Melancholy
Here I am twelve hours later at Starbucks, 4PM. I awakened at 4AM giving up on the endeavor of normal sleep, acceding to my restlessness. I got up, and read for a while; then prepared for a day of work.
Was it the late evening cup of caffeinated coffee? Maybe the excitement of our first opportunity for philosophical discussion at the new Coffee Shop? Or was it the inarticulate memory of holding the body of my grand daughter a few hours after she was still born? There is no point in further analysis.
“In this precise sense, melancholy (disappointment with all positive, empirical objects, none of which can satisfy our desire) is the beginning of philosophy.”
–excerpt from How To Read Lacan by Slavoj Zizek
I am sure that is true. I never pause to reflect, to ask “why,” when I am enraptured at a concert, or mesmerized by beauty. It’s always later, when I notice the dark background that I wonder about meaning, the connections that bind us, and everything else together.
Cradling the weight of a tiny child, is a jarring reminder of emptiness, of the void that is left when expectations are not to be. Death is a decisive veto. What I desire will be lost. Perhaps the bitterest of losses is when one’s desire is inscribed into another human being.
Is that what is meant by love?
2 thoughts on “Melancholy”
Hope you don’t mind my quoting myself here. From my 36 Acres book:
MELANCHOLY
We humans are an odd lot. We tend to interpret the world around us with our emotions and then project those same emotions back onto the world. We see the events of nature and view them in either heroic or evil terms. A brave robin protects her nest from an aggressive blue jay or a wicked coyote devours a family of defenseless ducklings. In reality, nature is neither kind nor cruel, beautiful nor ugly, it just is.
Even with this understanding fresh in my mind, there are exquisite days when I find myself walking along a woodland path only to become overwhelmed with a sadness that colors the landscape. Perhaps it is brought about by some bit of nature that reminds me of the impermanence of my journey and the tenuous hold I have on this thin band of life.
This sense of melancholy increases on days when gray light filters through the overcast sky and mute motionless air engulfs the forest. At these moments I try to remind myself that nature itself is not despondent, for it is only my perception of the surroundings that is transformed by self-pity and the knowledge of my own limitations.
I do not mind at all.