The Tavern
If ‘Respite’ was the name of a place, it would be a bar in the middle of a desert. A bar that caters to those that are making the journey across. It is an oasis in the middle of hardship, ‘in the middle’ being the operative phrase. A place that is occupied by those who are in the middle of a challenging and toiling experience, a place that can only be visited temporarily. It has two sides in that: it is a relief and a rest, but within it is the knowledge that you must continue. That you must go back into the desert, and having already endured you know exactly what you are wading back into. It is a Heavy Relief.
It is calm experienced in the eye of a storm passing overhead, the break that the boxer gets in between rounds, the collecting of bodies in the night from the battlefield. It’s coming up for air before diving below an oncoming wave.
In this moment there can be clarity, where we aren’t simply focusing on what we’re going through, but reflecting and preparing. We literally collect ourselves in these moments, we can grasp more fully our self within the world and create an image of it.
You walk into this bar, and what else are you going to talk about but the road that you travelled to get here, and what else are you going to ask, but about the road that lays ahead of you.
Or maybe that might only occur when you still have the drive, passion, and vision to go on.
Or maybe it wouldn’t occur to anyone because when you are in the thick of it, all you can think about is finding relief, and you would take it in any form. Maybe all you can talk about is not being on the road at all, and you would do anything to get off of it. I don’t think you can truly appreciate or maybe even experience respite properly without such an intense contrast. I think that’s a clearly dangerous line. Mistaking possible respite for a new destination.
I think this is where we can lose ourselves, lose sight of where we are. It’s a simple continuation of the fight or flight response, it’s our inability to shut down our reactionary mode of operation. We are standing in that bar, thinking only about how are in the middle of the desert.
I think if we are given proper respite though, we begin to wind down. We begin to see things clearly again, but that requires a degree of separation because in reality we are still in the middle of the desert. We’re just behind the protection of walls, where we can appeal to rejuvenation. Maybe it gives us a taste of what we’re going for, but it should only remind us of it and not replace it entirely.
Taking respite that is presented to us is one thing. The vacation at work, the lone nights in your house, etc. That in and of itself can be an opportunity we don’t fully take advantage of. But if we have at our disposal the ability to create a respite, if we have the choice to continue our respite indefinitely, there is an added responsibility for us. That is assuming we can even recognise that we are betraying ourselves.
I can relate this to work, social interaction, depression. But I think for me I can ultimately connect it to life, and ask myself, “How long can I dick around before I have to actually do shit.” And I think what worries me right now is that I can’t distinguish the two, or at least there is a level of doubt. [Or maybe it’s all relative] I think I might also just have the question before I have enough information to answer. I guess I hope there comes a time when I just realise where I am. I wonder how different the struggle on the road is, from the struggle to get up off the barstool to continue in the desert.
Originally published in Issue #1 — Respite
