|Charpentier, Constance Marie - Melancholy|
I don't want to interact with the world. I am satisfied to take small joys from my books, movies, and music right here in my own space. I have no need to venture out into the world, and if I do, I feel as if I am floating along somehow separate. There is my mind, and then there is every where, thing, and body else. Colors, sounds, and smells are muted as the world moves along, and I pause in my moment.
What does one do with melancholy? Drift along with it? Get out and try to face it in defiance?
Melancholy is hard to pin down. I think it can present itself in a quiet sort of acceptance of a beautiful, beloved thing coming to an end. I've had it come to me after a perfect, unbelievable moment happened, a moment that you can only be believed in the movies that is now, and then it is gone. This melancholy is like dancing to a slow song alone in the dark.
Pensive sadness, "Reflecting deep or serious thought" over emotional pain. When I look into a rapidly flowing river all I see is a danger, an anger, a confusion, but when I look into a clear, calmly flowing stream I see a wavy reflection of something that is or was. I can look deeply and contemplate what can or never will be. I can see into my own eyes in the deep reflection and possibly get a glimpse of my soul. For this moment in my melancholy may find me with feelings of loss, despair, grief, helplessness, disappointment or possibly sorrow. All I can do is sit with it quietly.
The melancholy may last a while, but as I wait, eventually it drifts away. If I sit looking into the reflection of the calm stream for enough time, the sun eventually comes out in rays of light that touch my face, warm my soul, and bring a smile. As if Jesus sits down next to me and places his hand gently on my shoulder. God's love shows itself and wakes me from my revelry with hope for a new day. With no obvious cause the melancholy came, and with God's touch and his love for me, the melancholy turns into sweet soft smiles of joy and possibly a twinkle in my eye. A sigh. Jesus is here even in my melancholy.