[1841] in Depressing_Thoughts
solitude
hitori@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (hitori@ATHENA.MIT.EDU)
Sat Feb 9 07:21:00 1991
"What would a solitude be that was not vast; there is only one solitude,
and it is vast, heavy, difficult to bear, and almost everyone has hours
when he[she] would gladly exchange it for any kind of sociability, however
trivial or cheap, for the tiniest outward agreement with the first person
who comes along, the most unworthy...
But perhaps these are the very hours during which solitude grows; for its
growing is painful as the growing of boys and sad as the beginning of
spring..."
"Most people have turned their solutions toward what is easy and
toward the easiest side of the easy; but it is clear that we must trust
in what is difficult; everything alive trusts in it, everything in Nature
grows and defends itself any way it can and is spontaneously itself, tries
to be itself at all costs and against all opposition. We know little, but
that we must trust in what is difficult is a certainty that will never
abandon us; it is good to be solitary, for solitude is difficult; that
something is difficult must be one more reason for us to do it..."
-- Rilke
I was sitting on the stairs outside building 24, alone, smoking.
I hadn't smoked for a long time, and today, I really wanted to smoke again.
Actually, I wasn't really smoking. Most of the time, I was just watching the
white warmth penetrating into the cold air, disturbing its stillness.
Well, maybe, "disturbing" isn't the right word. Maybe "enhancing" is the one.
Soon I found myself weeping, but I was't depressed. I wasn't lonely,
either. I was, I believe, enjoying the silence; I even thought I could stay
there forever with the cigaret lit. So why did I start weeping?
I should have kept enjoying the present moment: the things that
existed around me at the moment: the sky, threes, "pretty" MIT buildings,
empty cars, the cold air, the cigaret, the coffee from the Coffee House...
Instead, I started recalling the memories that were dying.
Until recently, I had believed that a memory was one of those that
were permanent. But no! Memories can die, and losing one's treasured
memories is painful. Maybe more painful than an actual death of one's
friend.
Being with dying memories -the ones that I treasured so much- is
very painful.
Is it why I started weeping? Maybe... but it's not the only
reason. But I'm not sure of all the reasons, that is, if I had reasons.
Why, then?
Maybe because I was alone
Maybe because I wasn't alone
Maybe because I was enjoying the solitude
Maybe because I was
n't enjoing the solitude
Maybe because a solitude is vast, heavy, difficult to bear
Maybe because a solitude is important to bear
Maybe because a solitude is home
Or simply because the white warmth touched my eyes.
