Kafka on the shore

Sometimes fate is  like  a small  sandstorm  that keeps changing  directions.  You change direction  but  the sandstorm  chases you.  You  turn  again,  but the  storm adjusts.  Over  and over  you  play  this out, like  some  ominous dance with  death  just before dawn. Why? Because  this storm isn’t something  that  blew  in from  far  away, something  that  has nothing  to do  with  you. This storm is  you.  Something inside of you.  So  all you  can  do is  give in  to it,  step  right  inside  the  storm,  closing your eyes  and  plugging up  your  ears so  the  sand doesn’t  get in,  and  walk  through  it, step  by  step.  There’s  no sun  there, no  moon,  no direction,  no  sense  of time.  Just fine  white  sand  swirling up  into  the sky  like  pulverized  bones.  That’s  the  kind  of sandstorm  you  need to  imagine.

– Haruki Murakami


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