Hope of A Lonely Man

I seem happy. I have a family to love, a future for which I can aspire, and many who care for me. Interesting that this comes at the Lenten period of mourning. These two circumstances may, in belief, be in direct correlation with one another. And yet, I perceive darkness. Not in my mind, nor in my heart, but in my soul. It is a depravity I can always see, but barely ever realize. Is it the happiness? Or the contemplation? It should be that I might find this discrepancy along with the sorrows of life and not with the comforts. In any case, I understand that this is a constant depth; one I shall suffer and thrive with for the remainder of my mortal life. I know this, for its very essence is mortality. It is, perhaps, a despair of sorts. In it, I see all sin, all failure, all that is not of God and His good creation. It is, for lack of a better term, terrifying. It is a Hell inside my own being, one that I know cannot be escaped or survived. It threatens to overcome me. Each day, I struggle to fight that fear which inspires my fury, lust, apathy, greed, and willingness to sate my ever-increasing desires. But I am not alone.

We struggle nonetheless. We are not the products of our emotions or our desires. We are not simple-minded animals. We have been saved by a grace more potent and more powerful than perfection itself. This grace was, is, and shall be forever one that conquers all transgressions and betrayals. This grace is one which is summoned by the creator of all being and life. It is one that commands all fates and renders all failures as inconsequential. So we fight with our spirits combined in each other and sewn together by the infallible mercy of God. We fight to witness and glorify the coming of the Kingdom of Heaven. We fight against Satan and demons as well our own temptations, using weapons of faith, love, and discipline. We fight a battle. A real battle. The fates of many souls rest within our feeble hands. Call upon the Lord your God. He shall answer.

Alone

Alone, but never lonely.

I suppose you could say it was my motto.

Sure. I have friends. Good friends. Incredible friends, really.

But they would be the first to understand that my best friend is myself.

Perhaps that is why they are my closest friends; because they always know how far apart we really are. They always know that that is what makes them understand me.

A paradox. I truly love those.

If you would like to know who I really am when none can hear or under my breath or simply in my own kingdom of a mind, you had best find a way inside my head. Because he doesn’t show himself to anyone; anyone except me, that is.

Now an irony. The truth always hides itself from those who seek it, though it never leaves the one who wishes to forget it.

It is he who has shared my darkest moments and memories, and he who humors me when I tell myself one of many funny ideas. And perhaps it is just as well; he is a better keeper of my secrets than I am myself.

He soothes what I call Little Nate (really my father’s idea). Little Nate is the emotional one: the one who always wants to lash out, withdraw, resign, keep still, be indecisive, dwell on fear, indulge, and be something less than what i promised myself to be.

But Little Nate is not an enemy. On the contrary, he is apart of me, and an essential one. Without him, I would be static: always being my best, no matter the circumstances. I would be inhuman, and even unChristlike. The struggle for that ideal self would be gone and all life would cease to amaze me.

No. Little Nate is a child. The child. My child. The one I have parented since first I knew what it was to be good or bad. I was battling and compromising with him before I even knew there was a difference between he and I. And I still can’t clearly see what that is.

At the beginning I lost most of the time. I still do. But I am getting better. I understand him better: what he truly wants and is looking for as opposed to for what he asks. I try to sooth him, let him know that I am here, help him see that he can’t always get what he wants but I am always on his side. Or maybe it’s he that does that.

It must be he because sometimes I don’t let him. Sometimes I just forget. Because the next thing I know Little Nate has control over my actions and feelings. Infusing everything I do with selfish devices and motives.

But there are times when I catch him. And I speak aloud to him when I can: I love you. I’m here. You don’t need to defend yourself. All will be as it should, and this feeling will pass. I hold him close to me as he struggles to assert himself in his delusional hierarchy. I caress his hair and he gradually fades into myself, and there is peace in my head once more.

I cannot stress the necessity of showing strength in the kindness enough, nor kindness in the strength.