Sunday, March 9, 2014

A validation of sadness

Where are they? Where have they gone? As I drive through those beautiful houses in Highland Park I can't but remember the way it was 30 or 35 years ago when I was part of a tight-knit family. Now mom and dad are gone. Mom died 6 years ago and dad died 16 years ago. It seems like yesterday. I feel lonely and displaced. I am visiting an empty neighborhood. My irrational mind feels lost. Which way do I turn to find my home with my family in it? Still winter...there are days, grey days that are so sad and deep in my heart. A beautiful stillness that makes you cry. As I drive my tears roll down, I try to be stoic to no use. They are gone and I do not want to hear platitudes or Hallmark quotes from anyone. This is my holy, sacred sadness don't you dare to destroy what is mine. Yes, I know it will pass and in no time I will be laughing with a friend or singing with the chorale or buying fancy marmalade from a French cook in Alsace on the Internet or taking the Pretz out for a long walk. I am getting old. I never expected it to come so soon, so uninvited. The other day I was walking down on Greenville and observing the young people being busy and bubbly all around me. I though about my sadness. This sadness is cozy and revelatory. The stillness of winter. The naked tree. My naked soul reduced to its minimum factor. No pretenses, no show-offs, no acting or masquerading. In this nakedness, noiseless and aware I find the divinity. Don't make me explain the divinity, please. It is a mystery. It is truth without the consequences. Those are human. I discovered, finally, unashamedly, that I am a voyager in a dream.


SK Waller said...

This is so beautiful. This pain is like chewing on a sore tooth.

It doesn't matter how old we are, we shall always feel like orphans. I find myself 62 and the head of a family of 20-somethings. That's supposed to be me talking animatedly, dreaming dreams, making plans, and my dad is supposed to sit in this chair. I'm supposed to hear my mom walk in the kitchen door asking if I need anything from the store.

No Hallmark sentimentalism, I know your pain.

Hugo di Portogallo said...

Your pain is beautiful. Why should that be so, I do not know. Why should our suffering, loneliness and distress appear as something beautiful to another human being? That is a question I cannot answer. But your pain is beautiful.