I am a lot to handle. Along with my usually high spirits and determined positivity there comes also a deep introspective attitude, a probing gaze and a heart that unceasingly asks the uncomfortable and yet unanswered questions. Outwardly my nearly endless energy manifests as a sort of calm giddiness, eager laughter surrounded by total seriousness. But inside rages a near constant storm, a tempest of emotion that ebbs and flows as the sun changes position in the sky, sometimes the calm surface of a gentle sea, a moment later giving way to swelling tidal waves. As I have aged I’ve become aware of my attempts to hide away these storms, keep them well below the surface in order to protect those for whom the winds and waters of my heart might be overwhelming. But of late I’ve begun to think this may be unwise, and I’ve started wondering how I might peel back these protective layers, and expose the real me for more to see.
There is so much more. More indeed to all of us, not only those who see themselves as more romantic, more poetic or creative. There are greater depths to the simplest hearts, driven to darkness by a world that stifles the unusual and difficult to understand, a world that prefers dim shadows that force a man to crawl through life, rather than blinding lights that challenge his way of seeing. There is much that we do not see, that we have blinded ourselves to and chosen to disregard, for fear of change or discomfort or whatever else. Instead the greater part of humanity has chosen to become complacent with normalcy, stagnant in survival, unwilling to push themselves to thrive. Yet for what other purpose have we been given life than to truly live?
I believe there are those who see more than most. There is a reality deeper than the world which we’ve made, grander and more potent than the castles of our stubble and straw that we think gold and silver. And some can glimpse it, if only a little, because some are willing. Maybe I might say that some are willed. Perhaps one might dismiss such a claim, say that it’s the artist in me, the Four, the idealist that wishes things to be other than they are, unwilling to accept the world as it is. Yet I cannot believe that reality is merely as the majority sees it. When there are but a few who glimpse the mountaintops, they are those who prove that there is further still to climb. And if we do not brave the heights, who will?
I write this because I must, because I feel compelled to share the things for which my heart beats, and because I must put away the idea that these feelings and ideas need be stifled merely for the comfort of those around me, fearing that they might be afraid. Some are, I know. I know that some find it draining, a sap on the energy which they’ve reserved for the routine, not because they love it, but because it requires little of them. And oh! how I know what strength it takes to climb from that rut and question my being there at all. But I must question, because truly I fear the sameness more than the risk of what might be, more than the challenge of the unknown or the burden of uncertainty. So I am compelled to go deeper still.
I must never settle for being less than such a man as thinks these thoughts. To hide away such a mind would be foolish. To conceal in a dark room the lamp that sheds a light, for fear that some monster may be uncovered, when also there might be in that darkness a great beauty hiding. Whether the lamp is shone or not, the monster and the beauty remain there all the same. The question is, will you seek to know the truth, or will you go on in willful ignorance? For myself, I must keep seeking. Deeper, deeper still.
love,
— Joel