Shadowy hope for something unknown.

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I have searched every drawer in my life and probed every cupboard for something I cannot name, for something I cannot understand. My yearning for this unknown something is amorphous. I think I should know what I do not. I think I should remember something I do not remember.

Is that odd, or is it something we all think.

It may be a common feeling. Few put it in words. Many sense it. There is something not quite right about this world. I don’t mean the obvious complaints of cruelty, unfairness, pain and sorrow. I mean the feeling that something is missing.

I sense a sort of play-acting in what I do, in what everyone does. Actors-upon-a-stage is the metaphor often used. As Shakespeare said, ”We strut and fret our hour upon the stage”. That grim reminder of temporality casts its shadow over hopes and dreams. How can we take seriously what will only last a while.

Bubbles have a shimmering beauty, but then they burst.

Is the best we can hope for transitory glory followed by, nothing? Many don’t even have that. Should we count our blessings and be content. Yes we should. For some reason I remain unsatisfied with that simple, practical understanding. I feel like an orphan, an outcast banished to a strange land, a prisoner on some foreign shore, sentenced to life without parole. I would gladly escape and return to my own people - if only I knew where they might be.

I try to keep my whining to myself. I’ve had a good life. Better than most. I thank the good lord for my blessings. I’m grateful for the unearned mercy I’ve received.

Even so, the emptiness remains.

There is a Woody Allen movie. I don’t recall the name. In the scene that matters, he is riding alone on a dark and gloomy train. In the train passing next to his he can see light-filled compartments and happy passengers in pleasant communion. He looks back to the camera, without expression, without a word. Nothing needs to be said.

It’s artful illustration for the feeling I’m calling the yearning. Woody Allen may have meant only to express the gulf between the haves and the have-nots. I’m quoting it here to illustrate something deeper: the gulf between what is, and what should be.

Long years ago I read a line from a writer whose name I’ve forgotten, “My heart has followed all my days something I cannot name”.

I knew what he was talking about.

I still don’t understand it.

By K. L. Shipley

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