There is in melancholy, the attraction of sweetness
But isn't there also, in melancholy, the attraction of a deadly gentleness?
Anguish is born like a tune whose melody gradually infiltrates and overwhelms every other sound. The disturbing regularity that characterizes it (the same hours of the day or night), once it has us in its grip, conjures up a space of absolute savagery that we cannot approach rationally. Anxiety will not be tamed. It pervades space and makes any recognition impossible; we no longer see how the horizon could open, we only see its closed line. Anguish is a death threat precisely when we should accept it as part of being mortal and therefore as part of being ephemeral—not belonging, being transhumant on this earth. It brings a slight misalignment in space and time that suddenly leaves us in the most complete disarray. The body knots itself. Then the idea comes that everything could be in vain, that there would no longer be a part to play, no longer any openings on the chessboard.
When we are seized by the feeling that nobody will ever come to us, that this solitude will not loosen its grip on us, ever, we must still find the strength to extend our arms, to kiss, to love. To say it, to start again, to hear the whisper of that wild voice that calls you from well before your beginnings.
Your example
- Go and see the roses again. You will understand that yours is unique in the world. You will return to ...
Yet, certainly, the wise learn many things from their enemies; for caution preserves all things. From a friend you could not learn this, but your foe immediately obliges you to learn it. For example, the states have learned from enemies, and not from friends, to build lofty walls, and to possess ships of war. And this lesson preserves children, house, and possessions.
But again self-discipline was the great help. I had to learn to face people and I could not do it ...
The present theory then must be considered to be a suggested program or framework for future research and must stand ...
It’s saying no.
That’s your first hint that something’s alive. It says no. That’s how you know a baby is starting to turn into a person. They run around saying no all day, throwing their aliveness at everything to see what it’ll stick to. You can’t say no if you don’t have desires and opinions and wants of your own. You wouldn’t even want to.
No is the heart of thinking.