The Winds of Fate
The long winter is over, and the world is still here. But what kind of world is it today. I've had a lot of time to ask questions. I question my faith daily. Not that I plan on converting or abandoning it, but faith must be tested constantly. Just as we are tested, so must we test our beliefs, our assumptions, our perceptions, and even the wisdom of God, or the Gods if you prefer. I am not a man who is at ease being the victim of my environment. Every day I take a firmer hand on the path of my live. I will not be at the mercy of happenstance, I am aware parts of me decry the fact I am at the mercy of a God. And I refuse to bow to fate. I am the ship on the water, and fate is the wind capricious and ever-changing from my singular view of the great waters. Yet I am far from helpless, far from a slave to her direction. If I cannot change the direction of the wind, I can change myself. I can set and strike sail, angle away or into her, and not be carried blindly by fate, or circumstance, or the universe but instead use it to get me where I want to go.
But I question. I watch others who claim my faith, and if we are on the same path, I feel as hollow as the footsteps echoing my progress down it.
Am I hellborn or hellbound. I realize I do believe in hell. But I doubt any christians would be comfortable with my understanding of it. It lacks the dreadful ring of finality they so need for their pitch. car salesmen passing gilded lemons off to fools seeking quick escape from the worlds they trapped themselves in.
Oh, as the Dire Straits said "We only have one world, but we live in different ones". My heart is filled with joy and hope, even as my mind batters at the pen-eyed acceptance I've made of my country's lies, impaling my worldview on the thorny propaganda, is my sacrifice a step towards wisdom? Or my I following fools to a fool's end? Am I a fool?
I believe so. All my vaunted knowledge that I held over my more physical peers was the foundation for my pride. But laziness at it away, and now the common man can name point and fact for every half held rumor or soundbyt we used to build a flimsy pane or ?????? to see through. My creativity and the stories it births are but trite rehashes of others' works who have inspired me. The common man! My dreaded nemesis. Not that I hate him, but that I never wanted to amount to merely a common man. And fear burns my stomach at the thought of ending as less than that. A delusioned old man with unspent dreams.
But still, hope and joy. Even as m illusions crumble, what is this I find behind my own self-sustained deceptions.
I am not angry for lying to myself. I understand the needs of the moment. Survival is a primary requirement to growth and self-improvement. And I've realized my propensity for self-survival is frighteningly adequate. Beneath my layers of cowardice I've discovered a seed of something. I'm not sure what it is. But it is there.
Winter is over. Spring is coming, and seeds blossom.
Am I merely a coward and self-deceiver? I would like to say no, I am not. But I would much rather say no, I am not, and be secure. I always question even myself. I am not a physical fighter, yet I'm infantry. I'm not a physical individual, yet I'm feeling muscles where before there was only skin and bone. I am not a diplomat, yet I am learning to persuade and converse with many. I am not a man who takes well to authority, yet men I consider in dim light I snap to heed the orders of.
Questions aside, let me touch on freedom and choice. I've chosen a path that will place me in grave danger for those concepts. But when I find an answer there comes the choice. What to do about it. Strangely, I feel I have no choice.
I will die for others so they may have freedom. But, will they? Do they?
And myself, I do not have freedom. I find myself wondering if I ever did. I have duty. To what, ultimately, I cannot say. Many things, yes, but ultimately. Myself? My God?
I said, "An animal reacts, a human acts." Can I say I actually act? If I am bound to my duty, do I have a choice? I could always abandon my responsibilities, some might say. But can I? I do not think so. If I did, I would no longer be who and what I am. But how fleeting is that anyway? I am a splinter of a wounded mind. Am I a man? Or am I merely a sword, a shield, a shadow, or something even less. These are not easy questions to ask myself. And I do not think others can give me the answer.
I am not adrift or without direction on the great waters. But I am filled with questions that terrify me. Or more honestly, I am afraid of the answer. But not so afraid as to change course. This time, for now, I will not fight the current or the wind.
Winter is over. Spring has come. A warm wind blows. I am holding to my course and seeing where the wind will take me.
Jera Wolfe-
But I question. I watch others who claim my faith, and if we are on the same path, I feel as hollow as the footsteps echoing my progress down it.
Am I hellborn or hellbound. I realize I do believe in hell. But I doubt any christians would be comfortable with my understanding of it. It lacks the dreadful ring of finality they so need for their pitch. car salesmen passing gilded lemons off to fools seeking quick escape from the worlds they trapped themselves in.
Oh, as the Dire Straits said "We only have one world, but we live in different ones". My heart is filled with joy and hope, even as my mind batters at the pen-eyed acceptance I've made of my country's lies, impaling my worldview on the thorny propaganda, is my sacrifice a step towards wisdom? Or my I following fools to a fool's end? Am I a fool?
I believe so. All my vaunted knowledge that I held over my more physical peers was the foundation for my pride. But laziness at it away, and now the common man can name point and fact for every half held rumor or soundbyt we used to build a flimsy pane or ?????? to see through. My creativity and the stories it births are but trite rehashes of others' works who have inspired me. The common man! My dreaded nemesis. Not that I hate him, but that I never wanted to amount to merely a common man. And fear burns my stomach at the thought of ending as less than that. A delusioned old man with unspent dreams.
But still, hope and joy. Even as m illusions crumble, what is this I find behind my own self-sustained deceptions.
I am not angry for lying to myself. I understand the needs of the moment. Survival is a primary requirement to growth and self-improvement. And I've realized my propensity for self-survival is frighteningly adequate. Beneath my layers of cowardice I've discovered a seed of something. I'm not sure what it is. But it is there.
Winter is over. Spring is coming, and seeds blossom.
Am I merely a coward and self-deceiver? I would like to say no, I am not. But I would much rather say no, I am not, and be secure. I always question even myself. I am not a physical fighter, yet I'm infantry. I'm not a physical individual, yet I'm feeling muscles where before there was only skin and bone. I am not a diplomat, yet I am learning to persuade and converse with many. I am not a man who takes well to authority, yet men I consider in dim light I snap to heed the orders of.
Questions aside, let me touch on freedom and choice. I've chosen a path that will place me in grave danger for those concepts. But when I find an answer there comes the choice. What to do about it. Strangely, I feel I have no choice.
I will die for others so they may have freedom. But, will they? Do they?
And myself, I do not have freedom. I find myself wondering if I ever did. I have duty. To what, ultimately, I cannot say. Many things, yes, but ultimately. Myself? My God?
I said, "An animal reacts, a human acts." Can I say I actually act? If I am bound to my duty, do I have a choice? I could always abandon my responsibilities, some might say. But can I? I do not think so. If I did, I would no longer be who and what I am. But how fleeting is that anyway? I am a splinter of a wounded mind. Am I a man? Or am I merely a sword, a shield, a shadow, or something even less. These are not easy questions to ask myself. And I do not think others can give me the answer.
I am not adrift or without direction on the great waters. But I am filled with questions that terrify me. Or more honestly, I am afraid of the answer. But not so afraid as to change course. This time, for now, I will not fight the current or the wind.
Winter is over. Spring has come. A warm wind blows. I am holding to my course and seeing where the wind will take me.
Jera Wolfe-