Soliloquy on Madness

Soliloquy on Madness

Are you mad?” the woman wanted to know.

Of course I am, I replied. Everyone is just a little mad. Aren’t you? Oh! Pardon me. I see by your face that I misunderstood your question. You meant “Aren’t you angry?” Well, I suppose I could have been angry. Yes, I suppose I had a perfect right to be angry. But am I? No, not at all. You see

Anger is an ugly emotion. It’s a very tiring emotion. It takes all your strength and right thinking and leaves you just a shell, a weak thing, a poor thing….a terrible emotion to live with. Yes, it’s true. I learned to think a long time ago, when I thought if I had a right to be angry, why, then I should be. After all, others were. Angry, I mean. And the angrier I could get, the more I could see others were angry, and there were more angry people than happy people, I thought, and I felt like I was surrounded by lean, angry people. I could complain as well as they did, even more because I could be angrier.

The very heat of anger burned in me, searing my soul, and I clung to it like a child clings to a familiar toy, a blanket. Indeed, a blanket! To wrap in and hide under and to be able to make faces at others and they not even see me. Marvelous thing, that. I had almost forgotten. But it isn’t easy to completely forget when you’ve been as angry as I have been.

And then I realized there was no one under my blanket with me. How long did I stay under that sweltering blanket that closed out all of life to me before I knew I was alone with it? Did the others know that? Did they feel alone? Did they know they were smothering under their blankets of miserable anger?

So then I began wondering even more and thinking of other people and how they might be surviving. Better than I; I was certain of that. No one could survive feelings as awful as mine, I was sure. No one felt the depth and bitterness of angry despair that I knew. If they did, they must all be dead by now, for I was intelligent enough to know there were many in hiding long before I covered my own head. How were they? I wondered. Where were they? I wondered, for I realized things had been silent for me for a long time. Where were the angry voices, the ugly words, the odd reasoning for their angers? I wondered where my own reasons and voice were. I tried to think to when it was that I fell silent like the others. I couldn’t remember what it was that made me so angry, only that I had thought I should be very, very angry. But when I couldn’t recall why I should feel so angry, I tried to get angry at myself for not remembering. How ever could I forget something so important? Did Anger rob all memories from me?

Somewhere, deep inside my tired, worn out thoughts, I heard…..I thought I heard a voice. No! I distinctly heard a voice, small as it was. It said It wasn’t that important. I got very angry at that voice. There, I said, that’s why I get so very angry. People say that wasn’t important. How do they know what is important or not important to me? I thought. How can they make such a judgment? It was MY anger, wasn’t it? It was MY right to be angry! And the tiny voice said The right wasn’t important either. I wanted to grind my teeth and get more and more angry. That was really all I knew how to be. That had been my life, I thought, and then suddenly, that voice spoke louder. What LIFE? it demanded of me.

Life. Beautiful word. Hopeful word. A word like candlelight, soft and coaxing. I peeped from under my blanket to see if there really was a candle, lit with a tiny blaze of warmth. I saw someone smiling. It was very frightening, I tell you! But the smile was warmer and brighter than a candle, and I dared to open my blanket a little wider. The mouth was under beautiful eyes, smiling eyes. The mouth told me to come out. I shall scare you, I told the eyes and mouth; who are you? I wanted to know.

The smile grew broader. But I know you, the mouth said gently. I’ve know you forever, and you’ve hardly ever known me. I’ve know what you were feeling and when you let yourself get so terribly angry. You wouldn’t listen to anyone, least of all to me, when we tried to help you change that emotion. I have waited a long time to be able to talk to you. You took the longest time spending all that anger. I suppose you just got too tired of it, for you began to relax, and finally, oh happy day, finally I could speak to you.

That was an alarming little speech, I replied. How could you have known me for so long, and I not even be aware you were nearby? Why didn’t you make yourself known? Why didn’t you touch me and get my attention?

Oh, I did. The bright eyes sparkled with laughter. I did. But you had shut yourself out of hearing first, and then out of seeing, so there was no need for me to do anything else but wait patiently until you grew so tired that you no longer could keep your defenses up. See, the blanket is worn thin in several spots, and I could see that you were worn down, so very tired of all the anger.

I had to look, oh yes, to see the worn out spots. Why couldn’t I notice those when I was underneath that blanket? Wouldn’t I have been able to see out through them as well as…..whomever it was to be so pleased with herself…..could see me?

She could read my mind, I found. You couldn’t see anything with your eyes so tightly squeezed shut with the anger, she said. The same with the feeling. There was no need to touch you; you were cold to any touches. Your ears were full of rage, so no voice could penetrate your imprisonment.

I was NOT imprisoned, I argued. It was my right, and I did it far better than other people have done it.

Longer, at any rate, she sighed. And then she laughed. You were always a bit proud of yourself, you know.

At that, I threw the blanket far aside, prepared to argue, but it was caught in a breeze that made it shiver and flutter and fall all apart, and I realized then how thin and fragile it really was. I was quite afraid of it being gone, wondering how should I hide myself so well ever again, for I knew that with the covering went all my anger. What would I have to cover me with, what would keep me safe from the eyes of other people, if there were any others who had no blanket for themselves, as I could see this…..being who smiled and laughed….had none.

This time she tilted her face back and laughed aloud, great happy sounds, with a tear squeezed from her eye. I thought she might be making fun of me, and I tried to grow angry, but the tear disturbed me. Why are you crying when you laugh? I tried to sound short, but it was a different voice than mine; it was inquisitive.

She bent towards me. It’s a tear of happiness, she declared, of joy, to see you in full and rid of that horrid blanket! Have you never had tears of happiness?

I supposed that I did, but that memory was rather clouded to me. She spoke of it and brought it clearly to my mind. A morning so long ago, my mother and I…….. I felt a tear. Was it of sorrow? My mother smiled, and she also had a tear. We were laughing so hard, we both had tears. Yes, I have had tears of happiness. At least that time.

Then quickly, one behind the other, or was it before the other, moments of deep happiness flew into my mind, and my body grew lighter and lighter. There was no candle but rather a sunshine, a delightful sunshine, and when it was dark there were darling stars and a big moon to give light. And I knew all those memories were mine and mine alone, and they were the stars and moon and sun that lit my LIFE. No matter how dark I might think my life was, the memories were beacons of strength and warmth and light, brightening the dark and driving it away.

When I looked up there was no smile nor bright eyes. I looked about. There were many others moving around me. Had they been there all along? I could even see the heap of a blanket here and there, not nearly so many as I had thought there would be if I ever looked. But the others who moved wore faces that showed happiness or sorrow or gladness or thoughtfulness. Many faces, and many emotions. But not one wore the smile and eyes that I had first glimpsed. Faces turned to me, and when they showed sadness, they began to smile, and if they smiled, they laughed a little, and when they were thoughtful, they were glad to notice me. It was all so very strange. I couldn’t for the life in me understand what was happening.

Then I knew! The LIFE was IN me. Yes, the life had come into me. I ran to a small pool of water nearby and leaned over to see my own face. It wasn’t my face, not the one I had grown to know, but it was the smiling mouth and bright eyes that had awakened me, had drawn my out of my anger. It was my own Life, my own Face.

Anger. It is weakening and tiring and ugly. It leaves everything ugly. Unless you are called or find your way out of it, if you are so lucky, it will destroy you.

But MADNESS, now. That is another thing!!

I see you aren’t so sure of me now. Forgive me. You think you can deal with an angry person and not with one who even assures you she is mad. There are all sorts of madnesses, you know, the same as there are all sorts of angers. I’m sure you’ve been angry a time or two, but perhaps not enough to let it take over your life. Some anger can bring a madness. I know that. But once you have given up anger, there is no madness like that in you.

A madness like mine doesn’t cause you to be shut away for your safety or for the safety of others. There is no harm in it. There is a great freedom, instead. It doesn’t form bars around you and shut others out. No, indeed. It invites others to come in and share it with you.

Shall I show you how to skip? No, no, there is no age limit on skipping. Yes, what will others say! Do I care? Absolutely not, for if skipping brings me more happiness than caring what others think, why should I care what they might say? Skipping makes your heart beat a little faster. Your body begins to think it might fly. Have you ever flown? No, not in an airplane. You’re trying to make fun of the situation, aren’t you? Of course, I know we can’t actually physically fly like the birds, since we haven’t been granted wings like birds. But we have been gifted with a marvelous imagination that helps us soar far above the reach of birds’ wings. Have you lost yours?

That ought to have made you angry! Yes, you see, someone robbed you of your imagination. Or perhaps you thought it more mature to let it go. In any case, that would be a good reason to be angry, wouldn’t it? Of course not! It isn’t that important, for you can easily enough get it back. You’ve only to find a child and read one of its books aloud. Make the voices, and raise your eyebrows in the right places, and watch the child’s smile grow, and so will yours.

See? That isn’t hard at all. Just the mention of it has brought you a memory you thought was gone, and it’s still there. It’s made you smile. Listen to the small voice in your heart and let it tell you of many more happy memories. You can avoid the covering of anger altogether, if you do. And if you feel you may be wanting that blanket, please do throw it away at once, for your Life will depart you, your smiles will disappear, and you’ll find loneliness and deep displeasure. Believe me, Madness is much more preferable.

You’ll find you can skip, if only in your dreams, that you can make many more happy memories. You can overlook faces of frowns and unpleasantness, ignore words and tones of displeasure, even make funny faces at them and then laugh, whether they saw you or not! Freedom is the result of madness. People will say you are mad or a bit so, for finding sunshine and happiness everywhere, when they can’t find a speck of it in themselves. They’ll berate you if you show that having money and gaining things don’t bring the sort of happiness you enjoy, and they’ll think you are certainly mad to find joy in so little. But you are free, you see, free of anger and displeasure and unkindness and falseness, free to smile and laugh and be friendly and feel wonderful!! Yes, MADNESS is infinitely more to be desired.