we are such stuff as dreams are made on.
- Prospero in The Tempest, Shakespeare
i do think the only thing worse than dead hope is limp hope: hope that is prone to being deflated, prone to lead to disappointment, hope that is about to die. i do wish they could kill it quickly, a quick unfeeling death, so i do not have to wonder any more whether i am meant to stay here or to fly over and away. speed is of the essence.
why is there such a distance between people? chasms between minds and souls, hearts and feelings. words are bridges that attempt to cross that void to the other side, but in the darkness all you can rely on is instinct, blind guesses, numb trust, that the bridge will truly land you on hard ground on the opposite end; but we can never be sure. words fail, love misfires, bridges are brittle. only the Cross stands, and often we lose sight of it in being preoccupied with lesser things. we would rather grope in the darkness than tread the bridge already constructed and laid down before our feet. for the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men. we think that taking the obvious too-good-to-be-true route is bound to harbour some unseen trick, is to obvious to be true, more naivete than cunning.
that's when our cleverness gets ahead of us and trips us up in our mad rush forward.
- Prospero in The Tempest, Shakespeare
i do think the only thing worse than dead hope is limp hope: hope that is prone to being deflated, prone to lead to disappointment, hope that is about to die. i do wish they could kill it quickly, a quick unfeeling death, so i do not have to wonder any more whether i am meant to stay here or to fly over and away. speed is of the essence.
why is there such a distance between people? chasms between minds and souls, hearts and feelings. words are bridges that attempt to cross that void to the other side, but in the darkness all you can rely on is instinct, blind guesses, numb trust, that the bridge will truly land you on hard ground on the opposite end; but we can never be sure. words fail, love misfires, bridges are brittle. only the Cross stands, and often we lose sight of it in being preoccupied with lesser things. we would rather grope in the darkness than tread the bridge already constructed and laid down before our feet. for the foolishness of God is wiser than the wisdom of men. we think that taking the obvious too-good-to-be-true route is bound to harbour some unseen trick, is to obvious to be true, more naivete than cunning.
that's when our cleverness gets ahead of us and trips us up in our mad rush forward.
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