I believe the poem which inspired this comment of mine to have a very dark message. Perhaps deconstructionist, perhaps marxist, perhaps even nihilistic. [though its author assures me not]

Some things pain me to read; because I know such things, such realities, seem true–and perhaps are true for many, at least in the present. And, although they may seem so; still, one should not proclaim such conditions, such realities to be changeless. No such condition is set in stone. Quite often our prison is of our own making; not bars set by our circumstances, but by those we construct by virtue of the way we think about them–the way in which we frame them in our minds.

This, perhaps, is too dark for me, I’m not sure I understand its message; However, I do know that I cannot exist–not in the same way, or in the same universe–without my truest love.  I wonder, when I read such as this, if the author knows little else but hurt, and pain.

I would want to tell such a young man–or a young lady–that he should Know that it is not that way for everyone.  If one claims it is so, then one tells a lie, and a very evil one at that, though perhaps, not intentionally.

There is great joy everywhere; and great joy in our mothers and our fathers, our sisters and our brothers, our husbands and our wives, our sons and our daughters.  So very many of us, do not break them apart, but hold them together, keep them, as may many of them keep us, from breaking apart.

In this way am I kept.  In this way, does my life have all the more meaning.

via entangledinparadox.

I wrote the following. I think it’s long enough to copy here. I also encourage anyone reading this to follow the link to Bjorn’s blog to read the original piece that inspired the following:

I am very sentimental about such things. I have aways wondered why I should be so reluctant to part with a favored old item. It was so from when I was very young. I have learned to overcome it, however, I remember well the old feeling, not so covered up by age and experience. Of sadness, betrayal, loss, loneliness. It was as though the objects themselves had souls, I thought much later on in adulthood.

Now, even much, much later, I have come to think that, closer to the truth is this: That in these objects we invest part of our own soul, and feel the loss as the object is ripped from it–away from us, that part of our soul remaining, yet feeling the effect of the beloved object torn from us–ripped away. So we feel the loss as though the object were an old friend.

I was not sure what to think about this piece at first, because it changes mood swiftly, and more than once–sometimes seeming deadly serious, and sometimes whimsical. I think I wanted–because of these feelings of loss that are natural to me–It to be serious, or whimsical in its entirety. However… one doesn’t always get what one wants, and this, too, is a lesson which should be refreshed from time to time.

I believe I am starting to recognize your unique voice as it resonates within your poetry, such that I might recognize a poem to be yours, or at least reminiscent of one of yours, when encountering it randomly.

And Bjorn Answers:

David, first of all thank you for reading through my entries. I love your feedback.

On the difficulties in parting with an object I think you are 100 percent correct. If it has seen daily use it become a part of you, and it doesn’t matter if it’s a tractor or a teapot.

On the poem I think you are right. I changed my own mood while writing it, at first I almost wanted to do something “comical”, but the sadness of the old machine grew on me just like it would have done if I had grown up with “him”.

In such cases, does one not wrap a piece of tofu and a few bean sprouts in a jacket of rice and seaweed, and douse it, ever so slightly with urine? Having been a server the better part of a century ago, I seem to recall that was the perfect solution. “Win-win,” as I believe the saying goes.