“When you’re socially awkward, you’re isolated more than usual, and when you’re isolated more than usual, your creativity is less compromised by what has already been said and done. All your hope in life starts to depend on your craft, so you try to perfect it. One reason I stay isolated more than the average person is to keep my creativity as fierce as possible. Being the odd one out may have its temporary disadvantages, but more importantly, it has its permanent advantages.” ― Criss Jami, Killosophy
I’ve lost it all, all my compassion, all my empathy, all my concern for the flip flop of dire humanity around me. I built my life around trying to “do the right thing” in personal relationships, with both the stranger and the wife, the friends and the foes. Right now, it doesn’t seem to matter in the least whether I was good or bad, made wrong choices or excellent decisions. It’s strangely exhilarating to, at least in theory, be done with everyone, like the chains have fallen off my mind. A very experienced convict told me that if I wanted to be bad all I had to do is get in touch with the hate in my heart. I’ve a lot of hate, but how to touch it was beyond me, being constrained by an itinerant love which I called God’s love. With this new advent of running empty of that supposed love, I find reason and wisdom calling for me to listen. After years of letting people run rampant through my gardens, I want to put up barbwire fences and sit with my armament waiting for these pests to dig under it. I don’t want to be bad per say, I just want to be free from the derision that comes with helping people and the struggle with being good to them. I still haven’t touched that hate, but losing touch with my empathy is leading me down a path that there may be no returning from. I don’t want to be concerned with anyone’s life or opinions outside of the one with me here and in spite of the responsibility I feel to take care of my significant other, that concern is suffering as well. All this is the fruit of leaving my first love, the God that reached down through the clouds of my deformation and showed me in a moment that His love is real and tangible. On bent knees I seek Him again to save me from myself, from my predetermination to propagate the horrors and injustices born against me.
”If you love them that love you, what credit is that to you?” – Luke 6:32
First published in Opinions of Eye