Recordando a Albert Camus

Pienso que uno debería recordar (¿o endulzar?) la muerte de los soñadores con recuerdos de su obra, para recordarnos a nosotros mismos que a pesar de todo, vivieron plenamente. En un día como hoy, 4 de enero de 1960, Albert Camus muere en un accidente automovilístico, y quisiera recordarlo con un fragmento de su correspondencia (en Notebooks) que significa mucho para mi:

The solidarity of bodies, unity at the center of the mortal and suffering flesh. This is what we are and nothing else. We are this plus human genius in all its forms, from the child to Einstein.

No, … it is not humiliating to be unhappy. Physical suffering is sometimes humiliating, but the suffering of being cannot be, it is life. What you must do now is nothing more than live like everybody else. You deserve, by what you are, a happiness, a fullness that few people know. Yet today this fullness is not dead, it is a part of life and, to its credit, it reigns over you whether you want it to or not. But in the coming days you must live alone, with this hole, this painful memory. This lifelessness that we all carry inside of us — by us, I mean to say those who are not taken to the height of happiness, and who painfully remember another kind of happiness that goes beyond the memory.

Sometimes, for violent minds, the time that we tear off for work, that is torn away from time, is the best. An unfortunate passion.

La obra de Albert Camus es extensa. Sus cuestiones filosóficas son auténticas, y admirables. Y como los grandes personajes de la historia, a pesar de su muerte física, siguen vivos a través de su obra. Gracias, Camus, absurdo educador.