The city was slowly sinking into the winter, as if in the ice water. Today there were glass puddles, wooden people, tin hearts.
Relatively recently someone asked me: “Are you a good person?”. It made me contemplate. Am I good? And this is not a question for others as such. Mostly, the one to myself. Otherswill respond to it with an opinion – mirrored. And you are answering it to yourself by inner feeling, and the answer seems dubious…
Most of us are not bad and bad at the same time… We do good deeds sometimes, we hurt others too, sometimes. We are complex creatures and depend on the level of memory, compassion, those values that live in us or are suddenly forgotten, our pettiness and generosity, understanding or misunderstanding of others. – On this feeble distance between our souls. We are often, with little left to exception, biased towards others, especially to those who are not indifferent to us… You can learn to be non-biased but often we can but don’t, or it is too late to learn. Paradoxically.
I can feel deeply, I can listen/hear (apprehend) deeply, empathize till the ache in my body. And it is entirely not the reason to consider me good or bad. Or weak – could easily answer the question – am I strong or weak. Very strong! Many times I had proved it to myself and am absolutely convinced. So little is left of what I’m afraid. Not of loss or betrayal – not anymore; false senses of “security” and derived illusory “attachments” through them – vanquished; never mind whimsical littleness of being rejected or not accepted, criticized. – I so evidently see and fathom now the mechanisms of all this… Not afraid of loneliness – I know and bide in it. What I’m rather afeared of is losing this feeling of affability that I feel for destinies, stories, experiences. Mental anesthesia – when moving inwards to escape the pain of isolation, while letting your empathy to wither and die – settling on numbness over feeling.
Shifted instead by a mixture of zest, fascination and compassion. What wakes you, shows your best self, and so opens such wide vistas of imagination and realness combined. It is the only significant feeling in me I am convinced in.
There was a time when your eyes were the rainbows in any storm, then the light faded and all that remained was the rain, each sharp drop bringing my skin to ice. Yet in that storm, the memory of you became my stars, sometimes hidden by grim cloud, but always there. Perhaps it was your voice in the wind that took it from a savage bite to merely cold, enabled my soul to survive in that frozen wasteland. They say survival adaptations are born of necessity.
© Elin Vidoff