The Fall

Out on the deck today I watched the frangipani flowers fall softly on the lawn.  Autumn is here. Usually my favourite time of the year.  But even the sun, warm on my face and the cat lounging about in the shade, the softly tinged daylight that suggests summer is finally over and it’s harsh glare gone along with it, even these things that usually waken my soul could not retrieve me from the fall.  There’s a poem I found in the “Tibetan Book of Living and Dying” about a hole in the sidewalk, it goes like this

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost…
I am helpless.
It is not my fault.
It takes forever to find my way out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it there.
I still fall in…It’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
I walk down another street.

So I fell in again.  Except now I reckon I have set up a TV and the couch, made it really comfy so that I do not want to leave.  Everything is so familiar here.  The despair on the coffee table, the hopelessness in the lamplight, the apathy on the telly.  Depression is my comeback place, my default setting.

Here, I diligently swallow the medication, mechanically make my way through a routine of pulling my socks up, execute the grin and bear it, stoically stiffen that upper lip so that to the observer I appear quite together, even though it’s just foil, holding the broken bits of chocolate in place.

Here I cannot write, or create or think new thoughts.  Here, I revisit old woulds and salt them.  I nurture my sadness like a child.  Dress her up in garments of disappointment, hewn with golden threads of dead dreams.  Comb her hair gently, till it shines with melancholy.  Here I am the Baroness, at home with an empty womb, a tired heart and the endless chatter of a damaged psyche. Mistress of my desolation.

I’ve stopped waiting for someone to rescue me.  I have no expectations of salvation from within.  If only I could climb out immediately.  But I’m so at home here. So intolerably comfortable.  I wait for the monotony to irritate me enough that I’ll start the climb back up.

But until then, if you need me, bad luck, I’m here.


About talkychalky

Teacher, ICT user, Thinker!
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2 Responses to The Fall

  1. gwegner says:

    I’ve just read your blog post here right after reading Doug Belshaw’s and there is a connection between the two (see his dot point number 3) – I’d never heard of SAD before (apt acronym as well). And I know that this is a personal blog and I only blog about edtech, but just know that you are a beacon of light here in South Australian education, whether you believe it or not. Cheers.

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