I just watched an hour long biopic of Ray Bradbury and fell in love with this lover of life who couldn’t afford to go to college so he went to the library instead, “graduated ten years later, when I was 27 years old.”
But before that, “when I was 12 years old, I looked up at the planet Mars, and I said, ‘Take me home!’ And it did, and I’ve never come back.”
I just googled him and discovered he was born on the same day as my late, great husband, Jeff: August 22, the one day of the year when the Sun conjuncts Regulus, “King of the Celestial Sphere,” according to the ancient Akkadians.
Geez, I just realized! Ray and Jeff look alike!
No wonder I love Ray, too.
And oh, did Jeff love books! He’d read one science fiction book each morning, and then when the pile had grown, give them all away. In the afternoon he’d read mathematics, or philosophy, or calligraphy, or a symphonic score. But he never wrote like Ray still does. He just kept absorbing absorbing absorbing, without letting the energy run through him, transformed, onto the page. I wonder if that’s why Ray, at 91, is still alive, and Jeff, dear, beautiful soul, died at 55.
Yes, for all our sakes, everybody, do what you love and love what you do. Occupy yourself, first, and the whole world will follow.