Be Of Good Heart
“Is this all there is?”
This is the question when life feels stuck and unmoving. Its search must surely be rhetorical because we already know the answer and it aches our cracking bones.
“Yes”
It feels so true, yet do not be fooled. This is the myth perpetuated by the Resistance. No creative imagination to envision beyond the “life” set before us, and no container to hold something greater than what is predicted. Inescapable and Unavoidable serve as our companions in our dutifully-obliging-life.
Monotony transfixes us in a hypnotic state and overruns our unique identity with a colonized and civilized auto-pilot. The work is never ending, the days never changing. Rocks from this pile to the next and back again. “Keep up the good work”, “Don’t let anyone down”, “You can try something new tomorrow” are just a few of the thin sentiments we try and feast on.
Yet we are starving. A thin shadow of who we are to be.
Our identity molded and formed not by Free Spirit, but by this sly never-ending-production-to-please. We are a stranger to ourselves. What began in us in our youth has been weathered, eroded, and tamed. Waking up is difficult when you’ve been lulled to sleep.
“Flavor” is a word exiled from our vocabulary and upon its reflection our forgetful-self strains to come up with even a few morsels of something palatable. Pointless, meaningless, and apathy become the only colors in our existence. Each one of them of the same shadow-like hue.
Until…
Something breaks in.
A Voice, a Word, a Breath.
Too much for even the Magnificent’s lungs to hold, this Wind penetrates an air-tight existence and unlocks its breathless captives from the inside.
Our flat world suddenly takes shape.
No longer must we waste our breath trying to convince the self-made-king of the truth welling up within us. There is more. There has always been more. Today is a fresh existence that has not and will never be copied, cloned, or industrialized.
This is the day.
And the rulers of this dying age? The Light has removed their shadow, revealed their nakedness, and left them blind to what is real. Yet they keep on going, jawing about this and that (the way they always do) as they try to mend their delusion. Fear and visions of impending enemies, all meant to solidify our tribalism, will not work us up in a frenzy any longer. The spell they once held has been broken.
Broken by the sound of trumpets. Shattered by the height of cheer. Overturned by the tide of mercy.
Be of good heart; Love has found us.
