I spoke yesterday about living in a bubble, doing everything possible to stay inside my own perfect little world where I could feel safe, away from all the pain, anguish and constant visions that swim around my head of my wife in another mans arms. I still haven’t really managed to burst that bubble which has expanded to the size and shape of my house and has become more of a dark, grey prison that a pretty bubble floating freely wherever the wind may take it.
I was convinced that the whole world was looking at me and then later in the evening (and somewhat further into the bottle of wine) I remembered a class from school, now I’m 33 and this doesn’t happen very often but is really was very appropriate, so before I explain further thank you to mad English teacher your methods worked.
Ok the point of this; I am feeling trapped in my own self made prison feeling that the world knows my humiliation. But of course they don’t everyone in the world have the own problems, and those lucky sods that don’t are not going to stop to take on someone else’s crap, they will just get on with their life as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.
The class I remembered was all about a poem written by W.H. Auden called ‘Musse des Beaux Arts’ which portrays a Brueghel painting depicting the fall of Icarus and yet everyone else in view continue with their day-to-day business as usual, here is the text below in blue with a link to the full work and picture (if you haven’t seen this before you can just see a leg as Icarus falls into the sea in the bottom right of the painting below the ship)
In Breughel’s Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
There is of course much more meaning to such wonderful work for both the painting and the poem than this but I believe my point is still valid which is;
The rest of the world is getting on with it, I see that now. I think it is about time for me to do the same.