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I feel a pull towards rage, all of a sudden; that all life has been this year is despondence or anger. Both natural and reasonable reactions, I suppose, all things considered – but neither will yield any good, and neither are a place I wish to remain.
And what do I rage at? I don’t even know. Part of me wants to curse a God I don’t believe in, as the unfairness of the world cuts its sordid stamp into the more sensitive parts of my heart. The world is becoming a more empty place of late, death ever more proximate stealing from life a steady stream of those whom I did not want to lose – most lately, a dear uncle.
I write this, now, in the immediate wake of the news that a friend – not the first in this same cursed year – has suffered a stroke. As I turn these thoughts into words he is being rushed into hospital. What comes next is not for me to know – he may sleep through eternity from this night, or he may not.
This laced pessimism and recurrent fury at the injustice of it all characterises the creed of a person who I do not wish to be, though. And this bothers me. I did not want to lose sight of wonder and beauty, wallowing in blackness and hopelessness for my finite time. But lately I have found myself unable to appreciate much of anything. I try not to grow resentful, but I do resent so much of what life has become.
Some may seek to console my by way of saying that, supposing God has a part to play in this, there’s a lesson in it about the value of life, and its fragility. I retort, a lesson I did not need teaching; a fact about which I was painfully and acutely already aware, and had learned hard long before this, also by death.
I struggle to see the perfection in a God that built this world. That we have to die is an unmitigated tragedy in itself, but the manner in which darkness takes us is cruel beyond defence. Cancer, a stroke – as in this case – and more besides, an agonising demise that strips you of your dignity and then your very self; there is a malice in this I can’t reconcile with perfection. It doesn’t belong here.
I would love for Ephemeral Dawn to become not just a publication, but a community; a way for hearts and minds that feel and think in the same spirit to communicate, and share ideas. Please, don’t be shy about commenting. I would love to hear from you.Â
To try and manage spam, comments are moderated: everyone’s first comment needs manual review but after that the same user can post unrestricted. The only hard rule is no links are allowed, because that’s the most reliable way at the moment I can automate binning spam comments.
