“I wish that you had faith,” I whisper to no one in particular.
Through those winding tales we weave as our own, we lose something. We lose the faith we were born with, that very gift given us at the moment of our conception. We learn to distrust the process of living. We learn to grasp, and in that grasping what we want we often let the very essence of our experience slip through our fingers. So forgetful are we of the promise of our creation that we let life slip away. Gone, forever, is the promise of our birth.
“I wish that you would trust,” I say to no one in particular.
I know well the scars caused as we walk helplessly around, cutting ourselves on the shards of broken hearts strewn haphazardly on the ground. We blame others for our wounds even as our feet fall to the will of our desire, even knowing that the failure to clean up the mess we’ve left is ours and ours alone. Others have given us the hammer, but it is we who strike the blows. Others have given us the spade, but we dig the grave with our own hands. “Trust,” I say. “Please trust. You have never been led astray. You’ve chosen to be lost. You can choose to be found.”
Lost diamonds hold no value to the lapidary, a wadi no import to a man dying of thirst. Be brave, and be satisfied in the precious moments that quench your desire. Seek them, and do not stop until you reach them. Trust, for the process of your humanity was created for you to enjoy.
“I wish that you would love,” I say to no one in particular.
Somewhere in the expansive abyss in which we exist, we fear. We fear the dark, we fear the light. We fear the mountain, we fear the valley. We fear aloneness, and we fear togetherness. Fear turns the dream of life into the desperate nightmare of existence. We seek the shackles we use to bind us to imprisonment while giving thanks for the length of chain we call our freedom.
So says my mind to the beast that lives within, “bind me to my fear, and let it anchor me to the spaces I call my home.”
So says my heart to the demons that feed the beast within, “Surrender as I slay you with each beat, as I tell a story written long before your birth.”
So says my spirit to the dark corners where both lay, “Paint the pathways in black and watch the white specks of the canvas that is love seep through. Know then that you exist at my will, and shall be summoned to bathe the newborn babes of my desire in the pools that I so choose.”
In the echo that replies, I see I am speaking to no one in particular. Phantoms as they are, the demons are but mist even as I choke the life out of their wicked form. Dreams hold the power of the dreamer, and no other to inspire save those equally afflicted. In the reality of hope I see you, arms outstretched and a smile that lights your lips afire.
“I wish that you had faith,” I whisper to no one in particular.