Desperation

Posted : 8 Jul, 2015 04:17 PM

In my desperation, I wrote love letters and poems in great sorrow, longing for love and affection from a memory of a dream long ago. I showered her with compliments, and bore it all upon my self, forgiving her for all her trespasses. I pleaded to my dream to manifest before me and to have mercy upon my soul. To hear me, to understand me, and lift me up from the filth that I created for her.

I angered because she had not and so wrote scornful letters, letting her know exactly where she had failed. Then scared that she might flee and never return, I reworded my letter to explain how events made me feel, but insisted that she was too perfect and too sublime to intentionally cause me harm.

And then I reexamined all the notes I had written, which were not short of a book, and I realized it was lies, every last bit of it, and the culprit was always me. It was I who had denied my self love, and it was I who did not understand me, and it was I who had shown no mercy.

I read into the lines words I didn't realize I'd typed. "Why me? Why not someone else? Why me?" And then a voice from memory spoke out and replied,"why not you?"

All at once I realized the rhyme and reason of my poems, love letters, and pleas; and so I wrote," Great suffering has great things in store for those who Suffer Gently." And I was free, and bore witness to the skeleton of my ill fated philosophy and the disease of my obsession.

Alas, attachment can be the vanity that misleads the heart, masquerading as truth, love, and an easy escape. And true love is the boundless river from which truth flows.



For in much wisdom is much grief, and he who increases knowledge increases sorrow. - Ecclesiastes 1:18

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