137: REsolved to DisSOLve the Malcontent, Une SoluTION

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot againe,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

Holy Sonnet XIV - by John Donne

A New Year's Day is some arbitrary day when most of us resolve with a fancy declaration vowing to turn our lives anew. In my mind, I've done the same; I've resolved to dissolve the malcontent. Yet in all honesty, starting this post has been extremely difficult. (Well, then again, nothing for me has ever been easy. But we're not going to talk about that. Let's talk about this:)

As John Donne notes, it's not enough for the Divine to "knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend" his enslaved heart. Or rather if you do not like idea that the Divine of the Christian faith pulls the strings on the marionette of your constitution, let it be said, then, that it's not enough for "you," the wholly independent "you," and I'd even dare say, the divine in "you," as the puppeteer, to mend the symptoms of your sorrow. It's like taping cracks on a dam ready to unleash thousands of gallons of destruction and death. I believe as John Donne does, I must be overthrown; I must "break, blow, burn" so that I'd be made new. As freshly mined gold ores are refined by fire, let me also be purified into something precious.

But I need help—your help. "Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend / But is captiv'd, and proves weak or untrue." Plans and goals, I've thought out for myself; faithful and true, I want to remain. However, on the wayside, should these aspirations be lost, despairing I'd be, for yet again, is found, my friend, Failure. Tragic is this that I'll still exist devoid of life; sorrowful still is this that I am a non-entity.

How funny though, the despair is my very own... my baby, my child I've nurtured for far too long...

I should just fade away... This exercise, this blog... of useless introspection, of vanity and pride... just so that I can find myself... Am I finding myself? I am lost. Relevance? Acceptance? Immortality? Love? They don't apply to me. I'm done. I'm finished.

No more...

Let me disappear into oblivion... The splendor of my life was but a futile dream.