Those Friday evenings

This week has been downright horrible. Horrible as in living-for-the-next-moment horrible.
The worst thing being unable to understand what I'm going through. Tears can stream down my face and I don't know why. It's disconcerting.

But I've learnt much. A qualified awareness midst despair. Hmm...
Lesson #1: Stop chasing after the wind. Having read Ecclesiastes twice already, I manage to catch the gist of it but am still confused at times.That everyone may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all his toil- this is the gift of God. Ecclesiastes 3:13 Yet, I still don't quite get how one can find work meaningless (see Chapters 1 and 2) and still gain satisfaction from it. Perhaps meaningless refers to the insignificance of men's toil instead, as compared to the eternal glory that outweighs them all? Didn't God say to "Seek first the kingdom of God?" And I've been told how strange it is that after pursuing Him, the other things don't matter no more.

Lesson #2: Pace yourself. I've been moving at the velocity of a Maglev train until I've come to a stage where I'm repelling the very route I've chosen.

Lesson #3: Live a little. Stop refraining from the things that give you joy. I have postponed my enjoyment continually until they have accumulated, making me feel like this: ' "For whom am I toiling," he asked, "and why am I depriving myself of enjoyment?" ' Ecclesiastes 4:8 So from now on, I declare a self-imposed time-out frequently, even during term time. That includes art pilgrimages, coffee with friends, breathing nature, etc.

Lesson #4: If you aim for one thing, just one thing, and supresses every other natural impulse that is you, then you become nothing. You forget yourself. The self becomes diminished. (Haven't I learnt that just the beginning of this year? History repeats itself.)

Lesson #5: One day, bitterness and resentment towards someone will subside. Curiously, it was this poem that did it for me:

A father's discipline closed me like a box.
A hardness hammered shut the lid.
For fifteen years, no matter what he did,
I was unreachable. Venom sealed the locks.

Neutral beauty kept me company. Walking
through neighbour's cattle, from moving skies and trees
I learnt the slower, vaster intimacies.
Avoiding the world of men, I stopped talking.

except intensely to myself. Rumours
of happiness sometimes seeped outside the box.
'Untrue!' I howled, and double-checked the locks.
In the dark, poetry grew like a tumour.

When the poems were big enough to break
their way out, dragging me behind, I saw
my father's face, more bitten than before,
a soft fist eaten by love, impossible to hate.

There is no forgiveness now, nor the need.
Silence bred rich fruits- a known self, those skies-
for which I thank my father. Amnesia lies
behind our peace. Neither of us dares to bleed.

-Tony Lintermans

In retrospect, although this period of time has been trying, it has led me to reflect inwardly and maybe something good has come out of it after all.