Sometimes, the things we're sure of are the things most bound to fall apart. We cling to our certainty like a life-raft, but it deflates in our hands and we drown in our desperate doubt. We choke on the idea that the things we knew, we didn't really know at all. It kills us to realize, we're not as infallible as we'd hoped. We don't have it all under control. The God inside each of us struggles to get out, to put his omnipotence to use. But he is mortal now, just like we are. Uncertainty may devour him as easily as it may any of us. It seizes us, drawing-and-quartering or metaphorical bodies. It eats us alive, drives us mad with all the chaotic dissatisfaction buzzing in our heads like the flies of Hell. We are our own doubt's greatest weapon; the fear fuels the fire, builds mountains out of grains of sand. We burn with the urge to know, be sure, have proof. The truth is something we'd gladly die for.
We cannot accept our own limitations. Humans see with human eyes, experience human life, and no more. We can't have all the answers. Our species is a young one, merely freshmen in this universe. Yet we wish to command it, to hold its secrets in our hands like Play-Doh, malleable to our needs and desires. We cannot- will not- admit to the boundaries of our own mortality. When doubt comes upon us with her eyes full of possibilities, we shun her, instead of taking the risk and learning from her. We prefer to be blissful in our ignorance and feel "in control," though the depths of our hearts know better; it is all illusion. We cannot handle the simple fact- we're not gods. There are mysteries beyond our control and our capacity to understand. We will never hold all the secrets; at least, not in this life.
So we continue to reject that which might save us- the acceptance that we cannot know, be sure, have proof. We refuse to place ourselves in the hand of fate, and clutch to our sinking life-preserver. Doubt kills us, when all she desires is to open us to the possibilities, perhaps even the realities. Her vampire nature gets the better of her, and she consumes us, sucks us dry. Too many questions, too many painful inquiries, until we doubt our very existence- mightn't this all be a dream? No, no- we're quite certain our lives have not all been mere imagination. But what of all we've believed? What of Jesus? What of the Mother Goddess? What of true love so perfect it feels like a fairy tale? Were those all illusions?
The doubt weighs on us like concrete shoes. We sink, slowly, into a horrid darkness, with nothing but those doubts to keep us company as we drown. We fear that water, black and cold, but we fear the surface just as much. What else might we have been wrong about?... All those things we'd thought, or been afraid to think... Echoes of unfaithful lovers and treacherous friends ring in our ears as we sink still further. And what of us? We doubted our appearances, our abilities, our self-worth... Maybe we were wrong to convince ourselves otherwise. We are drawn still deeper into that wet Hell, until the surface has disappeared entirely. Black water fills our lungs- we cease to struggle, cease to breathe- and our last dying thought- "Is this even real?"
My Favorite Herbs
8 years ago