Whispers
Fragments caught at the border—where pain speaks clearer than comfort, and love demands everything. They arrive unbidden, dated yet timeless. Not for feeling good—for becoming.
Escaping into books and universities is like escaping into taverns. People want to forget how difficult it is to live a human life in the ugly modern world, they want to forget how inept they are as creators of life. Some drown their pain in alcohol, others (and there are many more of them) in books and artistic dilettantism; some seek oblivion in debauchery, dancing, movies, radio, others in lectures and in pursuing science for the sake of science.
1 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.
God’s actions are unrelentingly loving (which is not to say always easy or comforting, but, rather, always on the side of our deepest desires).
The destiny is resetting itself around what you have removed.
All choices have unintended consequences, some unfortunate, some not. The pain guides you.
You are not here to feel good.