You had your heart set on a thing for a long time, longer than you want to admit. Finally it has passed the point where it is impossible. Finally there is no more space to cling to hope.

Pain, the ache in the eyes and the knife in the heart. Please accept this joyful agony, finally you are free.

This door barred forever, this fruit inaccessible, now if you can bear to sit out the gnawing in your chest you can look around at the garden, the rich bounties God has provided you.

Oh but how you wanted, how you will miss hoping, dreaming, imagining. You rebel against the beauty of the garden and the richness of your meat in it. Barren is the heart denied, you curse the lands that their soils be as parched as your soul.


Hope’s charity

Feeling sick to your stomach, you run what you wanted to say, what you should have said, through your head. If only you had explained this or that? If only you had another chance to put forward your case, to put everything into it’s fullest context.

Sadness passes over you, then inside a small voice of hope is faced by an army of anger and doubt, “we will defend this kingdom against your falsehoods” cries doubt, “you would speak kindness about those who will destroy us?!” cries anger. The small voice looks up helplessly, ever trusting at you, begging you to grant her freedom, to give her the opportunity to sow joy, even if only briefly.

What good is hope, only to be crushed? Better to be vanquished here inside, than vanquished by foreign forces. Better that we smother the child than let her be captured and raped.

Tears reach out in desperation, trying to avoid the inevitable descent from their ocular peaks. “Don’t let us fall” they cry, but it is too late.

The castle is surrounded and the siege is on. The garrison surrounds the child awaiting your instruction, to slaughter so beautiful a being to save her innocence, or to allow her hostage taking by alien powers.

Your heart ever wavering, you wish you could be firm, you hate that child so much in this moment, because you love her with your whole soul. There is no way you could order her death, your mouth tries to utter the command, but your heart rebels and steals your voice.

The enemy storms the gate, the castle falls, the child is taken, you are imprisoned in your own dungeon, pensively awaiting your fate. As they drag her off, she even now tries to give comfort. “I will petition my new liege for mercy, he may still grant you that which you desire, our love will never die, adieu!”

Rot in the dungeon of your own making, but do not blame the child.

Not Special

You don’t know where you got the idea that you were special. Somewhere along the way you picked up some weird notion of destiny or purpose, you felt as though you were here for a reason, that you would do great things, that though you would die, the world would never be the same for your having lived.

But now you see that it was all a lie, a saccharine fiction. If you had had a stronger will, a keener intelligence, a haughtier audacity – maybe you could have been someone special. You are too weak, too willing to compromise for comfort or emotional peace. Too fearful of driving megalomania into insanity if you push it too far.

So here you are, another mediocre nobody. Your thoughts keep returning to Hitler. Hitler had a sense of destiny, he thought he had a purpose, he was driven and had an intense will. Look at what he achieved, of course he lost, he failed at the final hurdle, but what a journey, what immense, if terrible, deeds.

It is better to be nobody than to be Hitler, this is what you tell yourself. To live a mediocre life, a last man among other last men. Better never to transcend humanity than to hurt them with your lust for greatness.

Turn away from the abyss and look around you at your fellows, each as mediocre as you. Love and cherish them and hope the warmth is enough to heat the cavern of your disappointment.