Saudade / Sehnsucht

I used to. A year ago, such feelings were constant. Now, even those have gone, and the last time I felt Sehnsucht was when I was on bupropion.

If even schizoids can often still have such feelings, what am I? Schizophrenic?

I know "Sodade" from Cesaria Evora's song.

It makes me feel a lot of sadness actually, because it's like I have an intuition of the feeling but don't have the object. Like I feel the longing but I don't belong anywhere/anywhen/anywhom if that makes sense. I don't have roots and have moved a lot during my life, especially childhood. For instance, I was born and grew up in Africa (diverse countries), but I'm white and I can't deny I'm influenced/conditioned by western europe culture. So in Europe, I feel a bit out, but if I were to go back to Africa, I'd feel out too. I feel like a stranger everywhere. But I do feel the longing somehow.

Saudade for me is when I go to the beach - its like you think about the past and hoping for something better to return - hopefully the world will return to a more natural state

The other one Sehnsucht reminds me of when I see a small patch of blue in the clouds - I long for higher meaning in terms of existence

I feel sehnsucht pretty much all the time. An aching longing for a place/setting/people that I've never experienced and that probably doesn't even exist anywhere.

The other one I don't think I've ever felt. There's nothing in the past I long for or expect to come back.

i feel for longing, to met someone and then we'll live in the cabins..and ill be a writer..but the girl in question..who is she? who knows..
lol jk..

not anymore. i used to...shrugs..its hard to explain..eh, nope. aight.
i feel more borderline than anything...so i guess i've felt like that i call it 'the longing for being a teenager' or 'the longing for childhood', but im learning to re-leran things. im even into kurt vonnegut now (ty puma) think he was awesome guy, he fooled me btw, and no one had done it so that bastard..i love him. btw i have no idea wtf im sayng. .-.-.-

I feel sehnsucht quite a lot. There's a line in the wikipedia article that struck a particular chord: 'Indeed, the longing is of such profundity and intensity that the subject may immediately be only aware of the emotion itself and not cognizant that there is a something longed for.'

I feel it when I'm out in the woods and it reminds me of a passage from Arthur Machen's 'The Great God Pan':

….He could only think of the lonely walk he had taken fifteen years ago; it was his last look at the fields and woods he had known since he was a child, and now it all stood out in brilliant light, as a picture, before him. Above all there came to his nostrils the scent of summer, the smell of flowers mingled, and the odour of the woods, of cool shaded places, deep in the green depths, drawn forth by the sun’s heat; and the scent of the good earth, lying as it were with arms stretched forth, and smiling lips, overpowered all. His fancies made him wander, as he had wandered long ago, from the fields into the wood, tracking a little path between the shining undergrowth of beech trees; and the trickle of water dropping from the limestone rock sounded as a clear melody in the dream. Thoughts began to go astray and to mingle with other recollections; the beech alley was transformed to a path beneath ilex trees, and here and there a vine climbed from bough to bough, and sent up waving tendrils and drooped with purple grapes, and the sparse grey-green leaves of a wild olive tree stood out against the dark shadows of the ilex. Clarke, in the deep folds of dream, was conscious that the path from his father’s house had led him into an undiscovered country, and he was wondering at the strangeness of it all, when suddenly, in place of the hum and murmur of the summer, an infinite silence seemed to fall on all things, and the wood was hushed, and for a moment of time he stood face to face there with a presence, that was neither man nor beast, neither the living nor the dead, but all things mingled, the form of all things but devoid of all form. And in that moment, the sacrament of body and soul was dissolved, and a voice seemed to cry “Let us go hence,” and then the darkness of darkness beyond the stars, the darkness of everlasting.

I sometimes find myself longing for characters I've seen in films or on television. It's not the actors themselves I want, but the characters they played. Longing for the ideal. I suspect this is very common, not a particularly schizoid trait. The schizoid spin is that I'm content to live with those characters in my head. Because the great thing, the really wonderful thing about those relationships, is that they understand me and I don't have to talk. When talk is present, it's interesting and lively, or, alternately, oblique and a little mysterious. Either way it's engaging, not a mouthful of mumbles about crap neither one of us cares about.