A Terrifying Thought

In reading the literary works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, a thought struck me that is both a tribute to the edifying genius of great writers as well as a step towards erasure for the rest of us. During my second reading of Crime and Punishment, one particular passage (don't ask me to remember which) gave me an emotion of such clarity. It was as though those unique collection of words tore a gaping hole through the fabric of the human soul, leaving it naked for all to see. Mr. D described the human condition so perfectly that I found myself nodding to the book, like an idiot, so enthralled by the pure truth of his words. But I only agreed so emphatically with Mr. D because I felt sure that these same thoughts were bubbling away just beneath my consciousness. It only took my reading these same thoughts to bring them to the surface.

Which brings me to the part of our erasure. Is it possible that we all have statements of utter profundity lurking slightly beneath our mundane exteriors? We are unable to draw them out, unable to voice them into words or music or visual expression. They are left there to fester and we will carry them to our grave. What if these thoughts are the best we have to offer, but since we common folk can't coherently express them, will be lost forever into the limbo that is the afterlife? They would be erased by the silencing of our earthly voices, and so would we. Couldn't we save them somehow? Bottle them up, store them and worship them as a testament of human triumph?

Some artists seem to find the trick.