As I lie back into the comfort of solace With eyes closed and enveloped in darkness I forgot that I’m a visitor to someone sinister And that this blissful darkness is not my own domain. Rather Fear dwells deep within the warmth of this depth Crawling, creeping up to whisper to my heart so crassly “Do you really think that you can have what you desire- I’ve trained you to want nothing but for you to prosper”
My beautiful friend, my formidable foe, Fear, is a ghost risen from the broken death of tragedy. She forms her words so carefully, all crafted from the pain of past misery. She thinks she’s my teacher and my savior, a priestess who has sought my forgiveness.
But forgiveness for what? I speculate in silence, but in silence or sung aloud,
My thoughts are music to her shrine.
No secrets over here. All is heard quite clear.
“Forgive yourself for foolery! For faltering and fumbling to and fro, from past tragedies! Oh you should know!” She rose, eyes bright with excitement. She thinks shes kind and loving for every syllable in her chastisement.
I fall back, “no. Forgiveness is not imprisonment. This is nothing less of a punishment. You’ve changed the meaning of forgiveness to a cruel way of admonishment. I’m in no need of atonement, there was never any sin in my disdain!
Even if wasn’t innocent,if I don’t persist, then wouldn’t my life become meaningless? I’m now safe and now un-sorry. I’ve found how to face my past folly. I assure you, oh fear , by God I shant fall again.
So please , be my friend and guide me according to sense! We must oust ourselves of this great suspense, and grow together once again!
And thus, the fiend, Fear, fell silent, defeated yet retreated. She is now my beautiful friend, an advisor once again, and dwells with me in darkness, ready to guide me upon my acquaintance.
She made one last request before I left. Crept up and calling with humility, “Goodness, can you call me , Wisdom, my dear woman? “
Why cant I stop this overwhelming feeling of heartbreak and rigidity? My emotions have become immobile- unable to shift and change. Instead, it’s off the charts in angst and frozen in the tundra of a once blooming spring. Dreams and whimsy, all flushed into a sinkhole of reality. A blackhole of burden, pressure, and a repeating pattern of hopes time-warped into non-existence.
This is why I hate being tickled with the happy ideas of life’s average milestones. Because average is exactly what I’m not. Average is aristocracy among all those around me dwelling in posh politics and wealth. I’m living in my own world, within the world of my immediate community, within the world of my city, within a grim world of war, poverty, and distrust. Of course the overall world has it’s little honeycomb pockets of honey with honest-working people buzzing in their lives for the greater good.
But coming back to me, my purpose, and my stability, I’ve no choice but to rest my case of happiness into studying, labor, and discipline. I’m a soldier in my own war, and there is no giving in.
So here I am, chiseling my goals out of the glaciers of my gloom.