As an artist I have failed. I have failed to create something new. But as a human, I am nevermore alarmed at the rate which we fail. Regardless of mode, role, tenet, tenure. We somehow find ways to delude ourselves that we’ve succeeded. Look at the way we begin our lives here on this planet. Our parents and forefathers refer to it as “succession”; when as we are infants, our parents know nothing of the individual or sycophant we may become to be. They pride themselves successful for bring us here. Reconsider.
Is it possible that the purpose of our existence is a result of the curiosity of a Father who wanted to see in spite of knowing, in motion, the ultimate paradox? “What would take place if He created a finite version of Himself.” Children who could and would love Him in spite of their not being sure of who He is, if He exists or what He/She/It’s Nature really is.
According to some who have come and gone before, He incarnated Himself as one of us and defied everything He existed as to show us His true nature. He defied Himself to show us Love. This, above all things resonates with surety for me. As sure as obscure syllables and wavelengths float in the firmaments forming my name in another’s mouth pulls my identity to the forefront of my attention. I feel within me, that I am expected to do the same. To Defy.
Even if not for love though, the sum presents itself. Those counted as great or immortal among my kind are those that achieved their status as a result of defiance.
All the parents I know have failed, because they’re not perfect. I question even more for if Almighty God Whom some consider perfect has enemies amongst His own children… What hope is there for me? Inside, I feel the paradox cautioning me to remain the last of this line I am a part of, and I agree. For if and since I cannot be a perfect father to my child(ren), I don’t want to be a father at all.
Of course, one or many would be quick to query, ‘Is this line of reasoning applied to my role as human and husband?’ To that question, my answers are thus:
As a human, my invitation into this “life” could already be perceived as a mistake on my parent’s part, and thus another failure at more practical child/family planning.
As for my role as husband, it may be argued that my capacity to love myself is diminished and so, as a consequence of failure to do so, I’ve had to seek elsewhere for this love I cannot give myself. In this search I’ve been led to and chosen a woman I consider wonderful, in another attempt to succeed.
I feel compelled to write this down, not because I wish to be known for attention or as “a great mind” or any attempt to do anything of the sort. Something bids me write, perhaps to document my evolution or adaptation. Reconsider.
Adaptation is not a matter of choice, it is a matter of necessity. Conform is the evolutionary process based on choice. You cannot make anyone change. The most you (an extra-entity) are able to do is make them reconsider.
I feel alien in this awareness. Part of me cannot wait to face death, for death seems to whisper a corridor. From sperm to ovum, to here and now, to what and where? Life and Love have always screamed of cycles and continuity of terror, ecstasy, and delusion with every possibly variation between those poles throughout my years of deliberate observation.