When Sisyphus moves the stone daily, we should ask ourselves: What about the hill? What is the hill made of? Because it’s easy to judge someone’s past full of quality work and dreams and hard endeavors from a hill of overwhelming change. Tradition is made of all those things.
Memory is the common sense. Locally or remote, we gather for closure. Asking is not begging, existing is not being. Remembering the warmth of our past, triggers us boldly towards our future. So, are dreams, our dreams, a new politic of change?
