Faith in Winter

It’s really quite liberating having your morals stripped from the core. Your basis of fundamental balance torn from their roots relinquishing you, momentarily poised in a limbo. Lost in the wilderness of your will, balancing on a knife’s point with the strength of an ox resting against your forehead…. It’s everything I preach from my pulpit, grasping at the shards of glass shattered from your forgotten psyche, swallowing the joy from inside the pain…. but of course if you choose not to follow, I’ll tolerate abandoning your teetering precipice and allow you to remain safe and cosy in your imaginary life raft of agreed symposium…. if only until our next meeting.

“Are you sure you can fly in this condition?”
“What condition is that? I’ve been in this condition my whole life,” Liir answered. “It’s the only condition I know. Bitter love, loneliness, contempt for corruption, blind hope. It’s where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new.” – Gregory Maguire.

There was a time I would have permitted moral incarceration affecting one’s own damaged acceptance of the darkened horizon, in accordance with my own. One erased anecdote after another leaving gaping holes jittered throughout the archive of my human relationships, the damage being destroyed character development on their behalf…. Obnoxious? Perhaps, but are you not one of the undesired? Or maybe, just maybe, you haven’t sprouted into bloom.

This, my friend, is no longer the case.
The years upon years of scrounging helplessly blind, scratching at the jagged lining of the shadowing walls, relentlessly pulling your weight up by the tips of your cracking fingernails has come to this; I will no longer stand by to witness an injustice alike, befall another. Guarding the entrances of the dangers we so desperately seek, is our post, one and all. My own I set loose upon myself is to cast you out when re-enacting my mistakes and failing to live up to my expectation for humanity.

I am not without error, that error being as a rule, tactfully produced to disrupt an outcome and cause a fence sitter to fall. Compassion has unquestionably died. Self assessment is sequentially unheard of. Thinking for a moment about somebody other than yourself is a puzzle of awe, trepidation and blanketed confusion.

My greatest fear, out of all loathsome terminations and probable recurring of past ailments, is that if I were to bleed, you would do nothing.

“You have blood on your hands, and I’m feeling faint.” – Rachael Yamagata.