Keen

"But instead he, like other young men, settled down in a place where he began quietly giving up his dreams."

When I started writing in my head, I was sure I was remembering "It's a Wonderful Life", but an extensive search didn't corroborate my "memory". I'm sure it's a movie as I remember hearing it, but can't apparently find the source.

Life has been good lately. At least, life hasn't been "bad". I guess that means that life has been good. My life is full of things I like and value, yet still feels empty for some reason. I recently trimmed my schedule back from 4 weeknight commitments to preserve some margin, but it was a hard choice as every commitment had been carefully chosen to begin with. I felt that I didn't have any time to hear what God might be saying to me in amongst all the things I wanted to do.

God is good and I see His hand in my days and His plan in my life, yet something just isn't quite right. I feel like I lack something, even though I can't think of any part of my life that is incomplete. I like everything in my life, yet it doesn't feel "right". Not in a "waiting for the other shoe to drop" sense, but rather in the "I hope I'm on the right path because I'm not getting guidance or correction" way. I do my best to be aware of opportunities I shouldn't miss and thorough in all I do, but whether that pans out remains to be seen.

I accept that life growth is a slow, steady process. Is my life like a pearl, with layer after layer of irritation accreting into something that might eventually be beautiful? Is my life to be like a river rock, tumbled over and over until all the rough edges are knocked off? David picked up smooth river stones to kill giants, though, so that might be all right. Fun fact - David picked up five stones, but apparently only used one to kill Goliath. Why five? If you read closely, four other giants threatened Israel during his reign. David had the wherewithal (the stones, if you will) to defeat them, but never did. Infer your own lesson here.

One reason why my life might be without "high drama" right now is as a balance to other people I include in my life. Plenty of my friends have stuff going on in their lives, good or bad. Since my life is on cruise control, I am free to just listen and support. If my life were also frustrating, I would have less emotional/spiritual energy to support and be there for them. That's a reason, but not an especially good one.

A couple weeks ago, I spent some quality time maintaining the knives I frequently use, including my kitchen knives, pocketknife, and so on. To sharpen a knife, you start with a coarse stone that removes material quickly to bring the edge roughly to shape. Then you move to progressively finer stones to remove the previously-made scratches and refine the edge towards its ideal edge. Lastly, for the ultimate edge, you polish the edge with a very fine stone, high-grit sandpaper, or polishing compound on a strop. The ultimate is a mirror-polished razor-sharp edge and takes large amounts of patience and effort.

On a cheap knife, the steel will be soft. It will be easy to put an edge on it, but it will deform too easily to be polished. During use, the edge will also be very easy to turn or dull. Quicker to sharpen, but quick to dull as well.

In contrast, good steel is hard. Many strokes of the stone are required to shape it, and it can be polished to a mirror finish (or "surgical sharp"). It'll hold an edge well, even through tough use, but sharpening it will be a long, slow affair.

My life is to be hard steel - slow to sharpen, but sturdy and resilient once sharpened. If God didn't take as much time to teach me what I am to know, it would either leave me "dull" or mean that I was easily bent and deformed from His idea. Instead, the forming process will be difficult and slow, but the end payoff will be completely worth the effort.

In Kurt Vonnegut's short story "Harrison Bergeron", the world is completely equal. To ensure that nobody feels inferior in looks, mental capacity, or physical ability, the government has appointed a Handicapper-General that invents handicaps for all these areas, such as mandatory earpieces with distracting sounds or bags of birdshot padlocked around a person's body. The greater a person's natural gifting, the larger the handicap given until everyone is "average". George and Hazel (the protagonists) have a 14-year-old son Harrison who has been taken away by the office of the Handicapper-General for being unfair. One day, a ballet "performance" is interrupted by an announcement of Harrison's escape from custody. Due to the announcer's ineptitude, a ballerina is called upon to read...

"Ladies and Gentlemen," said the ballerina, reading the bulletin. She must have been extraordinarily beautiful, because the mask she wore was hideous. And it was easy to see that she was the strongest and most graceful of all the dancers, for her handicap bags were as big as those worn by two-hundred-pound men.

And she had to apologize at once for her voice, which was a very unfair voice for a woman to use. Her voice was a warm, luminous, timeless melody. "Excuse me-" she said, and she began again, making her voice absolutely uncompetitive.

"Harrison Bergeron, age fourteen," she said in a grackle squawk, "has just escaped from jail, where he was held on suspicion of plotting to overthrow the government. He is a genius and an athlete, is under-handicapped, and should be regarded as extremely dangerous."

Harrison's dramatic entrance, in turn, interrupts this announcement.

[Harrison] was exactly seven feet tall. The rest of Harrison's appearance was Halloween and hardware. Nobody had ever born heavier handicaps. He had outgrown hindrances faster than the H-G men could think them up. Instead of a little ear radio for a mental handicap, he wore a tremendous pair of earphones, and spectacles with thick wavy lenses. The spectacles were intended to make him not only half blind, but to give him whanging headaches besides.

Scrap metal was hung all over him. Ordinarily, there was a certain symmetry, a military neatness to the handicaps issued to strong people, but Harrison looked like a walking junkyard. In the race of life, Harrison carried three hundred pounds.

And to offset his good looks, the H-G men required that he wear at all times a red rubber ball for a nose, keep his eyebrows shaved off, and cover his even white teeth with black caps at snaggle-tooth random.

Pretty handicapped, you could say. Pretty well weighed down by life. Finally, he seems to have had enough.

Clanking, clownish, and huge, Harrison stood - in the center of the studio. The knob of the uprooted studio door was still in his hand. Ballerinas, technicians, musicians, and announcers cowered on their knees before him, expecting to die.

"I am the Emperor!" cried Harrison. "Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!" He stamped his foot and the studio shook.

"Even as I stand here" he bellowed, "crippled, hobbled, sickened - I am a greater ruler than any man who ever lived! Now watch me become what I can become!"

Harrison tore the straps of his handicap harness like wet tissue paper, tore straps guaranteed to support five thousand pounds.

Harrison's scrap-iron handicaps crashed to the floor.

Harrison thrust his thumbs under the bar of the padlock that secured his head harness. The bar snapped like celery. Harrison smashed his headphones and spectacles against the wall.

He flung away his rubber-ball nose, revealed a man that would have awed Thor, the god of thunder.

"I shall now select my Empress!" he said, looking down on the cowering people. "Let the first woman who dares rise to her feet claim her mate and her throne!"

A moment passed, and then a ballerina arose, swaying like a willow.

Harrison plucked the mental handicap from her ear, snapped off her physical handicaps with marvelous delicacy. Last of all he removed her mask.

She was blindingly beautiful.

"Now-" said Harrison, taking her hand, "shall we show the people the meaning of the word dance? Music!" he commanded.
[...]

Harrison and his Empress merely listened to the music for a while-listened gravely, as though synchronizing their heartbeats with it.

They shifted their weights to their toes.

Harrison placed his big hands on the girls tiny waist, letting her sense the weightlessness that would soon be hers.

And then, in an explosion of joy and grace, into the air they sprang!

Not only were the laws of the land abandoned, but the law of gravity and the laws of motion as well.

They reeled, whirled, swiveled, flounced, capered, gamboled, and spun.

They leaped like deer on the moon.

The studio ceiling was thirty feet high, but each leap brought the dancers nearer to it.

It became their obvious intention to kiss the ceiling. They kissed it.

And then, neutraling gravity with love and pure will, they remained suspended in air inches below the ceiling, and they kissed each other for a long, long time.

Watch me become what I can become! Such is the cry of a man knowing that his potential has been stifled and his time has come. When I first read this story, I wondered if Harrison was made into the man he became partly by the burden of his handicaps. Granted, he was born with substantial gifting, but through hardship, I like to think that he refined his personality and goals.

Applied to my life, being made to wait and learn the hard and slow way implies that God is using the hindrances (the "handicaps") to form me into something that is strong and amazing and will last.

I guess that thought is a slight comfort. Nevertheless, I believe that God is who He says He is and that He'll do everything He's promised to do. And that is enough.

Darkness

“Are you afraid of the dark?”
-Pitch Black, tagline

(I decided to try something new this time. I'm not sure I quite have the words arranged the way I want, but it's as good as I'm going to get it. This may get unpublished or rewritten for improvement in the future ... Lastly, my examples do include plot spoilers, which I wouldn't want to take you unaware.)

“Will you guide me now, for I can't see

A reason for the suffering and this long misery

[...]

There will be sorrow...“
Bad Religion, “Sorrow”

When I was younger and read more, I read the Abhorsen trilogy by Garth Nix. Although there were a few scenes I didn't care for, the world and the story were immensely compelling and prone to deep immersion. In Nix's world of Ancelstierre and the Old Kingdom, there is no god, no higher power to ensure the “goodness” of the world. Many times, the destiny of the whole world hangs in the balance with the only person who can fight back struggling just to stand their ground.

Necromancers roam the land, raising the dead through terrible rituals. The (un)dead fear running water and fire, but little else gives them pause. The mere sight of a Gore Crow (the form of a crow, but animated by a weak dead spirit) is enough to strike fear into the everyday Old Kingdom citizen. Low-level undead like Gore Crows or Dead Hands (which are somewhat similar to zombies) can eventually be nonmagically killed by explosives, but only great difficulty. As the power of the controlling necromancer and the re-animated spirit increase, nothing short of powerful magic will harm them and restore the safety and purity of the land.

As a soul dies, it passes into the first of nine levels of death, separated by the Gates. Death is a place of uniform grey, of water everywhere flowing towards each Gate and deeper Death. The current is often strong, and anyone who enters Death must be constantly on alert else they be swept under. The dead spirits may be called back to serve in Life until they pass the Ninth Gate into true death. The Old Kingdom has seen a lot of death over the years. Sometimes, in a place marked by many deaths or particularly evil deeds, a rift between the kingdoms of the living and the dead is formed, allowing dead spirits to walk unbidden back into the land of the living.

Even magic, that great mainstay of fantasy, is malevolent in the Old Kingdom. Charter Magic is bounded in symbols, with a symbol for everything. It is relatively safe, and practiced by those who strive to protect the people and keep light in the land. Powerful Charter Magic is known by only a few, and has an unfortunate tendency of burning or killing those who dare to speak its words and trace its symbols. Free Magic, always distinguishable by a metallic stench noticeable in the back of the throat and burning throughout the nostrils, can only be bound by powerful Charter Magic, but is itself wont unto twist in upon the user and corrupt or destroy them utterly. All know the sight of Free Magic, which prompts an immediate violent reaction in an effort to purge it from the land.

Alone against the evil is a figure called the Abhorsen. Much like there are always two Sith or one Slayer, there can only ever be one Abhorsen. Usually there is also one Abhorsen-in-Waiting, who will be called upon the death of the current Abhorsen. The Abhorsen is often mistaken for a dangerous Free Magic sorcerer/sorceress - their dangerous and unique calling requires that they utilize both Free Magic and Charter Magic. She (less often, he) is tasked with freeing the land from the dead who walk again, sending them past the Ninth Gate into eternal rest. To do this, occasionally the Abhorsen must cross into Death itself, risking life and limb every time.

The trademark of both the necromancer and the Abhorsen (leading to the above confusion) is a bandolier of seven bells. They say that the bells contain seven of the great spirits who were present at the foundation of the world. The bells range in size from a pill bottle to a large jar. All who hear the bells ring must obey, unless they possess great strength of will. And woe unto the heedless person who rings the bells without possessing the skill and clarity of mind to bend the bells to their will! Such a person, by invoking the Free Magic of the bells, may themselves be cast into Death or even greater peril. Each bell has a personality and a function. It is said that each bell takes after a Bright Shiner who lent their essence to the creation of the Great Charter. From Ranna the Sleeper to Dyrim the Speaker through Saraneth the Binder, the power and risk of each bell increases from smallest to largest.

“It's like one thousand paper cuts,

soaked in vinegar.

Like the battles with yourself,

that leave you insecure.”
The Spill Canvas, “Battles”

“I see the evil rising,

The rise of evil “
Sabaton, “Rise of Evil”

Last week, I was talking to a good friend who has been following my life by email. She asked how I was doing, and not knowing how to briefly answer, I settled for “Some days are good, some days are bad.” “Yes, but the results of all your processing seems like you're on the upswing”, she responded. I sure hope so. I can see the darkness inside. It's deep and dark and doesn't seem that far under the surface.

“There's a part in every day,

where I lie to myself and say that it's okay.

'cause if I don't I think I'll go insane.

But the truth is, I only have myself to blame. “
The Spill Canvas, “The Truth”

It wouldn't take much to scrape away the “happy” and the “joyful”, leaving the dismal and depression to ooze out. Of course my friend sees the good days; they're the ones that show. The bad days aren't necessarily outwardly bad. They usually take the form of usually Kenton getting lost in himself.

“It's all just a numbing charade

Until the day you finally wake up,

and you're not

afraid.”
The Spill Canvas, “The Truth”

The largest and most imposing bell is Astarael. Astarael is the spirit of remembrance and of sorrow.

“Astarael, the Sorrowful,” whispered Sabriel. Astarael was the banisher, the final bell. Properly rung, it cast everyone who heard it far into Death. Everyone, including the ringer.
Garth Nix, Sabriel

When one of the protagonists unexpectedly encountered the remaining essence of Astarael the Bright Shiner, the first evidence was a smell of rosemary (an herb associated with memory). As they continued walking, it seemed like everything they knew to be true in the world disappeared. The Charter, the strong magic foundation of the world, seemed to vanish, leaving just emptiness and the overwhelming desire to give up, relinquishing the drive to live.

Sometimes I feel that, in the end, Sorrow really is all that is left. That, even among all the good in my life, and all the “progress” I make, the sound of sorrow will cut through everything else. If that happens, it feels like all around me, and especially me, will be thrown far into the grey nothingness of depression and figurative death. I wonder if when Sorrow comes, if all on which I depend will become an illusion, like smoke on the wind.

It started softly, like a tuning fork lightly struck, but grew, a pure note, blown by a trumpeter of inexhaustible breath, till there was nothing but the sound. The sound of Astarael. Sabriel and Touchstone both stopped, almost in mid-stride. They felt a terrible urge to leave their bodies, to shuck them off as so much worn-out baggage. Their spirits—their essential selves—wanted to go, to go into Death and plunge joyfully into the strongest current, to be carried to the very end.

Garth Nix, Sabriel

Finally, Lirael swung Astarael, and her mournful tone joined the ring of sound and magic that surrounded Orannis. Normally, Weeper would throw all who heard her into Death. Here, combined with the other six voices, her sound evoked a sorrow that could not be answered. Together, the bells and Dog sang a song that was more than sound and power. It was the song of the earth, the moon, the stars, the sea, and the sky, of Life and Death and all that was and would be.

Garth Nix, Abhorsen

Sorrow. The Weeper. All that was, and all that would be. Joyfully into the strongest current, just to be carried to the very end. A sorrow that could not be answered. Welcome to what I see in the depths of my heart.

Epilogue

As I was writing this and collecting quotes, one subsequent passage struck me, as if it was the partial answer to my sentiments

“Think of Life!” screamed Sabriel, her voice only just audible through the pure note. She could feel Touchstone dying, his will insufficient to hold him in Life. He seemed almost to expect this sudden summons into Death.
“Fight it!” she screamed again, dropping her sword to slap him across the face. “Live!” Still he slipped away. Desperate, she grabbed him by the ears, and kissed him savagely, biting his lip, the salty blood filling both their mouths. His eyes cleared, and she felt him concentrate again, concentrate on Life, on living. His sword fell, and he brought his arms up around her and returned her kiss. Then he put his head on her shoulder, and she on his, and they held each other tightly till the single note of Astarael slowly died.

Garth Nix, Sabriel

Think of Life! Fight! Choose life! Though it may be the hardest thing ever, it will be required every day that I want my heart and my spirit to live. There are people around who help me (all the farther I'm taking the analogy), even taking time away from their goals to call me back from the brink of darkness.

If you read the book, you'll learn that Touchstone has been deeply wounded by his past. He was witness to something terrible that he was powerless to stop, but which left deep marks on his heart. Over the course of the book, Sabriel has to help support him emotionally as he struggles to come to terms with his “baggage” and how it affects his future. Even at the end of the book (which I excerpted above), when he's almost back to himself, she has to reach out for him one more time so that he doesn't give up and retreat from life.

Now, if I was a good writer, I would take the time to connect all the dots and how this hooks into my life. However, to do so would remove both the need for "critical reading" and any room for personal interpretation.