(no subject)
“I count him braver who overcomes his desires than him who conquers his enemies; for the hardest victory is over self.”
- Aristotle
What is it that drives man to the edges of his being; that can strip him of his humanity and leave behind something so vile, so deplorable that even the bravest men shudder upon its mentioning? What is it that crushes a man’s will to strive for the greatest of enlightenments and wisdom, only to be replaced with an absolute desire to destroy all that he has created… a desire not spoken or even understood, but carried out with ruthless efficiency when the opportunity arises. This is the question I ask myself as gaze inward upon the cold, dark and empty place my heart has retreated. I am careful not to gaze too closely or for too long, for I know all too well what else hides within that darkness, and I cannot afford to meet its gaze, lest I forfeit my very will to its diabolical desires. It is this terrible beast that would see me to my grave without a moment’s peace, yet a greater question remains: how is such a beast created?
After much contemplation, I am lead to believe that it was not a single event that birthed such a monster, but a series of events and happenstance that, much like slowly building a temple to some great evil or hand-crafting my very own Frankenstein’s monster, created the blueprints for my own subconscious to bring such a force into existence. This tabernacle of darkness in which the beast resides rests on a solid foundation of hate and desire, strengthened by each of my failures and all of my sorrow. Over the years it has grown from a simple house of dwelling into a well-nigh impenetrable citadel of unending malevolence. All the while I have been gifted with opportunities to shatter the very foundation of this dark temple, yet it is fear that encumbers me and makes such a choice nothing more than an oft-contemplated fantasy. Fear that, as I chip away at the foundation of this dark place within me, the beast that resides within it shall be set free and loose a wave of chaos and destruction that will threaten to collapse the very foundation of my being. What little conscience and will I maintain would be jeopardized, and it is for this reason that I bear the coward’s sword: excuse.
Every action, no matter how deplorable or immoral, has always come with an excuse; a most often failed attempt to justify my own actions or, more often, lack thereof. I have been accosted by all those wise enough to see my weakness for what it is, yet my fear continues to overpower my desire to heal. In fact, it can be said that I, perhaps, use my own weakness as a crutch. It is not faith or hope that keeps me standing when I am weak, but rather a sense of false vindication in the belief that the fault rests not with me, but with that beast within me. It is this unending farce that allows me to avoid the otherwise inevitable guilt and shame that should otherwise be associated with the life I have lived.
The beast is not a separate entity, alien intruder or malign spirit. The beast is simply me, or a part of what I have become. Every breath I take is taken in by the beast. Every joy I know is known by the beast, yet there is one thing that separates us. The beast does not know pain for what it is. For the beast, pain is fuel. It is energy and motivation. Pain and sorrow are the bread and water of this beast, and I fear that as I attempt to fight the beast, it shall feast on the anguish of my battles. As I face the beast and seek to destroy it, each wound it inflicts shall strengthen it. Was I to defeat it… what would I lose in return? The beast is part of me, but how great a part? What joys would I forfeit… what desires would I deny? If I fight this battle and win, will I even be the same person? Will those who came to love and care for me even recognize me, and will they have any interest in continuing to call me friend? This is my greatest fear… that I shall no longer be myself. Certainly he who would emerge from the carnage of such a battle would be a better man, a stronger man, and a more faithful man… but I cannot do it alone.
The time has come for me to engage in this battle, and I have hoisted my flag of faith. I must now gather the Weapons and Armor of God, and with them I intend to turn back this beast. The Girdle of Strength will wrap around me and secure all of my armor. The Breastplate of Righteousness shall glisten in both light and darkness, and shall protect my heart from the blows of the beast. The Shoes of Peace shall hold me firmly in place, and should the beast fall, they will keep him down. The Shield of Faith will deflect the blows of both the beast and those who do not believe in me or this battle. The Helmet of Salvation I shall wear in all its brilliance, both to display that which I have been gifted and to protect me from the fatal blows of the beast. With my armor adorned, I shall once again grasp the Sword of the Spirit, and through the Spirit I shall sunder the very foundation of the beast’s citadel. When it is released, I will unleash the fury of the Spirit, and I shall destroy my oppressor. I shall slay my beast.
I have lost friends. I have lost pride. I have lost dignity. I have lost respect. Alas, I fear I may even lose my home. Some say that those with the most to lose fight the hardest, but I say that it is those with the most to gain that shall stand their ground. No more excuses, no more lies, and no more feeling sorry for myself. I have nothing left but my soul, and I shall never surrender it.
- Aristotle
What is it that drives man to the edges of his being; that can strip him of his humanity and leave behind something so vile, so deplorable that even the bravest men shudder upon its mentioning? What is it that crushes a man’s will to strive for the greatest of enlightenments and wisdom, only to be replaced with an absolute desire to destroy all that he has created… a desire not spoken or even understood, but carried out with ruthless efficiency when the opportunity arises. This is the question I ask myself as gaze inward upon the cold, dark and empty place my heart has retreated. I am careful not to gaze too closely or for too long, for I know all too well what else hides within that darkness, and I cannot afford to meet its gaze, lest I forfeit my very will to its diabolical desires. It is this terrible beast that would see me to my grave without a moment’s peace, yet a greater question remains: how is such a beast created?
After much contemplation, I am lead to believe that it was not a single event that birthed such a monster, but a series of events and happenstance that, much like slowly building a temple to some great evil or hand-crafting my very own Frankenstein’s monster, created the blueprints for my own subconscious to bring such a force into existence. This tabernacle of darkness in which the beast resides rests on a solid foundation of hate and desire, strengthened by each of my failures and all of my sorrow. Over the years it has grown from a simple house of dwelling into a well-nigh impenetrable citadel of unending malevolence. All the while I have been gifted with opportunities to shatter the very foundation of this dark temple, yet it is fear that encumbers me and makes such a choice nothing more than an oft-contemplated fantasy. Fear that, as I chip away at the foundation of this dark place within me, the beast that resides within it shall be set free and loose a wave of chaos and destruction that will threaten to collapse the very foundation of my being. What little conscience and will I maintain would be jeopardized, and it is for this reason that I bear the coward’s sword: excuse.
Every action, no matter how deplorable or immoral, has always come with an excuse; a most often failed attempt to justify my own actions or, more often, lack thereof. I have been accosted by all those wise enough to see my weakness for what it is, yet my fear continues to overpower my desire to heal. In fact, it can be said that I, perhaps, use my own weakness as a crutch. It is not faith or hope that keeps me standing when I am weak, but rather a sense of false vindication in the belief that the fault rests not with me, but with that beast within me. It is this unending farce that allows me to avoid the otherwise inevitable guilt and shame that should otherwise be associated with the life I have lived.
The beast is not a separate entity, alien intruder or malign spirit. The beast is simply me, or a part of what I have become. Every breath I take is taken in by the beast. Every joy I know is known by the beast, yet there is one thing that separates us. The beast does not know pain for what it is. For the beast, pain is fuel. It is energy and motivation. Pain and sorrow are the bread and water of this beast, and I fear that as I attempt to fight the beast, it shall feast on the anguish of my battles. As I face the beast and seek to destroy it, each wound it inflicts shall strengthen it. Was I to defeat it… what would I lose in return? The beast is part of me, but how great a part? What joys would I forfeit… what desires would I deny? If I fight this battle and win, will I even be the same person? Will those who came to love and care for me even recognize me, and will they have any interest in continuing to call me friend? This is my greatest fear… that I shall no longer be myself. Certainly he who would emerge from the carnage of such a battle would be a better man, a stronger man, and a more faithful man… but I cannot do it alone.
The time has come for me to engage in this battle, and I have hoisted my flag of faith. I must now gather the Weapons and Armor of God, and with them I intend to turn back this beast. The Girdle of Strength will wrap around me and secure all of my armor. The Breastplate of Righteousness shall glisten in both light and darkness, and shall protect my heart from the blows of the beast. The Shoes of Peace shall hold me firmly in place, and should the beast fall, they will keep him down. The Shield of Faith will deflect the blows of both the beast and those who do not believe in me or this battle. The Helmet of Salvation I shall wear in all its brilliance, both to display that which I have been gifted and to protect me from the fatal blows of the beast. With my armor adorned, I shall once again grasp the Sword of the Spirit, and through the Spirit I shall sunder the very foundation of the beast’s citadel. When it is released, I will unleash the fury of the Spirit, and I shall destroy my oppressor. I shall slay my beast.
I have lost friends. I have lost pride. I have lost dignity. I have lost respect. Alas, I fear I may even lose my home. Some say that those with the most to lose fight the hardest, but I say that it is those with the most to gain that shall stand their ground. No more excuses, no more lies, and no more feeling sorry for myself. I have nothing left but my soul, and I shall never surrender it.