“And I gave my heart to know wisdom, and to know madness and folly: I perceived that this also is vexation of spirit….“
–Ecclesiastes 1:17-18.
The feeling must stop somewhere.
It began somewhere, thus…
I can conclude … it will … or has to … end.
Some time ago (I can’t say when) it leeched
into my thoughts as through a cracked wall,
a breach in my otherwise fortified mind.
And, there it took up residence.
To my dismay, it shows no sign of leaving,
at least, not anytime soon.
So, I face it with false bravado and scorn,
only the feeling intensifies.
Feeding off my feeble arrogance,
it defies my every attempt at eviction.
When I adopt a more passive stance, it simply
deepens its pervasive roots, and mocks
my feeble efforts to dislodge it.
Last week, I tried a new tactic, calling it out by its true name,
loneliness.
I welcomed its sorrow with solicitous levity,
even naively prodding at it,
as though testing the density of the thing.
But its response caused me great alarm.
Transforming itself into a flourishing tree of regret,
it bore the fruit of delicious sadness.
Endearingly, I nicknamed it aloneness
thinking that I might appease its wrath.
But that stony gaze remained unmoved
by my disingenuous gesture.
Becoming angry, I threaten to fell it.
Still, it remained firmly entrenched,
impervious to my threats
with the same blank look that sees right through me.
Perhaps, I should eat the fruit of its melancholy,
and let the loneliness become a part of me.
But I’m not sure that this is such a good idea.
For I know that its juices can poison the mind,
rot the soul, and render the heart empty of love.
