Ulysses

By Alfred, Lord Tennyson

1842

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel; I will drink
life to the lees. All times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
that loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vexed the dim sea. I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known---cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honored of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untraveled world whose margin fades
Forever and forever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end.
To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought

This is my son, my own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle--
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labor, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail;
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me--
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads--you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Comfort in pain

When you're so used to it, it's all you know.

You crave it. You can't live without it.

It's all you want. It's all you need.

Life seemingly has no purpose without it.

You hurt, you bleed, you scream, just to feel alive.

What's the point of living, then, if you can't feel alive? When it isn't pervading nearly every aspect of your existence?

It marks phases in your life. Periods when it was all you felt. When it was all your lived for. When it was all that kept you going.

Sometimes it burns like a dull, persistent ache in the background, other times like the hottest fires of hell.

But you like it.

You like the pain.

The hurt. The scars. The flashbacks. The raw emotions. The full weight of the invisible, silent turmoil as it comes crashing down on your consciousness.

You take it all in, soaking it up like there's no tomorrow.

Happiness feels like something's missing. "This is the real deal," you tell yourself.

"It hurts. So bad. But I like it."

It's comfort. In pain.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

A Steady Rain: A Poem

A steady rain
Controlled melancholy
Which no-one deigns
But weathers bravely.

The rhythm beats
The sensation stings
Cold becomes heat
As the heavy nails cling.

The footsteps prod
The judgement wears on
It is but a façade
That they had all drawn.

Grace under the glare
Of an incessant doubt
Respite lies somewhere
In the far-off drought.

A steady rain
Who's to blame?
As resolve was slain
It was ne'er the same.

Faith, after

You feel this inescapable sense of loss, of knowing they're not around any longer, and that you're never going to see them again for as long as you live. You're never going to be able to hear their laugh, feel their touch, breathe their scent, share those priceless moments of unspoken understanding and closeness. All you have left is a memory of their fleeting existence in the world, and in your life.

But you comfort yourself, and you tell yourself, it's not permanent; you're going to see them again, in the next life.

But others ask: but how do you know? How can you know?

Faith, I suppose.

It must be faith.

A silent, blind hope; a knowing peace of mind; an intuitive understanding that they are on the other side, waiting for you to join them. You haven't forgotten them, and they haven't forgotten you. "It's been too long," they say, "but here you are, at last, at the end of your road in one life, just as I was at mine all those decades back."

You let go.

You'll see them again. You know you will.

The thought soothes you immeasurably.

The power of faith. In the face of death.

Roles

We all play different roles in our relationships with the people whose paths we cross and impact. It's what those roles are that define the very fibres of our beings.

We can choose to be the best of friends, or mortal enemies. Mere acquaintances, or faithful lovers. Blood-bound allies, or unforgivable traitors. Whatever it is, our decisions about the roles we choose to play speak volumes about us as individuals.

Who do you want to be? What do you want to be? But most of all, why are you willing to be who you are, in relation to someone else? And how far are you willing to go to fulfil those roles?

Is it something we see in others, that shapes our relationships with them? Is that why we choose to stay, when we could so easily leave? Is it because we see ourselves becoming better people, because of their mere presence in our lives? Or is it because they love us, fear us, scare us, challenge us, anger us, make us want to cry, scream and shout at the top of our lungs because of what they mean to us, and what we mean to them?

In short, it's the apex of insanity.

But it's something we can't live without.

The fray

Where you drift to. Where you linger. Where you stay.

Until you're called back from it.

The fray.

You're brought back from the brink. Jerked back to the reality which you had all but pushed away into the recesses of your mind. Content with the imaginations of your illusory mind, it wasn't until that moment, that you were pulled back to the here and now.

The startling truth hit. Reality came back, unrelenting as ever.

It never went away. It was always there.

Lurking in the background, silently festering in the dark, as your imagination took centre stage.

But what pulled you back, from the fray?

A change. A revelation. A truth.

Unexpected. Heartbreaking. Frightening.

The answer scares you.

And you don't know if you can face it.

Games we play

Life's a game. It's just a question of who holds all the aces.

The upper hand. We all seek to gain it in whatever endeavours we undertake. For whoever wields control wields power over his or her adversaries. One word, one decision, and your fate is sealed, your destiny determined.

It's funny how we think that we're in control, when really, it's not our call to make. It's not up to us. It almost always never is.

As much as we like to think that we're in charge of our own fates and destinies, that we make all our own decisions, there are some things in life that are just out of our hands. And for most, if not all of us, it's more than we like, or are comfortable with.

We play the game, but we don't make the rules. Sometimes we're the players, sometimes the pawns. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. It's all out of our hands.

So what do we do, then? What can we do?

I guess we trust.

Trust the process. Trust the path that's been laid out for us, not by us. Trust that everything will turn out alright.

Trust that no matter what, we'll be okay.

Because the game of life leaves no dice unrolled.

Okay

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

Remember that.

You're safe, where you are.

Nothing can touch you.

Nothing can make you betray yourself.

No matter what happens, it's okay.

You're okay.

You're gonna be okay.

Because you're strong enough. Brave enough.

To do what you have to. To do what you know is right.

Because you can. And you will.

Broken

You go down the path you swore you'd never take.

A momentary lapse in judgement.

You ask yourself, "Why?"

But you can only answer, "Because I was lost in the moment."

You lose control. When you swore you never, ever would.

You become the very thing you fight.

You don't know what to do now. Because you didn't know what you were doing then. Because there's nothing you can do now.

It eats at you. It haunts you. It makes you question everything.

"Why did I let myself do that?"

"Why did I let that happen?"

"How could I have let myself go?"

"I did it before. Why couldn't I do it again? In fact, why didn't I?"

"It was stupid. How could I have been so stupid?"

"Why, why, WHY?"

But the ultimate question is, "What now?"

But you don't know. And you don't think you ever will.

You break down inside.

Can you turn back? Or have you reached the point of no return?

When you fail yourself. When you let yourself down.

And you swore it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Aftershock

Crisis. What comes after?

The shock. Aftershock.

The fallout from the unravelling of the world and life as you know it. When the impact starts to set in and spread its effects like a virus. When it sets off a chain reaction of events that come crashing down like an unstoppable tsunami, mercilessly destroying all in its path.

You move into damage control, trying to right the wrongs before it's too late. Desperate times call for desperate measures. You do things you'd never imagined yourself doing. You go down the path you'd sworn you'd never take, and there's no turning back. You're forced to come clean with the lies and secrets. But can they handle the truth? That's something else completely.

The collateral damage spreads. Like a shockwave that ripples through the earth, pummelling everything to dust. Everyone and everything is affected. It's taken on a life of its own. It's out of control.

You can run, but you can't hide. It'll come back for you sooner or later. Like a living, breathing entity looking for vengeance. There's no escape. There's no respite. There will be no rest until you're dead and buried six feet under.

Aftershock. One wrong move, and everything falls apart.