recollections of an artist

The following two paragraphs I am posting today are from Liz Gilbert’s book, Eat, Pray, Love:

What I said to God through my gasping sobs was something like this: “Hello, God; how are you? I’m Liz. It’s nice to meet you.”

That’s right—I was speaking to the creator of the universe as though we’d just been introduced at a cocktail party. But these are the words I always use at the beginning of a relationship. In fact, it was all I could do to stop myself from saying, “I’ve always been a big fan of your work…”

“I’m sorry to bother you so late at night,” I continued. “But I’m in serious trouble. And I’m sorry I haven’t ever spoken directly to you before, but I hope I have always expressed ample gratitude for all the blessings you’ve given me in my life.”

This thought caused me to sob even harder. God waited me out. I pulled myself together enough to go on: “I’m not an expert at praying, as you know. But I am in desperate need of help. I don’t know what to do. I need an answer. Please tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do. Please tell me what to do…”

And so the prayer narrowed itself down to that simple entreaty—Please tell me what to do, repeated again and again. I don’t know how many times I begged. I only know that I begged like someone who was pleading for her life. And the crying went on forever.


And the second…


Do You know what I felt when I woke up this morning, Delia? Nothing! No passion, no spark, no faith, no heat, absolutely nothing! I think I’ve really gotten pass the point where I could be calling this a bad moment. And it just, it terrifies me. Jesus, this is worse than death to me. The idea that this is the person I’m gonna be from now on?!






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