Desire
So it's about desire, is it? About feeling it, or lack thereof.
Essentially, desire (and, more traditionally, love) opens one up to pain. Pain is not appreciated; therefore, we avoid desire. We kill desire, or replace it with a pale substitute which sates the immediate need without awakening the deeper hunger(which we fear we cannot satisfy).
To begin to dream again, to desire, to hope, is to open oneself to pain. If you stuff down desire long enough, your heart begins to die. Even if you want to reverse the damaging effects--even if you are willing to bear and suffer through the renewed pain--is it possible? It hardly seems so.
And yet. When I ask myself what I want, what I would truly wish for, were I not afraid to see my dreams collapse once more, the images come rushing back. The daydreams of a former time awaken from dormancy with very little in the way of encouragement.
Do I know yet what my dreams should be? Do I have any inkling what route I should take in life, to avoid crucifying the soul (the long, drawn-out death by a thousand paper cuts)? No. But I want to keep dreaming...
(My apologies to anybody reading this; if you want it to make sense, I suggest getting a copy of John Eldredge's "Journey of Desire", reading through that, and then comparing some of the thoughts expressed therein with this post. It won't explain everything, but you'll be off to a good start.)
Essentially, desire (and, more traditionally, love) opens one up to pain. Pain is not appreciated; therefore, we avoid desire. We kill desire, or replace it with a pale substitute which sates the immediate need without awakening the deeper hunger(which we fear we cannot satisfy).
To begin to dream again, to desire, to hope, is to open oneself to pain. If you stuff down desire long enough, your heart begins to die. Even if you want to reverse the damaging effects--even if you are willing to bear and suffer through the renewed pain--is it possible? It hardly seems so.
And yet. When I ask myself what I want, what I would truly wish for, were I not afraid to see my dreams collapse once more, the images come rushing back. The daydreams of a former time awaken from dormancy with very little in the way of encouragement.
Do I know yet what my dreams should be? Do I have any inkling what route I should take in life, to avoid crucifying the soul (the long, drawn-out death by a thousand paper cuts)? No. But I want to keep dreaming...
(My apologies to anybody reading this; if you want it to make sense, I suggest getting a copy of John Eldredge's "Journey of Desire", reading through that, and then comparing some of the thoughts expressed therein with this post. It won't explain everything, but you'll be off to a good start.)