I have pick up my Kierkegaard again, and again I wonder how I could have abandoned him for so long. The beauty of his writing, and the quiet inspiration I feel as I fall into his words is unique and refreshing. From my first reading of Kierkegaard I felt that he was not so much a philosopher as a poet, an artist who could "carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium through which we look."
It surprised me recently to realize that Kierkegaard is considered difficult and often left unread. I suppose though, that if one is not in love with him, his style, and the exciting contradicitons of his writing; Kierkegaard seems too dense, too different, too penetrating to be read comfortably. For me though, even as I adjusted to the intensity of his writing, the imagery and the passion kept the writing alive. It is as though he is writing a prayer, perhaps sitting in adoration and simply letting his soul pour out to God all of his doubts, questions, and challenges.
"What he yearned for was to accompany them on the three-day journey, when Abraham rode with grief before him and Issac by his side...For what occupied him was not the finely wrought fabric of imagination, but the shudder of thought."