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sketch of a sketch of the world

March 25, 2011

A man had to realize his life’s work, a work built like a house. He began by erecting a scaffold.

To build the scaffold, he needed further preparations and other scaffolds.

Many of these preparations and other scaffolds required their own long retrogressions, all kinds of constructions and demanding efforts.

Efforts that consumed his days, while time flew by.

Time flew by; already one could see the approach of death, and the work still distant.

Yes, now, the man was farther from the scaffolding for the work than he had been from the work itself at the beginning… And yet he had spent his entire life in ceaseless efforts.

Death was near, time was of the essence.

Then the man found, without knowing it, or merely suspecting it, a word; perhaps the word even uttered itself; and from the paths that the man had taken, on its own, the work was accomplished.

Was it a house?

Some, later, would call it a house.

And that was the only house there has ever been.

Ludwig Hohl
translated by Michael Tweed

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One Comment leave one →
  1. April 4, 2011 12:10 pm

    My dear old Nanny died this morning, and so this post sits quite tenderly with me at the moment. Thank you for translating it. The houses we build, the paths we take, the meaning of it all, the realization of it. Beautiful. Blessings and peace to you.

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