Life gives us what we don’t want.
And perhaps what we need.
An obstacle to overcome—
you must suffer in this place
for decades, even
until epiphany strikes
and the enigmatic door opens,
until the key fits the lock
and you pass to the next level.
Advance your chakra, conquer the video game.
Until your world collapses, falls to pieces,
struck by a grenade, but from inside,
self-inflicted, imploded.
Blow up your life.
A new paradise may await on the other side
beckoning from the dimly glowing horizon,
almost imperceptible.
Or maybe you will fall into the dark cave
and never claw your way out.
Slay the dragon and recover the gold,
perhaps.
For you, the hell is loneliness.
The one thing you had never wanted
was to end up alone.
You love the banter,
the warmth of the shared meal,
a lively conversation, the laughter,
work—a flurry, a rush, a thrill,
watching a film, a concert,
strolling the rainy streets
in the vibrant city, the twinkling café lights,
but always in company,
the moments shared with the ones you love,
the ones who annoy you, enrage you, even,
screeching children, silliness and sandcastles,
and the beloved companion,
always present, her familiar smell, her soft body,
vital as your own limbs,
always needed by them—your family,
even after arguments and anger,
after tight silences and tears,
returning to the bed at night, together.
And yet life left you alone
in those last years—
opening the door to your still apartment,
welcomed by the sad and faded furniture.
Why cook for yourself, make your bed, clean the picture frames?
Your room falls into dilapidation and dust,
the drone of the television
in the background to avoid the silence,
its heaviness weighs on you,
nothing to distract from your racing thoughts,
from your anguished mind:
boredom, memories,
regrets, failures
played over and over.
Cold, empty sheets enveloping your weary body each night.
You have gotten stuck,
you can’t find the password,
your mind starts to fade, to decay.
Too late,
and it’s game over.
For me, I only wanted solitude.
I crave silence, alone with my own mind
for days, blessed weeks
in the woods or the glorious sunlit living room,
by myself, freedom to think, to read and sing,
to absorb the hundreds of years of things that have happened
across the world, the stories, the music, the discoveries,
to follow the path that others have traveled before,
to find their treasures—there are so many.
The mind yearns to dig deeply, to create things
pearls waiting for me to uncover them on the seabed.
So many thoughts to think, but no time.
Time filled by the chatter of others
too many people—their needs, their worlds.
I am just a vessel to quench their thirst,
they need my presence and my ears,
my minutes and hours,
my sweat and labor,
my mind to untangle their problems,
they need me to hold their hand until they fall asleep at night.
Not such a terrible thing, really.
Family, work.
Be grateful.
Count your blessings.
But then there is no time left,
time is saturated with tasks, encumbered with duties.
Years pass and life is gone.
My deepest fears:
a strait jacket, a rat in a maze,
knowing vast horizons beyond my walls
but unable to break through to them.
Neglected dreams, standing still and life going stale.
When you do not grow, stagnation sets in,
a routine that fills the rest of your days,
a mind that is not free,
the loss of originality, the embrace of clichés,
falling into a rut, thoughts repeated and hardened,
the theft of your moments,
which accumulate, which add up to your life.
How can stability and routine
not be the death of creativity?
The calcification of the soul’s yearning?
An ocean lies just beyond,
but I am caught in a traffic jam,
I have lived all my life by the coast
but have never seen the shore.
Never living my own life,
but the one others have put upon me.
Slay the dragon and recover the gold, perhaps. I never liked gambling, though. At least, I am safe at my level, in my little cage with its four walls that bind me in, with my routines, my structures, my habits, my familiar lament, my home which comforts and imprisons me, all the time wishing, wondering what could be but lacking the energy, the bravery, maybe, to explode myself and see what happens next.
