December Days

The same dark, quiet, solitary December days which used to stir in me angst and despair now are to me a comfort. I used to respond to the resting earth with unrest, to wish to create in the silence some noise, to rail against symbolic death with a desperate plea to life. But now I feel a completeness in stillness. I sit behind my apartment on the porch that I don’t have (a slab of concrete) and stare into the shadowed woods and do not fear. I am alone, but I realize I am no more alone than when I seek out company to fill the void. I am separated from other consciousnesses by space, but I still have ideas in my own mind and am still existing to the same extent (if indeed it can be said that existence is a predicate of me) I always have. Perhaps it is lonelier to feel separation in the physical presence of others. Perhaps it is lonelier to feel the weight of a void in one’s own mind which begs to be filled with substitute consciousnesses provided by others.

What has changed? Nothing. Or rather, that which has changed is always changing. [Is continual and inevitable change a sort of stagnation?] What have I discovered? Nothing. What is the source of my comfort? Nothingness. I am getting nowhere and am glad.

What advice can I give to others? I have not had a goal in mind. Others who have some goal in mind should not ask me how to achieve that goal, because I have not tried. I do not know a path. I do not know a direction. Others who have no goal in mind will not need my directions any more than I need the direction of others.

Bleak and lost as this condition may sound, I prefer to regard it as a realization rather than a position. By being calm, by being peaceable, the world in which I find myself becomes no more bleak and lost. I simply turn my attention towards that emptiness and become peaceful towards it. I do not cease to have desires. I do not cease to work. I am not idle. In fact, I regard the work of stillness more challenging than movement. I find the work of reflection more straining than distraction. Most importantly, I do not cease to love. Love wells up in my heart often and strongly. I love those whom I love. I love that I am. I love that the world is. I love words. I love sound. I love thought. I love structure. I love disorder.

But by loving, I have often meant desire to possess. I cannot possess. I cannot possess especially if by possession I mean to control. I cannot possess if by possession I mean to indefinitely preserve. I cannot possess if by possession I mean to change something outside of my domain. But if by possession I mean a relishing of that which is near me or that which pleases me when it is near or does please, then I do not mean possession at all, but rather love.

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~ by falleninparadise on December 9, 2012.

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