Throwback to August 16, 2007. This was a character perspective piece attached to the character from my first novel. He’s supposed to be a ghost who died and is trying to make sense of his life. Even though it says “he’s a ghost looking back over 47 years” in the opening of the book, no one seemed to pick up on that. Either I suck as a writer or no one looks at writing as literature anymore. Oh well. This didn’t make it into that book, but I thought it might make it into the followup, which is now dead. So here it is in a blog post, a short little character perspective piece….
Ashes to Dust
Not to seek or not to want, that is the secret to being happy.
I have not mastered that secret. I constantly seek or want and miss what is offered in the moment. The hand reached out in friendship leaves me wanting more till the point where all I see is contempt in smiling faces, ridicule in kind words, pity as the motivation. Ghosts from the past poison the moment, wants for the future only delay the pain of realization. I want fire and find only ashes.
I often feel that life has passed me by. Moments are left to the young while the old relive memories of when things seemed easier. I do believe in a rebirth, a renaissance of the spirit. I do believe in happiness, but it does not live in me. It seeks fertile ground, gentle moisture, a loving hand. In me the land is barren, streams alternate between dry and flooded, and my dreams never reach beyond the fingers of my hand. I seek kindred spirits and find only fleeting ghosts.
I sometimes wonder why I am so alone. I blame it on my honesty in a dishonest world. I blame it on my eloquence among inarticulate people. I hope it is because I walk a path less traveled, an old dirt road with no signs that someone else may find. Perhaps I went this way to hide myself away, seeking solitude and finding it, watching the setting shades on the horizon and wishing to share it with someone. Like always, I want more than the beauty offered in the moment.
I seek an end to futility, to unfulfilled potential, to un-reciprocated desires, to un-embraced moments. In the seeking you lose the secret to belonging. In the end, the sum total of life is death…a return to dust.
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