Evenings

night

What is it about evenings that so fills you with a strange, inexplicable yearning?

Evenings are the twilight of the soul. Shadows in the hollows of our being deepen and pool together until we are but walking masses of darkness.

Such a loneliness grips you that it is difficult to put into words. So much of the media fixates on flashes of emotion, like happiness or anger, but it is the silent and slow-burning sensations of grief and yearning which each of us, in the quietness of our hearts, know best.

Nothing you do can allay the emptiness in your chest, not words, not books, not films, not the embrace of another human being or the prospect of love. No spiritual philosophies, no God or Goddess, no abstract idea offer the least bit of comfort. Filtered through the grey light of evening all appears washed-out and grey, as if the rain has soaked into the fabric of the world.

You feel the urge to do something mad and drastic, something to shake up this stagnant universe like a snow-globe until the galaxies and stars swirl in a glittering frenzy.

But what? When you are so horribly limited by existence on the human plane, what can you do to break through the gray membrane into the golden world on the other side?

Dance and jump until your heart nearly explodes? Stuff your face with food, gorging on the sweet and luscious substances until you are bloated and sick? Revel in whatever earthly pleasures you can snatch at in a bid to distract yourself?

It is at these times when the fears rush in, screaming like banshees. Fear of death, of oblivion. Fear of our inherent loneliness in the universe. Fear of the fact that nothing in the physical world can provide us any comfort from the unbearable dissatisfaction and awfulness of existence.

What we really want is to return to the womb, or perhaps someplace even beyond that, when we existed as but a flicker of light in an ethereal sphere, nothing but peace and love and serenity. We are stranded on the physical plane, left to grapple with its limitations, and we are in pain.

We press our bodies to each other, hoping to be consumed and absorbed, to lose ourselves.

We press our faces to walls, wanting the solidness of it, the safety.

We fold ourselves into books, wishing ourselves into other worlds where angels always trump demons and there is always a bed to return to, an adventure winding to a close, a comfort at the end of the story.

There is nothing. That is how you feel during these cold evenings. That our Earth is just a lump of rock, and us atoms assembled together in a particular form for a little while. All a stupid, pointless accident.

Yet you cannot live through life like this.

Hope must be found, no matter how small, even if it is based on dreams and foolishness, or else you will die.

So we hug ourselves tight and think: Love. We hug ourselves tight and think: Now. We hug ourselves tight and think: Together, As One. We hug ourselves tight and think: It All Passes. We hug ourselves tight and we think: It’s Okay.

Is it?

It is.

It must be.

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5 thoughts on “Evenings

  1. I apologize for intruding, but I recently struggled with an existential depression despite the fact that I am Christian and supposedly shouldn’t deal with such things. A lot of people in general just don’t think that deeply on the purpose of their lives, and some don’t even care. But I always did, and since I was very young I’ve known my purpose and never understood that particular perspective. I had a longing for something apocalyptic to happen because I was bored and disgusted by everyone’s shallowness, but I felt like even then, I would have a purpose. As I got older, I was less and less fond of the apocalypse thing because I owned stuff and am just as greedy as the next person, but still, I knew my purpose.

    This last year I got distracted, however. It’s complicated to explain the whole story, and honestly I’m not sure how relevant it is, so I’ll just tell you I got lost. I quit caring about anything, including stories and music (two things that used to move me a lot). I didn’t see the purpose in furthering… anything. Because honestly, if we’re just here, then there isn’t much purpose in whatever the hell we do because 100,000 years from now, we might all be dead and the universe would continue on like nothing happened.

    I was numb though, so I wasn’t exactly driven to do anything about it (like kill myself). Something in me still wanted to feel though, and so I sought God, thinking he’d fix it. I bought a new Christian album, while looking for something that wasn’t worship, and I found this album that was more real than I expected. It’s probably the most depressing Christian music I’ve ever heard, and I think it’s beautiful. His mother left him when he was a kid, and then she died when he found her. But anyway, I made little breakthroughs of crying fits that weren’t happy or sad – just overwhelming – but they only lasted a couple minutes at best. (Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=adKEqin5SoI)

    The song revealed to me that existentialism was my problem, but how to fix it didn’t come to me until I realized something. I had tried to read a little of the Bible that same night, something I’m normally terrible about sitting down to do, and when I forced myself to do that, I had been moved. I was happy for a whole 24 hours after that. The next day I apparently forgot, but while dwelling on this existential depression and how to fix it, I noticed that I had learned something: there was nothing that could move me but God. It wasn’t even uplifting stuff that I was reading.

    So I would argue that YHWH does fill the emptiness, and that nothing else can. Because for me, I lost everything else when I lost sight of him. I tried to care, but I just didn’t care anymore about my stories, my family, my friends, my situation, my body, etc. The only thing that got me anywhere was communicating with God and realizing that without him, nothing was worthwhile. If it were a choice between God and anything else, at this point, I would throw away the stories that I’ve always seen as my purpose, and I would throw away the books, and I would throw away the music, and I would throw away my life. But thankfully, I know he wouldn’t ask that of me because he put those loves on my heart for a reason – I just needed to lose them to remember the source of my care for them.

    I said everything a little more in depth here: http://lookslikeiwin.blogspot.com/2015/04/existentialism-versus-new-horizons.html

    Sorry, that wasn’t meant to derail your blog X( I like reading your blog, truly.

    • Thank you for sharing that. I understand. This whole business of living and existing is beyond me sometimes. Everyone struggles with it, and everyone comes to term with it on their own, though no-one has any answers.

      • I guess in short, the reason I believe I exist is the same reason I write: the purpose of my characters is for me to love them and watch them grow through hardships so that when they reach the end of the story, things are better. Those are my favorite stories. And then the reason I exist is to love and be loved by my own author, and so I was made to learn to enjoy him. I only find my purpose when I remember how to enjoy him. When I start to enjoy other stuff more I forget why I exist.

        I am not attempting to “convert” you or anything. Just sharing a different POV. I probably would have committed suicide years ago without God in my life because there’s no logical explanation for why I, or anyone should survive otherwise. The only thing that changes with him around is the way that you think and understand things, but that can make a major difference.

        So, I really just was built to hate leaving explanations unsaid, but maybe it helps/will help.

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