Meloncholy, that old pal

18 Dec

It’s a hollow place we go sometimes, don’t you think? There is an indention in the soil, and we curl into the indention where it is safe and comfy—even though we are lying about how comfy it is, since there are pebbles pressing into our skin, there is a chill in the night, and there is dirt under our nails that aggravates. We ignore the lamenting low call of the wise wolf, calling us back calling us back calling us back, don’t we? Because we’re snuggled in our hollowed out space, curled just as we did before birth. The place in the soil upon the earth, in the hollowed out hidden forest, where we pretend how comfortable we are, and alone, don’t forget how nice it is to be alone. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Who doesn’t like a bit of melancholy from time to time?

Melancholy is an old friend, a good ole chum (unlike depression, that mean spindly spirit of woe). Melancholy won’t fuss at is, and even allows us to eat too much bad food, or drink too much bad liquor, and shut out everyone who is important to us, even our own voices. Our melancholy has a bit of imp to it, an angsty charm, a cute way of winking at us, a way of drawing us into the indention. Funny how one can be flying through the sky, feeling the wind, and some twist of synapses, some bitter pill, some disappointment, and next we find we are falling. Melancholy catches us, then wraps around you its familiar soft blanket.

But wait. Just as we think we will stay huddled forever, melancholy takes its blanket from our shoulders, pulls us up by the hand, gives us that wink, and says, “I’ve got to go now. Ta ta!” And there we are, rising up from our hollowed space. Up up up and up. There we go, the sun on our face, blinking in the light, brushing the dirt from our clothes, trying out a grin, flexing our fingers, pointing our toes, saying “Hey, I’m hungry for life now, give me a big ole plate of it! With a side of hope and a glass of thank you very much.” A stretch upward, the glimpse of blue sky. A bird twitters and we laugh at it. And just like that, the earth turns turns turns and we dance around on the head of a pin.

(repost from YOG)


8 Responses to “Meloncholy, that old pal”

  1. Bonnie, Original Art Studio December 18, 2009 at 7:50 am #

    I enjoyed this little essay on melancholy – a familiar visitor in most of our lives. It can be like a pervasive fog that envelopes us, preventing us from seeing all the beauty, good, love around us. The stretching, the looking up to see blue sky … wonderful ways to part the fog.Enjoyed reading this.

  2. smiles4u December 18, 2009 at 8:16 am #

    A great description of melancholy. As you described it comes upon us and then it goes and it feels so good! Great post!

  3. destrella December 18, 2009 at 9:35 am #

    It does seem to come and go as it pleases at times. :O)

  4. Deb@RGRamblings December 18, 2009 at 10:29 am #

    So nice when the sun comes back out! Our wonderful array of moods does serve to add those extra layers to our writing :)

  5. Rick December 18, 2009 at 10:58 pm #

    Melancholy is such a poignant topic- and well done by you, I might add. Another one of your little pieces for me to print out and hang above my desk!

  6. Midlife Jobhunter December 19, 2009 at 1:14 am #

    I'd never thought of this twist. Always figured depression.Now that I know, I so prefer melancholy to depression. Thank you. I feel much better already.

  7. Deb Shucka December 19, 2009 at 10:35 am #

    This spoke to me so clearly today. A gift that I needed. This time of year, when the darkness dominates, melancholy is especially busy in my life.If I remember correctly, you're here! I can hardly wait to see you.

  8. Linda Leschak December 21, 2009 at 11:47 pm #

    And here I thought it was just hormones …. again.

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