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Nexus: A Brief Hi...
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The Fabric of Rea...
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Jonathan Safran Foer
I wish I were a poet. I've never confessed that to anyone, and I'm confessing it to you, because you've given me reason to feel that I can trust you. I've spent my life observing the universe, mostly in my mind's eye. It's been a tremendously rewarding life, a wonderful life. I've been able to explore the origins of time and space with some of the great living thinkers. But I wish I were a poet.
Albert Einstein, a hero of mine, once wrote, 'Our situation is the following. We are standing in front of a closed box which we cannot open.'
I'm sure I don't have to tell you that the vast majority of the universe is composed of dark matter. The fragile balance depends on things we'll never be able to see, hear, smell, taste, or touch. Life itself depends on them. What's real? What isn't real? Maybe those aren't the right questions to be asking. What does life depend on?
I wish I had made things for life to depend on.

Jonathan Safran Foer

Jonathan Safran Foer
“This is love, she thought, isn't it? When you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?”
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

Norman Erikson Pasaribu
“Ia dan Pohon

Siang itu ia meminta maaf kepada satu-satunya pohon
di tepi lahan parkir kantornya, yang memayungi mobilnya
dari terik. Ia minta maaf untuk kakeknya yang adalah
pengusaha kebun sawit, untuk keluarga mereka yang
turun-temurun meyakini seorang tukang kayu sebagai anak tuhan.
Pohon itu meratap, teringat dengan kawannya
yang dicabut dari tanah ketika mereka kanak-kanak,
dengan alasan “terlalu dekat dengan bangunan”. Dari kejauhan
mereka biasa saling tatap dan berkedip, dan berpikir ketika
dewasa kelak dan burung atau kupu-kupu mulai hinggap sebentar
pada cabang serta pucuk mereka, mereka bisa saling menitipkan pesan.
Pohon itu menyesali tak sempatnya ia mengatakan
ia mencintai kawannya itu; ia ingin membawa kawannya itu
ke gereja, dan di depan altar mereka bisa dipersatukan di
hadapan tuhan yang bercabang tiga—seperti pohon—
dan anak-anak mereka bisa memenuhi lahan parkir itu,
sepetak demi petak, hingga kelak orang-orang lewat
mengira ada hutan di tengah kota. Pria itu pun memeluk pohon itu,
dan pohon itu memeluknya.”
Norman Erikson Pasaribu, Sergius Mencari Bacchus: 33 Puisi

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