Contemplation upon people can be fascinating, and while writing about them here I do usually change the names, and sometimes the gender, age, personalities, and so forth of the people talked about, I do learn a lot from watching and reflecting upon those around me.
I suppose in a fashion one of the reasons I think so often about people such as Violet and Minerva is that they are so unknown and so alive. I’m enthralled, naturally. I do not suggest it to be necessarily a good thing, perhaps it is, perhaps it is not. The question I suppose is whether or not I am. Perhaps self-contemplation would be more wise, except that I honestly believe that too much of it will quickly lead to a self-centered mind, which I find to be disagreeable. So I enjoy thinking about those around me. I must think, or I feel as though I will go mad.
I suppose, whether I should think or not is all in the intent of the matter. Perhaps it is true that things are best left undisturbed, though I do not believe this to be the case. I do care, if you will, about those of whom I think about, but it is a care unknown. So, I pray to my father that they will be blessed, I pray to Him that we may be friends, if it be his will and his purpose to do so, and I will be content to merely think well of people, if not. And yet, at times, it seems as though, if it was required, and possible I would forsake my very soul, facing torment, damnation, and eternal darkness, even for strangers, that is to face the very core, the center, the doorless room, the innermost labyrinth. Or as some might call it, Hell. That is the intensity of this fire within, that though strangers, the fire that does burn within me, burns indeed. It is not like one who feels, it is more like one who is. I do not burn because I am like a fire. No, I burn because I am a fire. And when I encounter those, like Violet and Minerva, or Idris and Emerald, or Phillip and Andrew, or whoever it might be, my true nature steps into the light, and I find I am willing to burn. To consume and be consumed. What I am trying to say is that I care because I am caring. It is in my nature to love, to care, to think well of those whom are precious to me. For my part, I only wish that I could burn with this kind of fire for all whom I encounter, willing, truly willing, to put their interest and such ahead of my own. I need not tell you, I suppose, but I’m not there yet.
But, I am troubled, for I find I am having a difficulty in thinking well of Willow. I also thought well of her, but I cannot deny I now hold feelings as of frustration, and perhaps even a little, I don’t know, the closest word I can come to it is jealousy perhaps. I do not claim it is right for me to feel that, but I am troubled not because of these thoughts concerning Willow. But because it reveals the possibility of disappointment in the watching of all. I see the darkness in one, and I feel fear, fear for all.
I ask, who can deliver humanity from themselves? I want to think well of people, to hope that they are seeking to do what is correct, not actively seeking to do wrong. But they are a bunch of rambunctious rebels, the lot of them, and while I may dream of a world of people who truly desire to do good, I am not ignorant that it is but a dream, the reality is a bleak world, and it is full of rebellious people, who seek to promote themselves at the expense of all.
But then I find among them precious jewels. Perhaps this is why you think well of Violet and Minerva, and those who are like them. They appeared as jewels against the bleakness of humanity, or in my case, more specifically, Willow’s secrecy. A secrecy which did serve one good purpose, and that was to reveal my own maddening secrecy, which is still quite present indeed. Something to be fought against indeed, and yes, I say this in a post where all names, and people are mixed up, kept secret, changed outright, and even whether it is a girl or guy I’m talking about might have been changed. Secretive indeed. The difficulty I suppose is in balancing the madness of secrecy and the desire to respect people’s privacy and personal space.
What bothers me is that history tends to repeat itself. You see those who are precious now, and you wonder, with the weight of statistics, the high probability, that in time they will be monsters. And maybe it hurts to know that it is likely that several who are precious now will be monsters. I still recall Ariana before she chose the darkness. Less noticeably, I remember what Jane, what Willow, what Sybil, what Douglas was, and I see what they are now, I hope they may still find their own lost souls.
Which is why I fear for Violet and Minerva Ancientsong, for Idris and Emerald Raventhorn. In one meeting, already I sensed threads of darkness in Emerald, threads that I hope to see turned aside. Adelaide may be a creature of strength now, but even she my yet fall. Do I dare to hope that Violet and Minerva will stand forever? I fear the dark paths my own feet will dare to tread, even in this coming year. Can I dare to hope that those who are precious at present will remain so? Or is it utter foolishness to hope that these will stand?
Is all humanity doomed to turn inevitably to the darkness? If so, is there a point to resistance? If we are all doomed to turn inevitably to the darkness there really is no point to resistance. If we are all doomed, than is not resistance utter foolishness? If we are creatures doomed to darkness, why even resist the darkness? Why not embrace it wholeheartedly, forget the future, and enjoy today, for tomorrow we will die, if this were the to be the case. But, it doesn’t ring true to me that there is no value in following the light, and that the only path left to humanity is to embrace the darkness.
But if some of the precious can stay precious forever, then it is worth fighting the darkness with every part of us, resistance is no longer futile, and the light no longer remains a joke, an unattainable fantasy that we can’t ever be, or attempt to be, or even pretend to be, but the light is thus worth embracing. To resist the darkness becomes worthwhile, if some may be true.
But, it can only ever be thus if it is actually possible to be good, to be true, to be beautiful, otherwise it is utterly foolish to even dream of it, and far more sensible to embrace the darkness, and die, than to live pretending to be virtuous, but pointlessly doing so, unless it is possible to actually live virtuously, there is no point in trying to be virtuous, as failure is guaranteed in that.
If it is true, however, that some of the precious may be precious, and precious forever, should we not do everything possible to help them, and ourselves by the promotion of virtue? By the seeking of truth, of beauty, of goodness?
It seems to me that most assume that all humanity is doomed to turn inevitably evil, and that evil reigns supreme in all men, but how can that be true? Are the good deeds merely lies as this would imply, delusions of something they are not? Goodness is goodness wherever it is found, is it not? Or how can it be called good? If it is possible for a man to do good, then by all means all men ought to do everything they can to be good people. Yet the messages I hear time and time again is that we are desperately wicked, deceitful beyond understanding, and that there are no good people, and so forth. Condemning messages indeed.
The hope that Violet and Minerva, Idris and Emerald, Adelaide, and so forth may overcome the darkness and remain precious forever gives me, the watcher, strength, and hope.
Hope for myself, and hope for those like Jane who have turned to the darkness. They too may one day find the light. There is still hope for Jane to be precious again. She may yet find her redemption, or more specifically, her revelation, that which she seeks is right within her hand, but she cannot be told it, she may only discover it herself, that she already holds in her hand that which she is desperate for. She won’t know that, however, until she realizes it, for herself. Nevertheless, I remain troubled as the watcher, to see what was, what is, and what may yet be, and to consider that which may never be.
In the end, my question is whether it is pointless to pray for those we hope for, or if they are doomed to be or not to be whether we pray for them or not, and if prayer avails not, what hope do we have? If we pray for the precious, will they remain true? If not, what then? This is a troubling question indeed, and I do not have the answer for it.
In regard to the future, it is true that I hate to waste time enjoying what presently is by focusing on what may be, imaginations of that which I do not know, built largely upon fears really. Why should fear of future possibilities, not certainties, but possibilities, rob from us our present joy? And yet, I’ve seen so many fall, how can I believe otherwise than to say that it is likely to happen again. But, why should it? Why can’t it end, now? Why does it have to be certain that people will fall? Is it certain? Is it not better to hope, rather than to doubt?
I don’t know what it is that I seek. I feel as though I’ve lost something, something so special, and so precious to me, something really important, but try as I might I can’t remember what it is. It is like I feel as though I’ve forgotten something and cannot seem to find it. There is something of it in the Ancientsong’s arts, but muse on them though I may, I cannot seem to find it, only feel it. Nevertheless, I smile upon them, for I do find hope, though I may not always understand why.
Still, there is a part of me that questions why. Sometimes I despair at ever being free of doubt. I am weary of questioning my every thought, action, deed, motive, interest, belief, and so forth.
I guess, right now I am just glad that such creatures do exist within the world of Men: Humanity is not totally lost. That Violet and Minerva, and those like them, exist is enough for me. Bless them. Surely these are not the only such creatures. Surely others of the likeness of them exist as well. I just don’t know them yet. But if these exist, so must others who I have yet to encounter. We have hope, thanks to these creatures, I have hope, once again in humankind. These souls are special to me because of what it is that they represent. They are rather like the Mockingjay in that sense, important in themselves, yes, but also important in that which they represent. Hope.
I wish I could be this kind of creature for someone. But I’m not, at least as far as I’m aware. But it is quite likely that Violet and Minerva and the others probably do not know that they are such creatures either.
Maybe there is someone who I give hope to. Perhaps I’m someone’s Mockingjay, I would like that, I think.