A question about my life-view..

Sometimes, i think that perhaps I’m Saturn-touched – y’know the one with the bleak/joyless view of life…

I’ve always watched other people around me and thought they were all somehow ‘touched’ by something: a constant frenzied motion towards something they called ‘life’: the act of living,the battles, the aches, the ‘must-do’/the ‘must-have’ lists and titles that somehow made ‘life’ apparently.
A haze of addiction to ‘the joys of life’ – an addiction for life and with life somehow.

And I, I wasn’t.

It all felt, too often, like a delirium – a shortlived, blissful, opium-addict’s lovely dream and I couldn’t take part in all this ‘joy of life’ – even though I ached with all my heart to. Couldn’t take part in it, coz it wasn’t ‘real’ enough for me, you see…

I could see too clearly: Saw too well that there was an edge of hysteria to that joy and an edge of desperation to that belief in life and love.

As though they somehow suspected that it might be an illusion after all, and so they clung to it all the more tightly, held it even more closer to their chests and guarded it more jealously:
– their titles and status and power-positions DID mean Life, dammit!
– their perfect partners and children with their frozen smiles and pained eyes DID mean they had Love, dammit!
– the fact that they had BOTH, meant that they Loved Life, dammit!..

And how dare i question the validity, the credibility,the authenticity of their life and their love….

how indeed?…

BUT: (It wasn’t ‘real love of life’ then was it?…it’s almost a fear then, isn’t it?, A fear that it doesn’t actually exist and so they’re desperate to cling on to their ‘version’ of it and have it be real somehow? – like a kid who’s discovered that there’s no Santa and now, must make his own Santa to soothe his child-self’’s heartbroken, disillusionment (not sure if i’m making up my own words now!, but anyway!)

Because ‘real love of life’ wouldn’t be this frenzied, this defensive would it?…

And so I left them well enough alone…

…Alone with my own desperate need to believe that if THIS was illusory, then surely, there must be something more ‘real’ – more enduring upon which the illusion was based?.

They couldn’t bring me into that illusory world of theirs,
And, it’d be too cruel to bring them into mine with no illusions at all.
- Mine with no illusions at all…except, perhaps the need to believe that somewhere this illusion of mine could be made real and that I’d be successful in finding it and making it so, on my own, my way…

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