The Motor
There is no more reasoning to be done. I have found it. Or at least I have finally uncovered my illness, though I do not know its cause or its cure at present. However, I feel that soon I must uncover these as well since I have found the beginning of the trail. The growing unrest that simmers beneath my skin is simply this: that the life that is in me, the love and passion and ability that give me purpose appear to be drying up like a fading stream. I am thirsty for truth, I am lost, I am blinded, I am weakened. I know not why it goes or whence, but something is abandoning me. I wish to, yet dare not know what the nature of this obscurity is. A shadowy fear of knowledge lurks in the weak recesses of my soul.
Must I be afraid of loosing myself? If I loose myself for an ultimate good, that is no loss is it? That is, there can be only one Thing worth loosing myself for, and He is noble and worthy and the loss is beautiful and fit and perfect. However, what of losing myself to an infinite void? What if I slowly decay into nothing? What can I do to prevent this horror?
I will not, cannot tell anyone of this, my deepest self, but him. This realization is perhaps a glimpse into this loss of myself. Perhaps it is because he has become nothing but a face and the remembrance of a dream to me that I sink. My being is delicately tied to him, and he but a dream. My soul is pulled down by the rock of that dream into the drowned blue deep of nothingness. No, it is not beautiful. I feel powerless against it, and yet there must be an escape. I hear the answer whispered in my ear. “Tie your soul to something that can lift you and your heavy dreams out of the drowning water.”
‘The youth is passionate,’ they say, ‘but as the sprout grows older and the world with him, he discovers that his passion is in vain. There is nothing he can love that is truly worthy. There is nothing he can trust that is firmly fixed. There is nothing that is beautiful but his own illusions.’ Is this then reality, my poor soul? Do you not see where this path will lead you? Alas, you see far beyond the words you write, and it is those same words that pushed your mind thus far. It is they who urged you around the bend that you might travel towards the next. It is they who unwound your mind, just as you wished he could…and he could but he is gone. Think not my sweet of love that has burned amidst the melting wax until it split the tender hearts of youth. Sigh no more.
What of that potential, that purpose, that power that writhes in anguish, contained by your stronghold’s walls? Will you set it free that it may find its meaning? Will you act upon this desire to serve, to love, to worship, to work, to make, to do, to live? Will you cease to hoard that power inside of you where it rots and will become revolting, even to your own eyes? Will you not place it, knowingly, with your eyes wide open, into the hands of the inventor?
You are that motor that will change the world. However, you must first become one with your Creator. Then you will function. Then you will be fit to fulfill your purpose. Then the missing parts will be restored. Then you will become a human being again. Do not rot away in a dark tunnel under the ground. You must become a light to the people of the earth.
My but water is sweet, as sweet as truth. What say you, oh phantom of the night? You are my soul. Answer me. Will you drive your course towards the hidden purpose, or will you sit in grey solitude of mind and decay in dust along with your body? Oh wonderful soul, it is His way to let you choose your course. Do you not wish to encounter Him, your Inventor, the Mind behind your own? What wonder is this that the motor should meet its Inventor? However it may be, this motor is the pride of the Inventor’s life. It is the work of His hands, mind, and soul. It possesses the same spark of divinity that lies in Him. Well then, is the motor not a beautiful thing if only it functions as it was meant to? Will it not, in that state, be the closest to it’s own true meaning and be filled with the joy of purpose? Question this weary mind no more. The end is reached. Do not let this world swallow your purpose. Remember, oh man, that you are but a man.
Must I be afraid of loosing myself? If I loose myself for an ultimate good, that is no loss is it? That is, there can be only one Thing worth loosing myself for, and He is noble and worthy and the loss is beautiful and fit and perfect. However, what of losing myself to an infinite void? What if I slowly decay into nothing? What can I do to prevent this horror?
I will not, cannot tell anyone of this, my deepest self, but him. This realization is perhaps a glimpse into this loss of myself. Perhaps it is because he has become nothing but a face and the remembrance of a dream to me that I sink. My being is delicately tied to him, and he but a dream. My soul is pulled down by the rock of that dream into the drowned blue deep of nothingness. No, it is not beautiful. I feel powerless against it, and yet there must be an escape. I hear the answer whispered in my ear. “Tie your soul to something that can lift you and your heavy dreams out of the drowning water.”
‘The youth is passionate,’ they say, ‘but as the sprout grows older and the world with him, he discovers that his passion is in vain. There is nothing he can love that is truly worthy. There is nothing he can trust that is firmly fixed. There is nothing that is beautiful but his own illusions.’ Is this then reality, my poor soul? Do you not see where this path will lead you? Alas, you see far beyond the words you write, and it is those same words that pushed your mind thus far. It is they who urged you around the bend that you might travel towards the next. It is they who unwound your mind, just as you wished he could…and he could but he is gone. Think not my sweet of love that has burned amidst the melting wax until it split the tender hearts of youth. Sigh no more.
What of that potential, that purpose, that power that writhes in anguish, contained by your stronghold’s walls? Will you set it free that it may find its meaning? Will you act upon this desire to serve, to love, to worship, to work, to make, to do, to live? Will you cease to hoard that power inside of you where it rots and will become revolting, even to your own eyes? Will you not place it, knowingly, with your eyes wide open, into the hands of the inventor?
You are that motor that will change the world. However, you must first become one with your Creator. Then you will function. Then you will be fit to fulfill your purpose. Then the missing parts will be restored. Then you will become a human being again. Do not rot away in a dark tunnel under the ground. You must become a light to the people of the earth.
My but water is sweet, as sweet as truth. What say you, oh phantom of the night? You are my soul. Answer me. Will you drive your course towards the hidden purpose, or will you sit in grey solitude of mind and decay in dust along with your body? Oh wonderful soul, it is His way to let you choose your course. Do you not wish to encounter Him, your Inventor, the Mind behind your own? What wonder is this that the motor should meet its Inventor? However it may be, this motor is the pride of the Inventor’s life. It is the work of His hands, mind, and soul. It possesses the same spark of divinity that lies in Him. Well then, is the motor not a beautiful thing if only it functions as it was meant to? Will it not, in that state, be the closest to it’s own true meaning and be filled with the joy of purpose? Question this weary mind no more. The end is reached. Do not let this world swallow your purpose. Remember, oh man, that you are but a man.
posted by Unknown at 11:38 AM
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