A Hard Stop
by Howard Slacum
Howard Slacum
Now, there is melancholy.
Elusive dreams fatigue my chasing spirit. Strength built in knowing how far I have come falters at seeing my dreams outpace me. They are oblivious to my pursuit.
I am a simple man; I dream simple dreams. I do not yearn for fame or fortune or to have others envy my appearance or influence. My dreams are of things abundant and often taken for granted. I am a weary insomniac looking upon a world asleep and wondering how I cannot be.
Tonight, I have no nervous energy nor any anger or frustration. I logged more miles in the pursuit of my dreams. I had a rewarding day at work—albeit a long one. I exercised and ate well. Weariness has settled deep within me.
In stillness, I think. My greatest fear is that I will lay down one cold night, close my eyes and find that I can no longer dream and that I have not built a quilt of warm memories. Winter is inevitable.
Now, there is melancholy.
My mind challenges my spirit. Look at this moment. Look at how far you’ve come! Life is good! Keep going! It cites impressive facts, offers indisputable explanations and excitedly chatters about what might come to be. It is a distant cacophony.
Closer than the rationalizations is a faint rhythmic beat of random words. And as music moves some to dance, the rhythm urged my fingers to dance upon the keyboard. I did not want to write this evening. I did not want to do anything. But my muse had offered her hand. Reluctantly, I took it.
Like a graceful lover, she held me close as she led me through the dance. Softly, she whispered memories in my ear. Forgotten learning returned to me.
Stillness is not depression.
Fatigue from chasing dreams does not portend losing them. The relentless pursuit of dreams stresses the body and mind even when everything is going well. I stop and smell the roses—but even in that I am pursuing relaxation or enlightenment.
Tonight, my legs gave out. My mind’s eye closed.
Stillness is a sanctuary.
I did not want to write an article. For that, there is a self-imposed pressure to entertain or enlighten. For the same reasons, I did not want to work on my novel. But I had agreed to dance with my muse. So without care or purpose, I let my fingers touch the keyboard. My muse led left and I typed one seemingly random word. She led me backwards and I typed another. Another step led to another word….
In stillness, I had rediscovered the lost pleasure of free-writing poetry. I wrote rhythmic words as they came to me. I did not try to create metaphor or meaning. I did not edit each line again and again until I got it “right”. I did not care if I finished. I did not worry that I might end up deleting the whole thing and have just wasted time. I just enjoyed the dance.
Now, there is peace.
© 2008 Howard Slacum
