Highways and Byways: When It All Came Falling Down

By Maik Strosahl

I am no philosopher, but I do enjoy a good think.
    I recently enjoyed a post by Valeria Idakieva where she shared her distain for winter along with her autumn photos and a quote from the philosopher Albert Camus: “In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.” I too, as I have mentioned before, resist winter.
    The quote led me to chase after information on Albert Camus, who was associated with the philosophy of Absurdism. He believed that life does not have any meaning, or if it does, mankind is incapable of understanding what it is. Yet, in spite of having no meaning, he could not justify suicide as a solution, rather he felt it was our responsibility to rebel against whatever oppressed the human condition, and in this attempt to resist, we must strike a balance between the evil of the world and the evil that many revolts also devolve into, so as not to contribute to any additional suffering on the part of those around us.
    In my own rebellion, my creative endeavors keep me moving forward, even when it all comes falling down. In this piece, I also found a place to use a phrase I mentioned to Moristotle a couple of months ago, one that I think would be a good title for a future chapbook of poetry: “Hobnobbing with the Philosophers.” We shall see how the future unfolds.

In the midst of Winter, I found there was,
within me, an invincible summer.             —Albert Camus

Searching the stars for Kierkegaard,
scanning the slopes for
Schopenhauer and Nietzsche,
I caught a meteor mid-shower,
watched as the mountains
rained down on Sisyphus –
and he bound to
gather their stones back
forever upward –
a summer night spent
lying among the grasses,
staring into the heavens
lost in the wonder of deep thought.

Maybe it is all for naught,
maybe the absurd
should swallow us whole,
offered at the plunge of a blade,
a dagger to separate the soul
from pursuit in vain.

No,
I cannot take that path,
I cannot close my eyes
to winter’s winds
without giving also
the faithful reign of Perseus,
the sparkle of his fall
against the dark of night.

As one fallen
through the gloam of evening,
rising back on the other side,
I wake from the field
to another inevitable day,
the memory of debate,
of hobnobbing with the philosophers,
quickly forgotten
as a morning fog
when brought to light.

Copyright © 2021 by Maik Strosahl Michael E. Strosahl has focused on poetry for over twenty years, during which time he served a term as President of the Poetry Society of Indiana. He relocated to Jefferson City, Missouri, in 2018 and currently co-hosts a writers group there.