“To feel bereft of purpose is the greatest struggle.
To find personal merit among madness, regardless of outcome, is the greatest accomplishment of all.” JSM
Someone close to me once died a painful death. A violent death. Unnecessary suffering. A death that makes one question why the brain allows such agony.
Such a good person. A tranquil soul with a heart full of love. Someone who gave selflessly and helped others through their time(s) of need. Why was the passing from this realm to the next, so brutal?
I can’t answer my own question(s), though not for a lack of trying. I ponder on it, and then I’m forced to stop. I intermix religion, ancient stories and spirituality, scientific musings and theories, personal research, life lessons, testimonials, mythology, then go off the rails and run circles around my mind, struggling to line up the pieces and connect the dots…
and ultimately run head on into solid walls at warp speed.
Some realms are shrouded in mystery and not all questions can be answered. I suppose that’s where faith comes into play.
Faith isn’t for everyone. I’m fully aware of that.
Despite that, I see life and living as a series of necessary balances. Speculation and truth. Good and evil. Heat and cold. Yin and Yang. Darkness and light. Sun and moon. Time and timeless. Positive and negative. Struggles and triumphs. Happiness and sadness. Elation and pain. The proper balance of nutrients for the body and mind to work at peak optimization. The required time for sleep and rejuvenation. Solid and liquid. Right and wrong. Up and down. Life and death. Earth and sky.
Because I see everything as balanced, and balance is essential to the natural world, death is therefore natural and should somehow have a positive purpose. In some way or fashion.
Without darkness, light will never shine. Without good, evil reigns supreme. Without living, there is no death.
Unfortunately, what happens after death is a mystery to me. But I have to continue to believe that even though I may not know, death still must serve a positive purpose.
Even if it’s just raising awareness. Passing on a story and helping someone else navigate their personal struggles. Allowing a legacy to live on through others. Turning a hard negative into something positive. Somehow, someway.
Finding reasoning where there shouldn’t be.
Forcing clarity from senselessness.
There must be a purpose and balance to everything. Even death. I refuse to believe otherwise.
That’s not the religious upbringing in me coming out. I don’t enjoy discussing religion in an open forum. I do however, enjoy spirituality.
In my opinion, without spirit, there is no purpose. Being bereft of purpose and devoid of spirit is the end of the world as far as I’m concerned. To wander through life not understanding and having an inability to see the truth of self is maddening.
The truth of self isn’t always apparent. The variables are sometimes hidden. At times we have to dig deep to find those buried truths. Sometimes we have to devise and construct our purpose, and create something from nothing to make those ultimate discoveries about ourselves. To mold and form perceptiveness, from all the senselessness.
Creation of purpose, and the unveiling of personal truth, is an ongoing challenge. I’ll never fully know what my purpose is, but I’ll keep digging and searching until it makes itself known and obvious.
One of my personal core truths I’ve discovered over the last six years among all the endless digging, is patience.
That… and literally everything happens for a reason. Everything.
I had reached the end of my sanity. My ship had sailed right to the end of the world.
At this point in life, I was good at three things. Working my forty hour week, applying a fake smile while in the presence of others, and feeling sorry for myself. My existence didn’t make any sense and I made it obvious to everyone who would listen. Because of the situation at hand and all the negative variables, I felt destined to live a life of hardship and struggling. I foresaw nothing but pain and misery, and misery prefers the company of others more often than not.
I yelled frequently. I spoke unkindly to who I felt deserving of my verbal lashings, and I didn’t hold back. I isolated. I withdrew. I hated. I brought people down into my abyss and forced them to stay. I couldn’t let go of my burden. The balance was off so drastically, I couldn’t see any light.
What comprised my spirit was darkened and dead and swirled around as disembodied specters looking for a way inside. A shadowy mist floating and undulating, mocking and taunting. An icy cold snake slithering around my shoulders whispering words I cared not to hear.
I paced. I allowed the formulation of negativity to ensconce my soul and wrap me up in a cocoon of limitless anger.
I purged all the positive and discarded all potential purpose.
When Joseph met me at the front door of the refuge, he wouldn’t allow me entry right away. I had a task to complete first. A job I didn’t want to do, but my hand was forced.
Before I crossed the threshold, he placed a tool in my grip to get the job done. Instructing me that it would make everything easier and I’d feel better once completed. I didn’t believe him and I hated him for it. What he wanted me to do didn’t make sense, and is the opposite of who I am, but he was adamant.
With tears streaming down my cheeks I approached the center of the room, sword in hand, and killed Jessica Everett.
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