The Candle

If there’s one thing I know about myself it’s that I need prodigious reflection time, decompression moments, emotional detoxification. I once thought of myself as social and outgoing, but I see now that I have to retreat and remove myself from the goings-ons for mental clarity and renewed energy. I go full bore for a long while, sometimes years, mostly not, and then I get quiet. Observant. Moody. Separate from the fray. It doesn’t feel like a choice, but it surely is. There’ve been many periods of hermitization in my life, where I go into a corner, take a blanket, and check out. Often for months. And I stay that way until am I ready again.

I feel the need to do that now.

It’s like I’m a vessel of water and the ripples toss and froth and eventually slosh right out. I feel dry, so dry, and tired, not physically, though there is that, but completely and totally. Physical, mental, emotional, spiritual. To be honest, there’s something really bothering me and I have to tease it out and probably throw it away; but for now, it’s a burr and any movement antagonizes it. I don’t feel sure, or purposeful, or even like me at all. I’m a dead tree. That’s it. Crackly and twiggy and pokey. No leaves. No fruit. No fertile peat. A dead tree on a hillside with hundreds of other decaying trunks and bony branches.

I’m sure this is what happens to me when I lose my way, which I do too many times for my liking. I put the compass in my pocket and feel my way around in the dark, taking whatever hand is outstretched or going wherever they lead me. I lose ground this way. My priorities keen and yaw and soon, I’m not sure who I am or where. If you’ve read this blog in the last few months, no doubt you’ve seen posts about how I’m frustrated about some of the inauthenticity around me in the online universe. There’s so many voices and if you’ve put your compass in your pocket and your heart in your mouth, you don’t know which one to heed. You meet so many people and then begin the process of weeding out those who are no good for you. But then you grow fearful of the silence, although you so desperately need it.

I suppose this is a horribly metaphoric way of saying?

I’m burned out.