- Books, Literature, and Writing
A Visit From the Past -- More Than Just History and H.O.W.
I heard of this movement and its plea. Was thinking... can an historical person join this effort? Can I share some thoughts that could be useful for a great cause? Joseph talked about history and this cycle of life; that, huh... let's call it, that unrelenting continuity and repetition with no remorse for us all. Perhaps.. yes, alas!
I can give selflessly what I knew the most for all of my life: writing and more writing from the heart. So let me share some highlights from my life after all, see myself how I made it into fame; even though the odds were against me, I wrote and was an inspiration for every constitution of this world. So, let me tell you my story:
I still can remember the last hours of my life, and I don't regret how I lived it. On May, I was ran down by these stupid hounds with no warning. I was already in bad shape, but this was the beginning of my end.
It was July the 2nd, and I had chest pain and a complication from uremia that finally put me into comma. But wife Theresa Levasseur was there for me. Actually for the last 33 years of a life of creativity. People might say I left this world due to a sudden aneurysm. But was more than just that; my days were counted, and I was just tired of persecutions and that darn catheter around my waist. There were no hospices like I see today, but I lived a peaceful life in that Chateau in Ermenonville. How funny alas! I was treated much better then, than in today's cold world. I didn't have all this retrograde technology, but I had my wife and a warm hand!
So here is my conclusion: Arts and science have not really improved the feelings for the betterment of the human race. Arguments might arise, and others might disagree, then be it! Way back then, hospices were for kings and the court. In my time the oldtimer was wise enough to be protected and respected. The elderly died proud of the family he/she started.... and... sorry, for getting emotional in here but that is the real me.
I was born on June 28th, and my mother Susan was the most beautiful woman around Lake Leman. Here comes trouble: on July 7th, my mother passed away due to Jaundice complications. However, I think it the real cause was a different one. You see, in those times hygiene was not followed by anyone; not even by the midwife that came to help my sweetest mom in bringing me into this pathetic world.
My father was horrified. He just left himself...holding me next to his wife, he said the most terrible and apocalyptic statement, for an infant: "No! No...! God! Jean Jacques, give me back my wife would you? I do not deserve this!" He was blaming on me, an infant for my mom's death. How do I know all that? For the next 10 years, he used to get drunk and would look for me, a weak child... embrace me, and say the same words, drunk and all!
Conclusion for you my fellow H.O.W. followers: do not say words in front of your kids, that you might regret for life... or beyond life.
My young, dearly years...
I was practically raised by 'auntie' Suzon from birth to age ten; she loved music and instilled in me the love for plays and operas. But let me share one important moment in my life. In those times, cities were walled and fortified, for we didn't want to fall to barbarians ransacking. I used to play with my cousin Abraham until late in the afternoon outside the city walls, and if we didn't go back in time by late afternoon, you would have to wait until the next morning to just be let in. Sentinels did not allow anyone in, after they shut the gates.
I was determined to leave that life. Dad left when I was ten (he almost killed a landlord, who had good influences), and my uncle, who practically adopted me, didn't really want me around. I was a danger for his son, a rotten apple with no future. Cousin Abraham was going to become an engineer like his father. My options were: watchmaker or priesthood like my grandfather. I saw myself laying on that hill face up, watching and counting the stars which were shining with hope. I was homeless, and I was free!!
"Homeless have a world of their own, and their perspective of life are totally different from ours"
Is August of 1766. I came too late to see my savior, my "benefactress." A woman that took care of me from the age of 16 until 32. How sad, coming to find her tombstone four years later. She died in July of 1762, in complete poverty... and she was so proud of me. She was the person that I met on Easter Sunday back in 1728. Went into the literary world to get the riches, and came back too late to her. Tears and memories for not being there for her. The woman that raised me with love, a roof for my head, food and those expensive books.
Some people made it to the top because they had guidance and humanity as support. My 'Mamman' as I used to called her, was there for me at all times. "No one would survive, if humanity gets detached from our hearts." I was fed and... I was learning a craft, knowing that I was praised and loved as a young kid. Remember, I was a runaway and I could've died in the middle of that life in the open... walking down from the Swiss Alps through Lombardy and those cold nights around Turin-Italy.
I was on my way to visit an "encyclopedist" who was jailed by the French monarch at Vincennes. His name was Dennis Diderot. That day in 1749 at 37, I had a vision of how life should be. An unexplainable torrent of knowledge the did not stop until my last day on earth,
Philosophy and arts came into my mind and inspired me to write and write!. I had to sit under a tree and read this newspaper, "The Mercury," which was looking for new writers. The bait? A contest that did fit my aspirations. Was all these planned by my creator??
We all can achieve anything if we put our mind into it. We need to push our mind and believe in ourselves. I saw images of new republics and its laws. I saw myself in a kid, and how the world should treat him. I saw love and romance. My readings as a kid, my mom, my dad, my "mamman"... and myself, were ready to change this world. And I think I did!. My Name is Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778), father of the French Revolution, philosopher, writer, and composer of 18th-century.
"The first man who, having fenced in a piece of land, said "This is mine," and found people naïve enough to believe him, that man was the true founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this impostor; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody."
Jean Jacques Rousseau --- Discourse in inequality.