Solitude.

I bought a book the other day from a used-bookstore. It is titled "Journal of a Solitude," by May Sarton.

The journal started on the 15th of September, and I am now on the 28th of October.

I picked the book because the title caught my attention. Myself, a lot of times, find joy in being alone. I don't feel lonesome being alone. I can stay by myself, and hours would just pass.

I find time in Toronto to pass quickly than here in Manila, and it is ironic, because there are more activities to be done here.

An entry in this Journal stuck to my mind.

September 21st: Found this in an old journal - Humphry Trevelyan on Goethe:

" It seems that two qualities are necessary if a great artist is to remain creative to the end of a long life; he must on the one hand retain an abnormally keen awareness of life, he must never grow complacent, never be content with life, must always demand the impossible and when he cannot have it, must despair. The burden of the mystery must be with him day and night. He must be shaken by the naked truths that will not be comforted. This divine discontent, this disequilibrium, this state of inner tension is the source of artistic energy. Many lesser poets have it only in their youth; some even of the greatest lose it in middle life. Wordsworth lost the courage to despair and with it his poetic power. But more often the dynamic tensions are so powerful that they destroy the man before he reaches maturity."

This could be true of ordinary mortals, too. If we stop seeking for perfection, although we know we could not find it, we will stagnate. We would stop dreaming. We would coast through life. We would just live. Mere living is never exciting. It has no flavors, it has no waves, it has no valleys and peaks.

Being discontented means seeking for a better life, more meaningful relationship, more spirituality, a burning desire to improve, to master, to excel, to love, to find a soulmate, to grow.