Ethereal Loss

I wrote a haiku this morning, while contemplating myself. I spend a lot of time in a melancholy mood, wondering about my place in the world, and my future. Sometimes I feel that I float aimlessly, without purpose. 

I believe in God. I believe that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes the tunnel's just too long, too polluted for me to see further than five feet in front of me. I struggle. I will always try to fight through it, though.

In stating that I write, sing, draw, and create solely to represent some higher ideal, I misled you, dear reader. I'm truly a selfish person who does this for myself. Maybe I can reach some other people, help, do something to improve others on the way, and, indeed, share the spirit of Creativity, but this is my remedy, and that is the first reason that I write. 

I've spent much of my life dreaming about high ideals. I've been blessed with great examples in my life. I have always harbored a small part of me that is a garden of optimism, a place where I cultivate light and radiate it outward. Other times, I wonder. Is this truly me? Do I create this light as a mask that I can hide behind? Am I hoping that it'll be so bright that it'll mask the darkness that threatens to pull me into its reaches? Like I stated before, I have a tendency toward the downtrodden and crestfallen. Is there something wrong with me? I'm constantly at war with myself.

In a writing exercise today, I was asked to describe myself in the form of a haiku. Who am I?

 

Countenance of dreams

Spent some time in a waste

Ethereal loss

I am a juxtaposition of dark and light. I am one who seeks radiance, and will always dream, but I am also a fragile human being, a figure made of glass that breaks a little bit every time I hit a bump in the road. Hopefully, with some help, I can be put back together again.

Writing is my remedy, just as music is my medication. I will always write.

Such is the task of an author.