TBerg
fallen angel who hasn't earned his wings
- Local time
- Today 7:59 AM
- Joined
- Oct 8, 2013
- Messages
- 2,453
As we go about in our lives, we have knowledge over what would make life so much better. We know what feelings would establish rapport with other people, we know what actions would solve problems, we know what would make everyone happy if certain phenomena were manifested.
But there is an unavoidable problem. Whatever we might want, is agonizingly devoid of potential. Every step towards what we desire makes us stumble. Every trail taken is destined to show an obstacle that we are too weak to overcome. Every hill climbed leads to a crag from which we fall and see what could have been our destination but what is now out of our power to reach.
When we look back on our journey, we see every time our callouses become harder and thicker. Our heart seems evermore less capable of opening itself and bleeding out a donation for others. There must be a way, but the heart does not want to bleed forever on behalf of others.
Whenever we look back upon the trees we fell, we see a wasteland of unnecessary effort. We tried to build log cabins, but they are unsuitable for habitation. The one in which we live only appeals to our sensibilities, which we do not hold in common with others. The ones we tried to sell continue to bear for-sale signs. Our hard work seems invalid.
Others seem to have a preternatural ability to become seized by their own talent and share with others something that resonates. The building is up to code. The hill is heavily populated. And the obstacle is well-worn. We see those things, but we cannot find our own path to those locations. We have had enough of bushwhacking and trailblazing, which have seemed to give us nothing but cuts and bloody blisters. A malaise has overtaken us. Why does every whack seem so pointless? Why can we find no energy to continue? We see where we could be, but it flailing about with gleeful abandon has lost all of its charm.
But there is an unavoidable problem. Whatever we might want, is agonizingly devoid of potential. Every step towards what we desire makes us stumble. Every trail taken is destined to show an obstacle that we are too weak to overcome. Every hill climbed leads to a crag from which we fall and see what could have been our destination but what is now out of our power to reach.
When we look back on our journey, we see every time our callouses become harder and thicker. Our heart seems evermore less capable of opening itself and bleeding out a donation for others. There must be a way, but the heart does not want to bleed forever on behalf of others.
Whenever we look back upon the trees we fell, we see a wasteland of unnecessary effort. We tried to build log cabins, but they are unsuitable for habitation. The one in which we live only appeals to our sensibilities, which we do not hold in common with others. The ones we tried to sell continue to bear for-sale signs. Our hard work seems invalid.
Others seem to have a preternatural ability to become seized by their own talent and share with others something that resonates. The building is up to code. The hill is heavily populated. And the obstacle is well-worn. We see those things, but we cannot find our own path to those locations. We have had enough of bushwhacking and trailblazing, which have seemed to give us nothing but cuts and bloody blisters. A malaise has overtaken us. Why does every whack seem so pointless? Why can we find no energy to continue? We see where we could be, but it flailing about with gleeful abandon has lost all of its charm.