Hollow Men...because I can
Is is like this
In death's other kindgom,
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
~From "Hollow Men" by T. S. Eliot, Section III
For some reason these lines of that poem are the ones that always seem to get me. The way they're set out on the paper just makes me stop and think, and I feel this pang inside me -- a false rememberance of all the times I've ever felt like this.
(Because everyone's felt like this sometime: waking up in the middle of the night yearning, not for cheap sex or meaningless communication or blind vanity, but for connection, compassion, "tenderness" reciprocated in whatever way: the sudden and desperate need to not be alone.)
(And "alone" doesn't just mean alone -- sometimes I feel most alone in those moments when I'm surrounded by others...)
(I'm not feeling this now, so you shouldn't worry...but the power of the imagery is not lessened because of it. If anything it proves stronger, since it is capable of reminding me of what I've escaped. The memory isn't beautiful, and so it's one I'd forget, but Eliot doesn't let me.)
Waking alone. It means a lot of things. To someone, maybe it's the sensation of waking up and finding your lover departed. For others, maybe it's about waking up and being forced to remember that you went to bed alone, that there is no companionship for you. To me, it might mean those things sometime in the future.
But right now, it still means something. For the longest time, when I woke up in the morning, the rest of the house was already awake, but no one had left yet. I relished waking up early, because I felt comfortable in my house warmed by human presence. I would read in my pajamas for an hour before Dad kissed me goodbye and left for work. This was a signal that I needed to get dressed and go downstairs, where I'd meet my sister and Mom would have breakfast ready for us on the table. We ate together and watched cartoons for half an hour before brushing our teeth and leaving for school.
Slowly, as school progressed, I had to wake up earlier and earlier. Middle school was the first time I had to wake up to an alarm; before then, my internal clock was a good enough judge. High school was the first time I had to wake up before the sun on a regular basis. And slowly, it became less thrilling to wake up so early. More and more, I was waking alone. First I was up before my sister, but still saw Mom and Dad. Then, Mom began to sleep longer than me, too, and it was just Dad and I at the breakfast table. And then when this school year began with him at his new job, I truly woke alone. The feeling isn't a comfortable one. It's a change so great from my childhood that when I try to think about it directly, I can't fathom it. But my father and mother still make sure I'm up when my alarm goes up -- without them, most days I wouldn't wake up. In college, I wonder what it will be like -- waking alone. Having no choice but to wake alone.
I don't think I can spend a life like that for very long. I need human comfort; I need camaraderie; I need support, compassion, connection. I cannot be a Hollow Man -- it would kill me first.
In death's other kindgom,
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
~From "Hollow Men" by T. S. Eliot, Section III
For some reason these lines of that poem are the ones that always seem to get me. The way they're set out on the paper just makes me stop and think, and I feel this pang inside me -- a false rememberance of all the times I've ever felt like this.
(Because everyone's felt like this sometime: waking up in the middle of the night yearning, not for cheap sex or meaningless communication or blind vanity, but for connection, compassion, "tenderness" reciprocated in whatever way: the sudden and desperate need to not be alone.)
(And "alone" doesn't just mean alone -- sometimes I feel most alone in those moments when I'm surrounded by others...)
(I'm not feeling this now, so you shouldn't worry...but the power of the imagery is not lessened because of it. If anything it proves stronger, since it is capable of reminding me of what I've escaped. The memory isn't beautiful, and so it's one I'd forget, but Eliot doesn't let me.)
Waking alone. It means a lot of things. To someone, maybe it's the sensation of waking up and finding your lover departed. For others, maybe it's about waking up and being forced to remember that you went to bed alone, that there is no companionship for you. To me, it might mean those things sometime in the future.
But right now, it still means something. For the longest time, when I woke up in the morning, the rest of the house was already awake, but no one had left yet. I relished waking up early, because I felt comfortable in my house warmed by human presence. I would read in my pajamas for an hour before Dad kissed me goodbye and left for work. This was a signal that I needed to get dressed and go downstairs, where I'd meet my sister and Mom would have breakfast ready for us on the table. We ate together and watched cartoons for half an hour before brushing our teeth and leaving for school.
Slowly, as school progressed, I had to wake up earlier and earlier. Middle school was the first time I had to wake up to an alarm; before then, my internal clock was a good enough judge. High school was the first time I had to wake up before the sun on a regular basis. And slowly, it became less thrilling to wake up so early. More and more, I was waking alone. First I was up before my sister, but still saw Mom and Dad. Then, Mom began to sleep longer than me, too, and it was just Dad and I at the breakfast table. And then when this school year began with him at his new job, I truly woke alone. The feeling isn't a comfortable one. It's a change so great from my childhood that when I try to think about it directly, I can't fathom it. But my father and mother still make sure I'm up when my alarm goes up -- without them, most days I wouldn't wake up. In college, I wonder what it will be like -- waking alone. Having no choice but to wake alone.
I don't think I can spend a life like that for very long. I need human comfort; I need camaraderie; I need support, compassion, connection. I cannot be a Hollow Man -- it would kill me first.