I'm sitting in silent awe. Unsure of what, if anything I could write.
This captures so succinctly something I've seemingly felt for centuries. A sense I've once seen, wrote about, could have reached out and tasted...and yet here has been perfectly articulated by someone else.
Much love to all of us. Each and every piece of cloudlight and sky.
Toska. Mr. Nabokov's translation of the Russian term "toska":
ReplyDelete"No single word in English renders all the shades of toska. At its deepest and most painful, it is a sensation of great spiritual anguish, often without any specific cause. At less morbid levels it is a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for, a sick pining, a vague restlessness, mental throes, yearning. In particular cases it may be the desire for somebody of something specific, nostalgia, love-sickness. At the lowest level it grades into ennui, boredom."