Perhaps the itinerant monks called ‘Gyrovagues’ were especially responsible for promoting this view of our condition as eternal strangers. They journ… - Frédéric Gros
" "Perhaps the itinerant monks called ‘Gyrovagues’ were especially responsible for promoting this view of our condition as eternal strangers. They journeyed ceaselessly from monastery to monastery, without fixed abode, and they haven’t quite disappeared, even today: it seems there are still a handful tramping Mount Athos. They walk for their entire lives on narrow mountain paths, back and forth on a long repeated round, sleeping at nightfall wherever their feet have taken them; they spend their lives murmuring prayers on foot, walk all day without destination or goal, this way or that, taking branching paths at random, turning, returning, without going anywhere, illustrating through endless wandering their condition as permanent strangers in this profane world.
English
Collect this quote
About Frédéric Gros
Frédéric Gros (born 30 November 1965) is a French philosopher.
Related quotes. More quotes will automatically load as you scroll down, or you can use the load more buttons.
Additional quotes by Frédéric Gros
Il y a le silence des marches dans la neige. Silence des pas étouffés sous un ciel blanc. Tout autour rien ne bouge. Les choses et le temps sont pris dans la glace. Immobilité sourde, tout est arrêté. Tout est uni, feutré. C’est un silence de mise en veille, de parenthèse cotonneuse, blanche, suspendue.
During long cross-country wanders, you do glimpse that freedom of pure renunciation. When you walk for a long time, there comes a moment when you no longer know how many hours have passed, or how many more will be needed to get there; you feel on your shoulders the weight of the bare necessities, you tell yourself that’s quite enough – that really nothing more is needed to keep body and soul together – and you feel you could carry on like this for days, for centuries. You can hardly remember where you are going or why; that is as meaningless as your history, or what the time is. And you feel free, because whenever you remember the former signs of your commitments in hell – name, age, profession, CV – it all seems absolutely derisory, minuscule, insubstantial.
On n’est jamais personne pour les collines et les grandes frondaisons. On n’est plus ni un rôle, ni un statut, pas même un personnage, mais un corps, un corps qui ressent la pointe des cailloux sur les chemins, la caresse des hautes herbes et la fraîcheur du vent. Quand on marche, le monde n’a plus ni présent, ni futur. Il n’y a plus que le cycle des matins et des soirs. Toujours à faire la même chose tout le jour : marcher.
Loading...