Of leaves and Plato

Today, after a long time, I lived the wonderful sensation of reading a prose so powerful that I felt maybe this is the reason I'm still alive. Let me paraphrase Bradbury here who said, Art does not stop battles or feed the hungry. It does not solve our problems but then it doesn't have to. Because art gives us a reason to live on despite all that. That piece in case was Will Durant's preface to his second edition of The Story of Philosophy on which I quite accidentally lay my hands. I am yet to read the book but I recommend the prologue heavily to anyone who's ever felt his hands quiver when reading a paragraph so powerful that time ceases to exist and space contorts itself into nothing but those words.

If you've ever noticed a huge tree at the roadside and were jobless enough to think about it, you'll see that the leaves at the top bask in the glory of sun and rain but also suffer from the excess of breeze and the glare of the burning afternoon sun. Similarly, the leaves at the bottom are secure in that way but are the first ones to give in when some bystander decides to cure his itching hands by pulling out the leaves and the twigs. The leaves in the middle, those lucky folks, do not get a bidding of both extremes but what existence is life when one weren't to experience Rain and Sun or feel the miraculous touch of human fingers. Think about it.

There is nothing in the World worse than a bad teacher.