Priest Hole of the Mind
Page 134 of a Calvino novel I am reading contains a hidden door.
I touched the paragraph lightly on the enjambment - which looks completely unintentional - and find myself face to face with an old fashioned priest hole of the mind. I was content to find nothing of the sort, to enjoy a couple of hours of solitude immersed in the joy of literature. However, I see now I should have expected to find such a passage within a passage, if for no other reason than had none emerged, I would have created it. Over time I have come to find that given a wide berth in which to roam, I will become unsatisfied with my bounty and seek out extra footage to explore. Where does such a habit originate? On the surface it appears the product of greed, as evidenced in and fostered by my very American past and present, a continuum of conspicuous consumption, of doing because one can, not should. It is Yang all the way - action always trumping inaction. Movement validated over its foil. It is not a question of gratitude. I do appreciate every plot of ground before me. No, I believe my incessant desire stems from an illogical coveting of things unavailable, seeing in the idea of them a mystery entirely attributed and arbitrary. Granted five unlikely hours of personal time, I want six or, more to the point, five of solitude and one of happenstance adventure that I myself must strive to create. In the course of an afternoon I want a child's agenda of a million lifetimes before dinner. Five more minutes, mommy. Just five more.
The passage in question deals - oddly enough - with this very topic, though it hardly appeared out of any real necessity. The entire book to this point has been thoroughly engaging. Its quality a continent wide with a soil rich enough to accommodate ten of the likes of me. However, as is my innate custom, I have discovered a way to even more.
Next: The passage in question and where it comes out