(no subject)
I write this for those whom I know are seeking.
I write this for myself.
I write this for you.
For there is no calm objectivity within the human race.
We may feign it.
We may ask for it, incessantly. Crying out injustice when it is not brought.
But what we might see as justice may as well be propaganda.
If only to serve as comfort for our strained hearts.
I wait for the day… when the lion lays down with the lamb.
I do not know why I wait for this.
Yet I am certain. Unwavering. I know it in my soul.
As sure as I am of my being.
I should spend countless hours tormenting myself, and all to no end.
Why do I suffer over such things?
I am sure that I should not.
Out of the fog I find clarity in this one object.
I am a child.
I want without reason.
It is our longing that which would make us human.
It does not console me, all that I might reason away.
I do not want these things that have been made necessary.
It means nothing to me. I cannot assign importance to what is abstract.
I can know only as I feel.
I am a child.
I want without reason.
But I am as the first primitive animal that was broken.
I must learn to carry a weight I am certain I once never knew.
I must awkwardly walk forward into what is artificial to me.
I will despair.
And I will find joy as one does in these instances.
But perhaps I will find one day that I was never broken.
That it is my nature to be at unrest.
That there is no reason, no fault, no blame!
My greatest torment is to go without reason.
And yet reason is something I cannot, by my very nature, assent.
My heart says to me:
I do not care what words you speak, nothing you can say will amend me.
But my heart has been tamed.
I do not listen to it much anymore.
I do not cry out with the others.
There is too much of that already.
My heart is unyielding. It is reckless.
Reason has tamed me.
I am tame.
I write this for myself.
I write this for you.
For there is no calm objectivity within the human race.
We may feign it.
We may ask for it, incessantly. Crying out injustice when it is not brought.
But what we might see as justice may as well be propaganda.
If only to serve as comfort for our strained hearts.
I wait for the day… when the lion lays down with the lamb.
I do not know why I wait for this.
Yet I am certain. Unwavering. I know it in my soul.
As sure as I am of my being.
I should spend countless hours tormenting myself, and all to no end.
Why do I suffer over such things?
I am sure that I should not.
Out of the fog I find clarity in this one object.
I am a child.
I want without reason.
It is our longing that which would make us human.
It does not console me, all that I might reason away.
I do not want these things that have been made necessary.
It means nothing to me. I cannot assign importance to what is abstract.
I can know only as I feel.
I am a child.
I want without reason.
But I am as the first primitive animal that was broken.
I must learn to carry a weight I am certain I once never knew.
I must awkwardly walk forward into what is artificial to me.
I will despair.
And I will find joy as one does in these instances.
But perhaps I will find one day that I was never broken.
That it is my nature to be at unrest.
That there is no reason, no fault, no blame!
My greatest torment is to go without reason.
And yet reason is something I cannot, by my very nature, assent.
My heart says to me:
I do not care what words you speak, nothing you can say will amend me.
But my heart has been tamed.
I do not listen to it much anymore.
I do not cry out with the others.
There is too much of that already.
My heart is unyielding. It is reckless.
Reason has tamed me.
I am tame.