Tales and Journeys

“I want to be saved. I want someone to come and give me all the joy and, even more importantly, all the good and special emotions which I still get in glimpses: the meaning of life. Vitality. Art in pure form. Nature’s gift. Everything else falters compared to these dreams, these promises, whose mere existence I only realize in a rare moment.”

“And in that moment, every single time, it is like a revelation. All of a sudden, everything is fine, I am not alone – I am not even myself, I am merely the emotion, taking pleasure from its own existence. I am the frost, I am the birds, I am the white-rimmed leaves waiting to drop from the branches. I am the air, chilly and full of memories of past times when the emotion existed. I am the earth that waits, the deer that grazes warily by the trees, the fox that sneaks past looking for things to eat. I am my self, and I am something completely different. I am free, in focus, but without thought.”

“I have sought love, and I still do, but I am not fully a human being, a social creature. When I am my self, in harmony and peace, I am immaterial. This meaning and value can be brought forth by love, but love is not it. I can follow it alone. Back to the soul. Depths of my heart that doesn’t concern other people. I want those emotions back, and I can have them back without having to seek love first. I need my self. Me without biological limitations. Love could help me, but I… I have to seek other ways.”

Now and then, I hear symponies playing in my head. Today I bought a book on composing music, so that I might be able to do something about it. As this ability returns time upon time, it makes me believe I was born with some kind of gift. Other attitudes of the community I grew up in, would rather denounce all possibility of me having any significance or ability in any field, but I spitefully believe otherwise. I might not have amazing abilities in performing music, but with training, I can make music. I will be an artist.

Music is just one of the things. Ideas pop up in my head frequently, around moments of inspiration. Those are moments of strong emotion; not necessarily intense, but clear. I can picture elaborate movies and dances while listening to music. Dreams are also interconnected into this complex construction. The core part of any inspiration, to me, is an atmosphere of another world, a subset of this world’s extremities gathered into a package. I find deep meaning and vitality in dealing with these packages — gathering,nurturing and creating them.

I even apply the abilities to my own future. When I am in love, which is one of the highest states of inspiration, I can’t help but picture special moments, somewhere in the future, that would make my life more complete. A touch, an exchange of emotion, a display of deep love, a fundamental understanding. Things I know I need and long of, things I understand the workings of, but things I have never experienced or managed to produce.

So perhaps inevitably, it comes coupled with a longing, and that longing turns into a sadness. Then I try to make these things happen, but I find my abilities cut short, like in the playing of an instrument. I see what could be there, but am unable to create it. This all boils down into a fear, the fear of failure and insufficience. This I deal with daily, sometimes, and it is the dark side of the coin that is my dreams of love.

I’ve had somewhat of a revelation about shame. I got a lot of it, it is one of my greatest and most invisible evils. Its recipe is the fear to not be appreciated mixed with anxiety about one’s own worth. Shame is what makes many comform from being themselves, albeit unpopular, into being silent about their differences. I’m talking about teenage angst! It, and the war against it. But what is hostility, but a by-product of fear and ignorance? Distance yourself from something you don’t want to go through yourself, and it might disappear from your world, that’s what we like to think.

For a long while, I successfully suppressed the angst in myself, because I had become able to do it, and I knew that angst was stupid emo business. But I’ve changed my mind. Now I try to seek my sorrows, because they are there for a reason. Either I should resolve them, or I should at least acknowledge their existence.

The following text is made the way I prefer to write. It is not an essay, not a message, but a description of a fleeting chain of feelings, written while those feelings are strongly present. This is the kind of thing that makes me feel alive.

“One can’t expect too much from me. I’m no average person in an average state. Wounds have formed in me, and I need to heal. This is no illness, no fault in me, but a fact. I am depressed at certain times. All that has come to pass, has set its mark on me. The sorrow is part of me now, I let it reside in my being, because that is how I turn it into something meaningful. Because of this, there are now paths I must walk, phases I must pass through.”

“It is hard to do alone. I stagnate. Years have passed, and I am still not free from myself. Still I am impatient and anxious, but I am learning, the hard way. One day, things will be very different. Yet some emotions will never go away; I have responsibility for the sorrow, now. I must take care of it as I take care of myself.”

“The situation would be different, had I taken another course through time. There would be less sorrow. But that is not how it is. I am what I am, I have what I have, and I must start from there. Not from the level that the expectations of others would have preferred. They must understand this, respect it and help me to walk my paths. Without this, I can go nowhere. Without friends I keep on shrinking. To make it even harder, I have not been blessed with the ability to form close friendships. I retreat into my own sorrow rather than share it with others. I just don’t have that confidence in those around me.”

“And so I wait for the one person that I can truly confide in. The one person that can save me; set me free; turn me into myself; open my heart and stay with me. It is the only way I can feel, the only one that feels right. This is what my heart seeks, and if I do not listen to it, it will stop talking to me, as it has before.”

Sarah Brightman – Deliver Me