Weakness by Alexander Collas
Today’s world is sad.
Everyone looking down.
Many only lifting their heads to find another to raise up, to adopt, in hopes of discovering a life’s meaning.
Those who choose to place someone upon the pedestals of their esteem often do so for no other reason than to scrutinize and relish the flaws they then find through the lenses of their own cynicism and despair.
Today’s people are angry, hurt, and upset.
How many times have you heard about the “good ol’ days?”
But is it not the younger life, that sense of magic they truly miss.
Times when their souls contained hope and not just the sad legacy of disappointed dreams and lost desires.
In today’s world, it is common to hear one say, “you hurt my feelings” or “you upset me.”
People seem to wallow in their weaknesses, forsaking their strengths.
Gone is the person wishing to be known for their robustness.
Choosing instead their vulnerabilities to cling to like whores on the corner awaiting their next john.
Maybe it’s need.
Does this self-imposed pain in fact give them a sense of inclusion?
What is clear, is that it’s sad.
They’ve not been chosen to be victims but volunteered.
Could it be, that in their weakness, they expose their passive longing for strength?
In being wounded, are they in fact demanding that those around them conform or change to suit their own fetidness.
Other’s feelings become inconsequential.
They are nothing more than wounded children crying for attention.
I think part of this new sadness has to do with religion, or more accurately the pending death of such.
These sad souls now feeling they have lost their sense of wonder.
While abandoning their fictional gods they’ve begun to falsely believe that the mystical no longer exists.
Depression and a general sense of hopelessness begins to spread like a disease.
They no longer find sanctuary in their old edifices of proxied self-responsibilities.
No longer can they believe the proffered lies for a better life after they have vacated this one.
Are they nothing more than walking corpses now learning the promise of a life is now, not later.
In many ways, it is like the sadness of a child who learns Santa Claus is a lie.
A temporary illusion offered before the inevitable fall.
Upon the death of this myth, they swear to no longer see magic in the lightning.
Wonder in the things they don’t understand.
Choosing instead to run and hide.
To wallow in the sad lamentations of an ever-fading universal lost childhood.
What is left to believe?
What will distract them from their oneness?
They have yet to learn how to define themselves like the child who absorbs these revelations and moves forward still nurturing their wonder.
They choose instead to throw themselves on their bed, crying and swearing to never marvel again.
It now falls upon those who have retained this sense of magic to embrace these poor lost children.
To remind them, that it is our wonder which helps us take that first tentative step from the darkness of the cave into the starry night of awareness.
