Capitolo 43
with his/her first breath, bringing us on a deeper and stronger refluence
of the pain. We take a sight of articles familiarly used by a past
friend; they is identified with the small passages in his/her history, or with
his/her daily life: it is it possible that he is together and forever
done disconnect by them? They is the same; those perishable things,
those unworthy things comparatively, not having value to all except as
his/her use of it did them them precious, holds back their forms and places; but
where is it? and doesn't it have to return and does it have to bear, as them?
No, he has gone to heaven. The places that you/they knew him/it will know him/it no
forever. Those things that have an imperishable value in the being
associated with his/her memory, it is, to him as the leaves of a past
autumn to a tree now filled with flowers. The mention of every valued
possession once indescribably dear to him, it would wake up but it would disdain
emotions; also the recent history of the residence that he built and
furnished, it would be anybody more to him that the test to an adult person
of what was happened to a house of block or figure of card that
amused his/her infancy. We walk and we soothe in the places identified with ours
last memoirs of the past; but he is not there; we sanctify the
anniversary of his/her birth and death; but he gives us any recognition; us
reads his/her letters; they do them him to seem alive; his/her voice, his/her smile, his
love is there; and when we have ended, the nature, exhausted with his
crying, sighs "And where is it?"
He has gone to heaven. The terrestrial house of its tabernacle is also
dissolved; that part of him what from everybody was of what we was cognizant
our senses, are anybody more. We could not recognize him/it; to the earth, out of
what you/he/she was taken, it has, from slow degrees, returned,--as although each
what terrestrial, belonging to him, 'owes die of necessity, and is as spilt of water
on the earth that cannot be gathered on new.' We travel to his