words of an old friend...

given all that i've been feeling this year, i found this quote by Vincent van Gogh, and cannot help but think that perhaps it is a message that i most definitely need to hear.
“There may be a time in life when one is tired of everything and feels as if all one does is wrong, and there maybe some truth in it- do you think this is a feeling one must try to forget and to banish, or is it 'the longing for God,' which one must not fear, but cherish to see if it may bring us some good? Is it 'the longing for God' which leads us to make a choice which we never regret? Let us keep courage and try to be patient and gentle. And not mind being eccentric, and make distinction between good and evil.”



it is a new year.

and with this new year, comes all the things that come with every year; renewed hope for the dreams not yet fulfilled, the realization that while i am where i want to be in some areas, there are still those elusive battles that i cannot yet seem to win.

one such battle, again, is the one i fight with loneliness every time i come back from visiting the family. it's a strange dichotomy that while surrounded by my favorite people, i crave the silence and stillness of my home, yet, now as i sit here in my solitary abode, my heart desires those same noisy, nosey, laughing people.

it seems that for the most part, i do not really know what i want. so, in light of that, i have found a Rilke poem that suits this melancholy mood. it echoes in my heart, and i have nothing else to say.

I Am Too Much Alone In This World, And Yet Not Alone

I am much too alone in this world, yet not alone enough
to truly consecrate the hour.
I am much too small in this world, yet not small enough
to be to you just object and thing,
dark and smart.
I want my free will and want it accompanying
the path which leads to action;
and want during times that beg questions,
where something is up,
to be among those in the know,
or else be alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
like the everday jug,
like my mother's face,
like a ship that carried me along
through the deadliest storm.

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