As I read the news, I feel the exhilarating moment just as the rollercoaster begins its descent, and I anticipate the rush to terminal velocity.
I’ve claimed I’m a nihilist, but that’s wrong. I believe, and always will, that resistance against evil prevails as the most profoundly meaningful cause. I gift the deepest respect to those brave warriors of justice who fight till their dying breath. I revere those who haven’t lost hope, for I fear that I have.
They want you to give up! They rely on your mental defeat! History shows we can prevail if we keep fighting! My warrior friends urge me on. I’m ashamed to admit I can’t live up to that ideal. What must they think of me? I never had the strength to stand against authority or rage at injustice. I’m meek, not a hero, and history won’t look upon me with admiration. I write and share my thoughts. That’s all. Though my values be trampled, I know with sickening certainty I won’t go far to defend them. Instead, I rely on those whose hearts can burn the fuel of anger to protect what my heart will drown in sadness to lose. I struggle every day to accept and love my cowardly self as I ignore the rallying war cries. I grapple with the gnawing fear that when my time comes to be tested, I may crumble and bear the shame of that sin for the rest of my life.
I’m a pessimist? Or maybe a cynic. I wish to be wrong. I dream of a turn that swings the political climate around and sets us on a path I can conscience. But as much as I want to, I don’t believe. I see the signs not as harbingers but as symptoms of an already terminal disease. Against all inspiration, I believe life will become dire and desperate for so many. I prepare for devastation and terror, the worst of history repeating itself. I’ve lost hope of avoiding this future.
But the story doesn’t end there.
I believe we will fall far, but the more resistance that fall encounters, the sooner we rise again. I believe in the warriors as I do not believe in myself. I believe in the light at the end of this trial, the heroes that appear when all hope is lost. Whatever happens, the world will move on. No matter what horrors we endure, the future offers the opportunity for love, beauty, justice, and liberty to prevail. Whatever my humble sins, I’ll be a forgotten inconsequential statistic in a time of great misery. History will see the struggle on its epic scale, punish the Nazis, and celebrate the liberators. This I believe, and can hope for.
Or, perhaps I’m wrong, and all my hyperbole and hysteria will look mighty silly in hindsight. That would be nice.
Pirate Ferret.com 