerged.

Moreover, we are the human generation number 125,000, when counted from the earliest Homo species.

However, how can we view ourselves as merely a short-term replacement cast for a long-running show?

When a new batch of birds flutters around singing beautifully, and new clouds gracefully move across the sky.

Living things, from hyenas to bacteria, whisk the dead away just like stagehands hurriedly hustling props between scenes.

To ensure the longevity of our living space while we inhabit it, we brush or haul away the blown sand and hack or burn the greenery.

We are constantly mowing the grass at the cutting edge, striving to maintain and shape our environment.

This is our role in the grand theater of life, constantly evolving and adapting to the ever-changing stage.

Brilliant as she is, she seems to be less respectful of the non-Dillard element of reality than I recall.

Nevertheless, I am extremely glad that she writes. She has a remarkable ability to observe the world around her with a keen eye.

She is also an avid reader, which enriches her knowledge and perspective.

Her understanding of various subjects is truly impressive.

In fact, she can be considered a philosophical genius.

Her works often delve deep into the human condition and the nature of reality, offering profound insights and thought-provoking ideas.

Although there may be some aspects of her writing that I find less than perfect, I still highly value her contributions to the literary world.

Her unique voice and perspective make her a truly remarkable writer.

I look forward to reading more of her works in the future and seeing how her ideas continue to evolve.

This was my first encounter with a book by Dillard, and I was filled with excitement as I embarked on the reading journey.

The book is a compilation of short essays and stories. Her language is truly beautiful, flowing like a gentle river. However, the topics and her unique way of presenting them failed to capture my interest completely.

There were indeed some shining moments of beauty scattered throughout the text, but for the most part, I didn't find the reading experience enjoyable. It seemed that the book delved too deeply into the realm of religion for my personal taste.

After reaching approximately 80 pages, I made the decision to put it aside. I suppose it simply wasn't the right fit for me at this time. Nevertheless, I still have the intention of exploring some of her other works in the future.

I believe that each of her books may offer a different perspective and perhaps one of them will resonate with me more strongly.

An English journalist, while observing the Sisters of Charity in Calcutta, came to a profound reasoning.

He thought that either life is always and in all circumstances sacred, or it is intrinsically of no account.

It is truly inconceivable that life could be in some cases regarded as sacred and in some other cases as having no value at all.

This simple yet powerful statement makes us deeply reflect on the nature and significance of life.

Do we really believe that life is always sacred, no matter what the situation?

Or do we sometimes make exceptions and devalue certain lives?

The Sisters of Charity, with their selfless dedication and care for the poorest of the poor, seem to uphold the belief that every life is precious and worthy of respect.

Perhaps we can learn from them and strive to see the sacredness in every life we encounter.

To define is to kill. To suggest is to create.
― Stéphane Mallarmé

Ours is a planet sown in beings. Our generations overlap like shingles. We don't fall in rows like hay, but we fall. Once we get here, we spend forever on the globe, most of it tucked under. While we breathe, we open time like a path in the grass. We open time as a boat's stem slits the crest of the present. (Dillard, pg. 203).

If the quote by Stephane Mallarme' is true (and I firmly believe it is), then Annie Dillard, in this richly suggestive and allusive effort, emerges as a creator of the highest caliber. In "For the Time Being," Ms. Dillard weaves, or rather suggests, the links between strands of thought as diverse as that of Teilhard de Chardin, the Jesuit scholar who discovered Peking Man; the Buddha, whose thoughts on transitoriness pervade much of the book; rabbinic scholar Isaac Luria (1534–1572), whose defining work in Jewish mysticism (Kabbalah) is a crucial refrain in the book's discourse; Annie Dillard herself on a sabbatical in the Holy Land, providing insights into the debasement of Christianity in that location; and, in a final episode that sums up the 'journey' with wonder and joy, Suri Feldman, a Hasidic girl who went missing in the forests of Connecticut at the time of the book's writing. Her discovery by hordes of Hasidic men, who, illustrating the idea that God needs man to 'heal' the world (make it complete), danced ecstatically upon her saving, is the climax of this rather discursive yet thoroughly enjoyable series of essays and quotes.

A book of ideas (and episodes, and quotes, and wonderful vignettes), "For the Time Being" concerns itself with the weighty issues that are the essence of all great art. But this concern is not tedious or solemn or staid; instead, it is joyous, life-filled, rhapsodic, and revelatory. It also, in its ultimate message, embraces the volition and autonomy of man in a Universe that is the embodiment and personification of the Divine. However, this constant and complete presence of the Divine in the Universe (an idea from de Chardin's work) does not enervate man, for God, being constrained by the 'rules' of the Universe, deeply needs man. As Rabbi Laurence Kushner (quoted near the end of the work) states: "God does not have hands, we do. Our hands are God's. It is up to us what God will see and hear, up to us, what God will do. Humanity is the organ of consciousness of the Universe... Without our eyes, the Holy one of Being would be blind." (Dillard, pg. 196). Crystalizing here the essentiality of "Christ Consciousness" (or 'Buddha-consciousness,' or 'Allah-consciousness,' or 'Yahweh-consciousness'), Dillard points towards a profound truth that all the episodes, factoids, stories, data, and scenarios of the book were employed to prove: that man is the measure of all things (humanism), but that in the background, and, in fact, in the foreground, exists a world infused with spirit/God, a world that is the true substance of religion. Such mysticism is rarely 'proven' by such spirited and masterful language (one thinks of Whitman, Eliot, or Thoreau as notable exceptions), but here, in Dillard's capable hands, profound truths are couched in a form that reinforces the nature of these very truths. Thus a twinning of form and content exists in this wonderful work, which goes a long way in making "For the Time Being" a more than memorable reading experience. Clearly, Dillard, by'suggesting,' has 'created' a notable work of profound meaning. This book is thus highly recommended to all 'Pilgrims' on a spiritual journey in this world of sorrow and of joy (and of God).

I still can't quite explain this book. I thought I was getting closer to understanding, but then this found poem showed up instead.

We can still leave our marks in a path whose end remains unknown. The solitudes have the power to move us. Souls can offer assistance to one another. Buddhism makes the point that it's always a mistake to think your soul can go it alone. Does anyone truly believe the galaxies exist just to add splendor to the night sky over Bethlehem?

"The immense hazard and the immense blindness of the world," he wrote, "are only an illusion." "Throughout my whole life," he noted later, "during every single minute of it, the world has been gradually lighting up and blazing before my eyes until it has come to surround me, entirely illuminated from within."

The blue light of the television flickers on the cave wall. If the person crawls out of the cave, what does he see? Not the sun itself, but rather night, and the two thousand visible stars. There was a blue baby-shaped bunch of cells between the two hands of Dr. C. Lamont MacMillan, and then there was a person who had a name and a birthday, just like the rest of us. Genetically, she carried precisely one of the 8.4 million possible mixes of her mother's and father's genes, again, like the rest of us. On December 1, 1931, Anna MacRae came to life.

Once, I attempted to have a conversation with him, the person who crawled out of his blue-lit cave into the real world. He had delved into the matter of God. He had to shout to be heard: "How do you stand the wind out here?" I don't. Not for long. I drive a schoolkids' car pool. I shouted back, "I don't! I read Consumer Reports every month!" It seemed unlikely that he heard me. The wind blew into his face. He turned and faced the lee. I don't know how long he stayed out. A little at a time is enough for me - a little every day.

She came to life. How many centuries would you have to live before this, and thousands of similar incidents every day, ceased to astonish you?

"The more I work, the more I see things differently," he said, "that is, everything gains in grandeur every day, becomes more and more unknown, more and more beautiful. The closer I come, the grander it is, the more remote it is."

There are approximately a billion more people alive now than there are years since our sun condensed from interstellar gas. Among the major religions, only Buddhism and Taoism unflinchingly embrace the universe - the universe "granulated," as astronomers put it, into galaxies.

It's a weakening and discoloring idea that rustic people once knew God personally - or even knew selflessness or courage or literature - but that it's too late for us. In fact, the absolute is accessible to everyone in every age. There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less. On the dry Laetoli plain of northern Tanzania, Mary Leakey discovered a trail of hominid footprints. They walked on moist volcanic tuff and ash. We have a record of those few seconds from a day about 3.6 million years ago - more ash covered the footprints and hardened like plaster. Ash also preserved the pockmarks of the raindrops that fell beside the three who walked: it was a rainy day. They understand that the grand coincidence brings us together, upright and within earshot, in this flickering generation of human life on this durable planet.

Sometimes along the way, dazzlingly or dimly, he reveals an edge of himself to souls who seek him, and the people who carry those souls, in wonder, know it, and see the skies carousing around them, and watch cells stream and multiply in green leaves. We live in all we seek. The hidden shows up in too-plain sight. It lives captive on the face of the obvious - the people, events, and things of the day - to which we, as sophisticated children, have long since become oblivious. What a hideout: Holiness lies spread and borne over the surface of time and stuff like color.

When one of his Hasids complained about God's hiddenness, Rabbi Pinhas said, "It ceases to be a hiding if you know it is hiding." But it does not cease to hide, not ever, not under any circumstance, for anyone. Teilhard's own vitality still thrived on apparent paradox. The man who said that his thirty months on the front in the war had made him "very mystical and very realistic" now wrote from his blue tent in Mongolia that "rain, storms and dust and icy winds have only whipped up my blood and brought me rest."

We who were awake were a multitude trampling the continents for our day in the light - feeling our lives and stirring about, building a better world a little, or not - and soon the continents would roll us under, and new sets of people would trample us. I saw a beached red dory. I could take the red dory, row out to the guy, and say: Sir. You have found a place where the sky dips close. May I borrow your maul? Your maul and your wedge? Because, I thought, I too could hammer the sky - crack it at one blow, split it at the next - and inquire, shouting at God the compassionate, the all-merciful, WHAT'S with the bird-headed dwarfs?

We are the 500th or so civilized generation, counting from 10,000 years ago when we settled down. We are the 7,500th Homo sapiens generation, counting from 150,000 years ago when our species presumably emerged. And we are the 125,000th human generation, counting from the earliest Homo species.

Insofar as he cultivates and enjoys them in holiness, he frees their souls.... He who prays and sings in holiness, eats and speaks in holiness, in holiness performs the appointed ablutions, and in holiness reflects upon his business, through him the sparks which have fallen will be uplifted, and the worlds which have fallen will be delivered and renewed. "It is given to men to lift up the fallen and to free the imprisoned. Not merely to wait, not merely to look on! Man is able to work for the redemption of the world." The work is not yours to finish, Rabbi Tarfon said, but neither are you free to take no part in it.