*Vingilote

The mind is its own place, and in it self
Can make a Heav'n of Hell, a Hell of Heav'n.
What matter where, if I be still the same,
And what I should be, all but less then hee
Whom Thunder hath made greater?*

--Paradise Lost

I recently returned to an old book-friend of mine, Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being. It's been four or five years since we spoke last, because I hadn't invited him to a permanent spot in my bookshelf. For some reason, probably because things are very strange for me right now, I found myself thinking about this book-friend more and more, and I finally picked up my phone and arranged to see him again.

I was aware that this book-friend had a noticeable influence on my thinking. We have a complicated history, which begins with fascination and repulsion, all mixed together, when I first discovered him in Japan. I've known for quite a while that there are maybe a dozen or two dozen motifs or ideas that the book-friend gave me that I see in my own life pretty regularly. I can't stand in a high place or listen to Beethoven without recalling him, even though it's been years since I saw him last. What I didn't know is how much of my thinking is similar to his thinking. Almost every page has me wondering why it is that my life has proceeded the way it has since I met him. Is he just my soulmate, one of those rare book-friends who shares most of my worldview? That seems most likely. Still, it is possible that some of the decisions I have made have subconsciously drawn upon him, pattering my own life according to his themes.

*Disclaimer: Following the above reasoning, according to Milton, might make us like fallen angels resigning themselves to live in hell. Oh well.