A Meandering Mind
Melissa Dallago
“Begin
here,” touched me in a way that I didn’t think possible. In reading the opening words from Journals of Solitude by May Sarton, I
took the phrase as her invitation to enter into the inner workings of her brilliant
mind. As I was reading the book I kept a
pencil in hand and lined around certain phrases and sentences that captured my
attention, and then at the end of each journal entry I would jot down my
thoughts and reactions to those phrases.
Some
of the parts of the book that touched me include:
“For a long time now, every meeting
with another human being has been a collision.
I feel too much, sense too much, am exhausted by the reverberations
after even the simplest conversation.
But the deep collision is and has been my unregenerate, tormenting and
tormented self. I have written every
poem, every novel, for the same purpose – to find out what I think, to know
where I stand. I am unable to become
what I see. I feel like an inadequate
machine, a machine that breaks down at crucial moments, grinds to a dreadful
halt… or, even worse, explodes in some innocent person’s face.” (12)
My response:
I too feel like a difficult and impossible person
sometimes. I long to be with people, don’t
necessarily know how to act around them as I don’t always understand their
motives.
“…At such times I
really feel as if my head were going to burst and there is no doubt that the
tantrum itself is a release. But it is
paid for very heavily in guilt and shame.
‘Anger is a short madness,’ says Horace”
(28)
My response:
Anger is a sign that something is wrong and, if it is
channeled properly, anger can be used as a means to spring someone into action
to discover the cause and fix the problem.
Anger may be a short madness, but it does have its purposes.
“I woke in tears this
morning. I wonder whether it is possible
at nearly sixty to change oneself radically.
Can I learn to control resentment and hostility, the ambivalence, born
somewhere far below the conscious level?
If I cannot, I shall lose the person I love. There is nothing to be done but go ahead with
life moment by moment and hour by hour…”
(33)
My response:
I too feel depressed for no apparent reason. Sometimes my feelings are too intense. The volume control on my emotions gets
cranked up way too loud, and they are all can I hear. It is during those times that I must live
second by second, step by step, like someone attempting to navigate a frozen
lake, carefully stepping along for fear of causing a crack and falling into the
frigid water.
“Love is one of the
great enlargers of the person because it requires us to “take in” the stranger
and to understand him, and to exercise restraint and tolerance as well as
imagination to make the relationship work.
If love includes passion, it is more explosive and dangerous and forces
us to go deeper.” (93)
My response:
Relationships are a challenge, and this sentiment is very
true. Passionate love is an incendiary device
waiting to explode. A mixture of fire
and ice is best; a love that has a slow burn stands the test of time.
“And
in a strange way laughter has the same effect.
We are able to laugh when we achieve detachment, if only for a moment.” (99)
My response:
Laughter is going insane for one moment, yet by going
insane, we stay sane.
“We cannot afford not to fight for
growth and understanding, even when it is painful, as it is bound to be.” (148)
My response:
There is growth in suffering. As you suffer you experience emotions and
learn lessons that add layers and depth to your soul. Instead of one monochromatic color, there is
depth, shading, lightness, oblique angles that add to the painting. How interesting it is to view a person that
has such depth and beauty to the painting of their soul. Life is an artist, and we are its canvas.
“I
feel a bit firmer now. It always comes
back to the same necessity: go deep enough and there is a bedrock of truth,
however hard. It looks as if I were ‘meant’
to be alone, and that any hope of happiness is not meant.” (150)
My response:
Happiness is an activity; you must be involved in it
daily. I too suffer from neurotic pangs
of worry and guilt, self-denial, castigating myself over every word I say,
thought I think, and reaction instead of action, that I partake in. I am my own worst enemy. I find that when I simply stand still all of
my fears, doubts and self-recriminations fall away, and I realize that I am
sane, whole and a beautiful loving being, shining and vibrant. And then as I take a step those engines of
self-doubt start again. That noise is
the symphony of my soul, it makes me who I am, but oh those moments of standing
still are my bedrock and are divine.
With
respect to solitude, I agree with Sarton that no man is an island, but he certainly
needs one small place where he can retire to reflect, ponder and process life’s
lessons and any troubles that may be bothering him. I find that I am at my best after I have had
those moments of solitude. I emerge feeling
refreshed and ready to immerse myself in the waves of life. If for some reason I am not able to have
those moments of solitude, whether it be through interruptions or personal responsibilities
keeping me from it, I become extremely frustrated and agitated.
I
delight in writing as it provides me with an opportunity to allow my mind to
wander as I write down my thoughts. I
love watching my writing develop from a single thought that connects to another
and another, and the next thing I know I have written something that is rich in
my insight and experience. My writing is
evidence of my struggle for self-improvement and creativity. Writing is a means of connecting the dots,
learning about myself, and developing my feelings and opinions of the world
around me. I often feel a release after
I have written something. Sarton said it
best with the following:
“My own belief is that one regards
oneself, if one is a serious writer, as an instrument for experiencing. Life – all of it – flows through this
instrument and is distilled through it into works. How one lives as a private person is
intimately bound into the work. And at
some point I believe one has to stop holding back for fear of alienating some
imaginary reader or real relative or friend, and come out with personal
truth. If we are to understand the human
condition, and if we are to accept ourselves in all the complexity, self-doubt,
extravagance of feeling, guilt, joy, the slow freeing of the self to its full
capacity for action and creation, both as human being and as artist, we have to
know all we can about each other, and we have to be willing to go naked.” (77)
Overall, I feel that Journal
of Solitude starts off well, but after a while Sarton’s writing begins to
lack substance. The insightful life
lessons that were the highlights for me became less frequent and more muddled
as Sarton gets lost on the roads of her mind.
It began to feel like a laundry list of gardening, trips, lectures and
her ongoing struggle between wanting solitude and engaging in life. A part of me wanted to reach through the
pages and shake her and tell her to go out and live in the world for once;
Nelson and her solitude will always be there, but life is happening while you sit
here impotently longing to be engaged in it.
Sarton is a highly talented writer that does make you think about your
own life, but in the end I almost felt pity for her for choosing solitude over
people’s company. In conclusion, Sarton
allowed her thoughts to meander through her journal, and in reading it mine did
as well.
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