Ghosting the Holy Days
(SwordPaper) A few years ago, on my birthday, (which I genuinely forgot about) a friend pried me off my recliner from reading a book by showing up unannounced, saying he wanted to celebrate my birthday.
There was a lot of coercion on his part after he reminded me that it was my birthday. I told him I was just fine with this great new book, staying at home to explore it, and that I had just finished an intense Capoeira workout.
He was adamant about getting me out of my home to celebrate with him. That I must “do something” for my birthday.
Is going to the gym and reading a book not considered something done?
He picked me up, and we drove to his house. Upon opening his door, 30 people who I had known in some way yelled out “surprise!” and took turns wishing me happy birthday.
Within 15 minutes I found a way to sneak out and run back home to my recliner and book.
Many unanswered phone calls ensued from confused party-goers concerned for my whereabouts.
Most of those people never spoke to me again.
I don’t remember caring. I was more frustrated that people didn’t bother to consider that I was enjoying being at home with my book.
Birthdays, holy-days, and holidays are not part of my usual scope of awareness unless someone takes the time to personally let me know it is important to them.
It is not just that. I do not consider that I am of any value to other people unless they tell me so. I would rather just stay out of your way.
I remain but an apparition of Earthly tradition. I was a phantom before there was “ghosting”.
I am aware that a lot of people take my lack of interest personally. Memes are applied to me, and entire psychological treatises are generated to villainize my behaviour.
The more that others are driven away by my disposition, the deeper and wider grows the chasm of my isolation; and I only notice because I can breathe more freely.
I care profoundly for my brothers and sisters on Earth and wherever else they may be. I often cry when I think of how lonely, desperate, and in need so many people are.
I spend most of my time dreaming, planning, engineering, and building solutions aimed at mending the broken hearts, and lost souls of our world; and yet I long for solitude.
My work is always part of some venture to provide inspiration, education, and succor to those who seek; and yet I thrive in seclusion.
I rarely wish harm or pain of any kind upon anything living or extant; yet my very mode of existence seems to trigger so many into emotionally injuring themselves and assigning the blame to me.
I mean nothing Ill, and my desires are far from purely selfish, and still some are offended that I treat myself to a desolate abode, wherever that may be.
My sanctuaries of reclusion.
I apologize that what I do for me is interpreted as against you. I assure you it is not, though I realize this statement may not be very reassuring.
However much I would give to serve as an Angel, my only angle is as a Demon. And so it is that as I offer inspiration through exhibition, I fail to offer myself as a companion.
I am more the Poltergeist than the Zeitgeist – haunting thoughts and memories; into nightmares do dreams transmute.