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Saturday, February 25, 2012

Rhythm to my Madness

A little while ago, I received a very nice note from a friend. It is always gratifying to encounter the selflessness and empathy friends are capable of. I decided to post my reply to her as it contains my method by which I am dealing with depression spelled out as well as I can muster. I will not print her original note and I have changed the name as her privacy need not be shared in this place.

The note:

Thanks, M. Actually, another good friend suggested meditation as well. I may try some of the techniques at some point. For now, however, writing is my meditation, my exploration of my psyche, the method I use to digest the world. I write all kinds of things, some direct examinations, others oblique, reflected thoughts. Writing is more than a manipulation of words to make a coherent sentence. It is truth and clarity and reason, it is music and poetry and painting, a world within a world. It is impossible for me to lie to myself when I write: the words are there, all perfect and drawn, a snapshot of truth. When I pause and read what I write, I read with a rhythm, a pulse of synapse, ticking away, a metronome of thought. And when that rhythm is interrupted, a hitch in the truth or a false mirror, I feel it, as when a drummer is dragging the beat. That is the same rhythm, I suspect, of meditation, the same internal tick, the Godhead, the only absolute. I am a translator, interpreting my mind for my mind, acknowledging always the rhythm of my conscience.
Thank you for your interest in my thoughts. It really means a lot that you take the time to send me such suggestions. Camus was a charlatan and a nihilist: the world has within it many good people, like you, who have genuine feelings of empathy and concern and it is a better place for it.

Yours in hope ,

G

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