To Build a Castle: A Parable

There once was a queen who ruled many years before deciding to pass the crown to her grown children and live out her days in solitude. She set out to build a castle on the grounds of one of her ancestors' properties. She had her servants thoroughly search the land for the perfect spot to build the castle, but no ruins or previous buildings could be located. Exhausted from her search, she finally gave up and just picked a spot for her castle, planning to angle it so she could see both a beautiful sunrise and sunset each day. Before she could start building the new castle, a servant ran to her to tell her that the ancient ruins had been discovered. While inspecting the debris and broken supports for the old structure, she discovered that her ancestors had built a castle very similar to her idea, even featuring a perfect view of both a beautiful sunrise and sunset. Realizing how similar she was to those who had come before, she smiled and now understood that people are much more alike than we are different. 

We always build on the shoulders of our ancestors, and when we try to understand their legacy, we invariably find that all generations have the same goals, dreams, and aspirations. Although we hold them in great reverence, they were humans just like us, though separated by years and constant cycles of revolution. They were not perfect, but neither are we. We should not strive for perfection, but only to build a new foundation on all that was learned before us, while enjoying every sunrise and sunset along the journey. 

Hope is Built Brick by Brick

Do you ever wonder what the people who lived hundreds of years ago thought about in their daily lives?

It is easier to cling to pessimism; we somehow think we are noble and brave martyrs

If we only see life in a glass-half-empty way.

Prepare for the best yet always expect the worst.

Did they worry about their next meal or if a storm would take them away in a swirling mysterious cloud?

It is more noble and brave to be an optimist; to always see the good in others and

Hope that they will learn to show it to the world before it’s too late.

There is vulnerability in seeing the world through hope-colored glasses.

Did they worry about life expectancy, or did they constantly live in the moment?

Many believe that you cannot be a fatalist and an optimist at the same time,

Yet fatalism is always the fallback plan and the way out for the fragile optimist.

Everything is going to be fine, but if it isn’t, then we will all meet the same deadly end.

Did they ever imagine a world of such lavish surplus and technology filling our every waking thought?

Hope is a choice that we make. Not the easiest choice, but the choice that we must make

If we hope to survive in a world that thrives on pain, turmoil, and soundbites.

Hope is the brave choice for those who truly choose to live instead of dying little by little each day.

Did they understand hope better than we do or have humans always hedged their bets on heaven?

Hope is not waiting for eternal reward, but it is what we do when we open our eyes in the morning

To face a new day. On and on we go, never knowing if hope will pay dividends or disappointments.

We are not completely helpless; we can control the rudder that leads us home, but the wind is always beyond our control.

Did they understand that hope is the secret ingredient that keeps humanity moving forward and looking up?

Men and women from the beginning of time until the edge of the next millennium

All understand that life on this planet is unique, but the nature of the game is chance, pain, and hopelessness.

Let hope be the wind in our sails that carries us onward to that bright future over the next horizon.

Prison of Doubt

Deep sorrow clings to you like a sticky sap.

No amount of cleaning will remove it.

Even though you know why it happened and

You feel like the right decision was made, it haunts you and will never leave you.

 

I try to hold back the profound sadness but it comes back in waves,

Out of the blue, unexpected yet so real that it blinds you to happiness and joy and passion.

You want it to get better, but then again you feel

That you deserve the curse and the pallor that is your sentence, your punishment.

 

Remembering the happiness is both a blessing and a curse,

For it fuels the supply of tears that are always ready to burst forth.

Sometimes I feel like the sadness says more about my weakness than my strength.

But I am who I am and maybe this weakness is a superpower and a way to survive.

 

The grief will subside in time and the realization that life continues

In small succinct ways, showing me that this is all part of the arduous journey.

A trip that only ends when all pain and fear and sadness are removed with eternal sleep,

But until then we must live and strive to overcome the shadow that we have cast.

 

Knowing the decision was right does not move us toward healing, but it must be rectified

So that our psyche can heal, so that we can forgive ourselves of that which seems unforgivable.

Yet our humanness locks us in this prison of doubt for which there is no escape,

Only hope that we can rise each day and move forward, trusting that all our decisions

Will please the universe and bring some peace to our daily existence.

 

There is no way out of the prison, only time served in sadness, contemplation, and quiet thoughts.

May we come out of the other side of our self-imposed punishment with hopefulness in our hearts and

Wisdom for the treacherous journey that awaits us.

There is no going back. Only time will heal the pain of our choices and as we learn to forgive ourselves.

  

The Singer and the Song

The song begins with rainfall…lightly drizzling while rumbling thunder progresses slowly into the distance. A piano tinkles minor keys in the background, adding mystery to the somber night.

The volume of the piano builds as the rain fades away. The thunder wanes into a low rumble…nearly non-existent, but the repercussions can be felt for miles.

A soulful voice joins the tinkling piano, adding lamenting lyrics of a spent and banished love and the painful dream of searching for them again and again and again…

Their voice unlocks a distant memory of loves both lost and found.

A wandering bass line cuts through the sadness. A quartet of strings picks up the tempo and adds a jolt of reality and resolve to the lover’s woe. The singer pours their life blood into every line, cutting the listener to the bone and soul. The painful story must be told.

Slowly the voices of a harmonious choir join the fray as a lighted stage appears in the background, their voices moving to crescendo in unison with the lonely singer, building on the melancholy yet adding a tinge of hope.

They add courage to the singer’s wounded soul, compelling them to rise again in search of a new love...one that will bring them back to life and fill their empty hearts with joy again.

The rising cacophony of sounds reach their glorious peak, growing louder and louder until they are almost unbearable to the ears…then….

Silence

In the spotlight a violin quivers a low tremolo as the jilted singer lowers their head in surrender. Deep in their soul they know their lover is gone forever. No more to be in their arms. They must make peace with their loss and move on.

The choir stares at them from behind, eyes and faces fixed as they wait for the singer’s final words. The singer delivers the last line with remnants of hope dripping from their lips, melting their frozen heart.

After a penitent and patient pause, the crowd stands and cheers the broken soul, applaud mixing with tears of remembrance for lost loves, broken dreams, and hope for the future.

The stage grows dark.

The curtain closes.

But the song goes on and on and on…

The Man Who Lived

There once was man who was born. Yes, that is how they all arrive I know you are thinking. But this man was special in his nothingness and in the plainness of his arrival. The town doesn’t matter, but like most towns, and like the man, it was always at a crossroads.

For the man grew up and took on his shoulders the weight of the world. He didn’t have to take it on. But he chose it as a punishment to himself and to prove that he could bear the weight. It would have been much easier to let it lie. To let others pick it up. “But what fun is that?” he thought.

Life should have been easy. Money was scarce but love was never far away. Part of him knew he was smart, but then again why did he always feel so dumb? Such is the way of the overthinking child. Never dumb but never smart enough to figure out how to fit in. How to be nothing more than a nuisance in the eyes of those who felt they had it all together. So he moved forward through the world… when it would have been so much easier to go around it.

It is a quandary to be different in a world of cookiecutter personalities, jocks and prom queens and those who hide their wealth while flaunting their privilege. The man was exhausted by his 20s but there was no time to slow down. He wanted to move far away from the crossroads. To a place where everyone is awkward and most are proud of it. Where people of all nationalities and languages converge and dusty books and endowments stoke the fires of knowledge.

The man finished his hurdle of intelligence and then settled into a pathway the world told him to follow. For the man knew that after college it is customary to marry, start a family and build up a new base of knowledge uncluttered by dusty philosophies, one that is hedged on the supernatural and where all things are possible through faith, except changing the core of who he was when the lights were out and he groaned through his unsettled dreams. A soft glowing ember of enlightenment remained alive, but barely blinking and hidden from the view of the world. But some noticed.

The man finally came to realize his place in the world. To see his reflection in the mirror of his own accomplishments, to never push himself down or allow others to make him small in their eyes, and to find his way through the weeds and vines of self-doubt and anxiety to emerge on the other side, scraped and bloody but better for the journey. He finally came to that place where his light began to glow. And glow it did.

“Why did it take so long?” He wondered why he did not know his worth years ago. Now he not only felt loved, but knew he deserved a love that was unbridled by ego, one as firm and steady as a mountain. That love became his anchor. Looking for love above or below would never serve him again. He realized that the glowing ember was not only the light that spurred him on to new adventures every few years and led his way through the darkness, but it was also a glowing ember that rekindled a fire of love that would never go out. That would consume him until his dying breath.

The man lived. And regret, sorrow, and the smallness of others could no longer harm him. He was enough. He was alive.