The pleasure of the labyrinth depends on one’s ability to risk everything to make it through, trust one’s instincts, find joy on the wall of the cul-de-sac during the interim as much as that of the secret rune uncovered in the structure’s center, haft of the double-ax. Keeping a journal, diary, log, notebook is much like navigating one’s way through the labyrinth, turning the new blank page as if turning a corner. I get word today from Bent that Pepys finally abandoned his journal on this day, May 31, 340 years ago, basing his reason on loss of sight. He records a final revel with friends at a pub called The World’s End, & rightly compares closing the diary for good with descending into the final underground chamber of the grave itself.
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